His mind is reeling from everything that has happened within the past days, past hour … She's back in his life. Pregnant. From him. From their extraordinary night together. It's like Meredith all over again except that they were in a relationship, as loose as it might have been. She didn't threaten to kill him after their first night. She didn't ghost him for three weeks. She didn't kiss another man right before his eyes.

Yeah, well, the comparison limps since she later cheated on him with her director and then moved to Malibu without a word, serving him the divorce papers and the custody with a bow on top. Yeah, maybe it is like Meredith all over again. Yay.

He tears on his wet hair, the rain pouring down on him unforgiving, his hood long blown back by the suddenly strong wind, the winds howling disapprovingly, being bent and shaken against their will, and, oh, how much he can relate.

It took him years to recover from the toxic relationship with Meredith. He hasn't yet fully recovered from his gone-off marriage with Gina. Another failure on his list.

How is he supposed to step into another binding relationship? Especially one tinged with so much heartbreak and insecurity like this one.

Three weeks ago, creating a family with Beckett would have been something he could've looked forward to. Not instantly, of course. Not at this early stage of a blooming relationship. But a little girl with her gorgeous eyes? And this smile that knocked him over at every rare occasion he was allowed to see it? Hell yes, it would've been something he'd daydream about in the future.

But how is he supposed to do this all over again? Go through all the heartbreak with her? Their relationship is already broken. How much will it suffer when a child comes into the picture? Would she even be willing to move in with him together? Would he want that?

If she'd come back like this without being pregnant, he would've kissed the ground she's walking on. A gesture like that? Showing him exactly how much she wants him? Being committed like that to him? He'd probably marry her on the spot - and regret it in a few years from now when the relationship crumbles as well.

No, this is something he can't do anymore. Especially with her. He's never felt so deeply for someone before, never suffered so much after he'd been rejected. He's never met someone quite like her, as extraordinary, fierce, and compassionate.

Having her in his life forever would've been a dream come true.

But it's tinged because she only came back because she found out she's pregnant with his child. Ended things with Dr. Schlemming because of it.

And he's not sure if his heart will survive this.

He spends hours walking aimlessly around, retracing the routes he took with Alexis only two days ago. Walks through the forest, along the roaring sea at the beach, over the fields to the village, through the deserted village, the light almost gone back to the cottage. He has no idea how long he's been out but finally, his mind is empty, even though he didn't come to a conclusion. Even though he's not a bit smarter than he was before. Still unsure how to handle everything. How to protect his fragile heart.

But he knows that he'll accept this child, of course, and as he did with Alexis, he'll be willing to do everything to ensure this little thing the best life and best parents it could dream of.

He just hopes that he'll figure everything else out on the way.

Quietly, he opens the door, not yet ready to face her, peels his wet jacket off, his soaked shoes. He needs to get changed again, his pants are soaked as well and he could use a hot shower.

"Hey, you're back", a female voice startles him and he looks up, only to find the green eyes of Rosie, relief floods him. "She fell asleep on the couch two hours ago, she looked like she could need it. Probably will be out for the next hours." Rick nods, he's seen the dark valleys beneath her eyes as well. Did she sleep at all since their night or was she as sleepless as him? "Hungry? I kept the stew warm, so I can serve it whenever you're ready?" His stomach growls loudly, leading Rosie to chuckle.

"I guess, I am. Let me just put on some dry pants. Did she eat anything yet?" Rosie shakes her head, anger rising up in Ricks body – why can't she at least take care of herself when she's growing a baby inside?

"No, she fell asleep before I was finished."

He stops at the couch on his way back, can't help himself despite his anger, his hurt to look at her beautiful, innocent face. She looks so young in her sleep, so untroubled. He extends his hands to brush a strand away from her eyes but stops himself before he touches her. No, this would only complicate things and damage his heart in the process. He should restrain himself, they need to come to a commitment first. He needs to know what she wants, first. Carefully, he drapes the old, family quit of the owners, rich in stories, he'll bet, over her, the soft sigh that escapes her makes his heart constrict. Damn. He's completely lost. He'll never survive this.

They eat in the dining room to not disturb Kate, Rosie lit a fire here as well, probably quite some time ago already, the room filled with warmth, steaming plates draped between candles on the table.

"Looks quite romantically. Wanna seduce me, Rosie?" He quips and she grins.

"Can't lose a chance on a date with the famous Rick Castle who happens to be my favorite author", she jokes, but more earnestly than not. Probably sensing that he's too frail for heavy jokes right now.

"It is my pleasure then." They eat in silence, reveling in the delicious food, both lost in their thoughts, but he's waiting for the questions, knows that they will come because Rosy is as curious as he is.

"So," she finally says when their plates are empty. "That's your Nikki Heat, huh?"

"Detective Beckett, the one who inspired the character, yeah."

"Interesting." He doesn't comment. Doesn't want to know. Doesn't want to talk about her. "Quite impressive to come all the way here to tell you that she's pregnant."

Rick sighs, presses his finger in his eyes to ease the headache. "What exactly is it you want to know, Rosie?"

"It's nothing, I want to know, Rick. I just happened to hear every word you were screaming up there," she shrugs, "it's an old house, I'm a curious gal, you weren't exactly quiet. She could've called you, could've send a message…"

"I ignored her calls, I didn't listen to her voice messages, and I also probably wouldn't have read her messages."

"All I'm saying is that she apparently just found out and could've waited to spend more time trying to reach you otherwise but she chose to come to you instead, cross an ocean to tell you in person without knowing what awaits her. I think it's not just about the baby, Rick." He groans, stands up, has to get away from this conversation.

"Yeah, well, I guess, we'll never know because there'll always be the baby now, will it? And for me, that's all that matters." With shaking hands he takes their plates and brings them into the kitchen, having trouble to not throw them into the sink, see how the beautiful, old porcelain bursts into pieces just like his heart. He knows he's being a little dramatic, but he can't help himself. He's too hurt, his heart aching like the knife she stabbed him with when she kissed Demming is still stuck and only going deeper and deeper.

He has no idea how he should raise a child together, how to discuss all the necessary things. It was "easy" with Meredith because she just didn't care, difficult, of course, because all the responsibility lay on him, but he didn't need to coordinate everything with her and she left when Alexis was three, he had sole custody when she was four. How is he supposed to talk with her every day when his heart hurts like this? When he can't see how it's going to feel different in the future.

He's a sensitive creative, deep-feeling, emotional. He loves deeply, he cares deeply, he suffers deeply. And with her, it feels like he'll never get over it. And even if he might, there will always be the lingering question in his mind, if she would be here as well if it wouldn't have been for the baby. If their relationship was just convenient.

He grabs the edge of the sink hard, his knuckles whitening, lets his head fall. Why is his life so messed up? Why is he so messed up? Two failed marriages, a teenage daughter he raises as a single parent, a homeless mother whose only goal seems to be to crush his spirits. Just yesterday, she forwarded him a crushing review on Nikki Heat, talking about how it reads like it was written by a love-sick hormonal teenager not the master of the macabre, telling him how sorry she is.

And now all of this mess. His elbows crush on the hard marble, the pain shooting through his body a welcomed diversion, his head falls on his hands, buried deep. A baby. With his extraordinary muse.

Suddenly, delicate fingers trail over his back to his shoulder, burning his skin with the heat only one person can elicit in him, he jerks away from her, staring into her beautiful hazel eyes which looked so vibrant in the soft light but now tinged with the hurt.

"I'm sorry, Castle. I'm really sorry. If it soothes your mind: I'm freaking out as well. This is not how I would've pictured the beginning of our relationship–" He huffs, shakes his head. Beginning of our relationship.

"What relationship, Beckett? You made pretty clear that you were not interested in one with me. Trust me, I got the message." He turns on his heels, unable to talk with her, to look at her, his heart crumbling with every breath he takes in her proximity.

"Castle, wait," he hears her hurrying after him. "I made a mistake, okay? I freaked. Doesn't mean that the night was a mistake because it wasn't!" The dagger runs deeper and deeper in his heart, taking his breath away, his whole body aching with the pain she causes him.

"Yeah, that's why you threatened to kill me when I talk about it. Just leave me alone, Beckett. Please. I can't do this right now. You should eat something, it's no longer just you." He flees in his room, closes the door right before her nose, his head falls against the old wood, the smell enveloping him. Why can't she just let him sort this out for himself for a moment? Steel himself, protect his heart from her, so that they maybe have a chance at raising this child together without him dying in the process. He hits the door over and over and over again, willing for the pain inside of him to subside just a little, the pain in his hand to become greater than the one in his heart, but it doesn't work. He gives up, slowly slides along the door, and falls on the floor.

Her sobs the only noise coming through the door, and he hates himself for wanting her to suffer just the way he did. Wants her to feel as much pain as he does. He really hates himself for it.

"Rick", her voice so brittle like he never heard it before, not even when she talked about her mother, the pain in her voice tangible. His heart feels stony, cold, and oh, so heavy in his chest, it's troubling him to breathe, but he's unable to feel empathy for her.