Breakfast

The scrape of a fry pan being pulled from a cabinet, the clink of silverware in a draw being roughly pulled open in haste, the sound of his chatter - it all sounds like a muffled mess. Like Charlie Brown's teacher is standing in the kitchen cooking her breakfast. 'Soufflés are wonderful, but sooner or later they always fall.' The slam of the fridge door makes her flinch and her eyes stop their vacant wandering to land on his over-zealous face. His hands are full of eggs, milk, butter and ... Is that chocolate? And graham crackers?

"Kate?"

Her eyes meet his, her jaw still slack and mouth open.

"Kate?"

He is looking at her with that look. The one that asks, 'are you okay? Did I do something wrong? What can I do to fix it?' she blinks agains and forces a smile to her lips. Her fingers slack on her suitcase handle, leaving it behind in the living room as she moves toward the island and slides up onto a stool. The wrinkle in his forehead releases and he let's out a breath, almost undetectable, but she knows him. You know him, Kate. You know him.

"Everything okay?"

No. No, it's really not. The muscles of her cheeks start to quiver. She is sitting here letting another woman's thoughts slip into her own head. Although ... How much does she really know about him? He's a great father, a loving son, a fabulous kisser, tender lover, he takes his coffee with cream and two sugars (and nutmeg, apparently...) but ... What does she really know about him? What are his dreams (beyond her)? What does he fear? What can't he live without?

"Beckett, what's wrong?"

Beckett? Damnit. He knows. A small voice in her head whispers, 'tell him, Kate.' She looks down at the counter top, her fingers gripping her thighs, and takes a cleansing breath.

"Kate? Please?"

He's pleading now. Not hard, but the break in his voice is there. Her heart lurches. Come on, Kate. Be better. You're ready, he's ready. Don't throw it away because of a sentence that may not have merret. Burke's voice sounds in her head, 'what do you want, Kate?' Him. Her eyes meet his again.

"Why did your marriage end?"

He blinks at her, surprised by the question. His mouth opens silently, not able to form the words.

"Wh... I ... Is that what you two talked about? At dinner?"

She shakes her head. No, nothing like that. Dinner had been fun and funny and two women simply feeling each other out and realizing there were no threats. Meredith was not quite as crazy as Castle made her out to be, she was simply artsy. Much like his mother. Huh ... Maybe that's why he was drawn to her as a twenty-something young writer. Young men often look for a woman like their mother, right? The one who nurtured them?

"Then ... Where is this coming from, Kate? Did she say something to you? I'm not that guy anymore."

"Rick ... why did your marriage end?" Answer me, Castle. Make it go away.

He leans his palms against the cook top counter and levels with her. He takes a big breath, pauses to think. He pauses so long she thinks he is changing his stories.

"She ... left," he says, the stab of betrayal knifing his guts. She is staring are his intently, her lips pressed together in a thin line, jaw set. It's not enough, his answer. She wants the story. She wants his story. "I ... Woke up to a note one day. Alexis was about 18 months old. We lived on the upper west side in this ridiculous apartment that Meredith loved. I woke up to cold sheets and an envelope on the kitchen counter, 'Need to clear my head. Back in a few days.' A few days turned into six months and the next thing I heard from her was a phone call from LA. She served me with papers about a month later."

Kate found herself leaning forward, soaking up ever detail. Come on, Castle.

"But why? What happened, Rick? Why did she leave?"

His eyes drop to the cook top. A finger traces the pattern of the granite as he wars with himself. She deserves to know this, she does. He knows every detail of her life, doesn't she deserve to know about his? He closes his eyes and steels himself. Okay, Rick. Man up. He glances up to meet her yes and finds her staring at her hands in her lap. Damn. His feet are moving before he can think about it and suddenly he is standing next to her, his hand resting on the counter in front of her.

She feels the warmth radiating off of him, passing the barrier of her sweater. The feel of that warmth pressed against her skin, her fingers tracing the plans of his back, his arms, his face, flood her. Him. She just wants him. With all the strength in her she forces herself to meet his eyes, to listen to what he has to offer.

"At first everything was ... fun. She was interesting and things were ... as things are at the beginning," her lips twitch in an almost-smirk. "We had fun. And then Alexis happened. We weren't really thinking about marriage and kids, we were just ... Enjoying each other. She was happy while she was pregnant, excited. I was ... terrified and trying to do the right thing, so I asked and she said yes," her face softens as he speaks and he has to look away, the emotional upheaval too much combined with the emotions in her eyes. "Once Alexis came and she got her figure back, she went back to work leaving me at home with a new baby that I knew absolutely nothing about. A small indie film turned into a feature turned into a series. And that was life. There was always another opening night party, another audition, another rehearsal. Meredith spent more and more time not at home and I became Mr. mom, behind on my writing and trying not to mess up the life of this ... helpless little girl I was so in love with," he finds the courage to look at her again and she has her lip between her teeth, her eyes far away like she is imagining the story, forming the characters and the plot in her mind. "Between that and her not coming home every night ... of course I'm to blame for part of it. We fought constantly. She would come home and I would start in on her about being out all the time about what she was missing with Alexis, about ... everything. She would accuse me of smothering her, tell me I wasn't supportive of the artist she was and how could I be like that with a mother who was an actress?" he pauses, the power of the words still hitting him like a left hook across the face. "We both did things wrong, looking back. I told myself for a long time that it was her, but something I did pushed her into the arms of another man ... or several for all I know. I woke up one morning to an empty bed and a note on the kitchen counter. She left for LA for six months without so much as a phone call. Honestly, I wasn't surprised when she served me with papers. I just wish I had found the guts to do it myself," he closes his eyes, the betrayal of it all still heavy on his chest after all these years. Her fingers are cool against the back of his hand on the counter and he opens his eyes to find her sympathetic ones starring back at him. "I ... don't know what she told you, Kate, but that's my side."

Her heart is thudding in her ears as she stares at him, the once-broken man suddenly standing before her where her goofball boyfriend had been only moments before crowing about making her breakfast. Is this what she does to him? This look of pain on his face, has she ever put it there? A sudden pang of guilt hits her and she realizes ... he had loved Meredith once. Before all the bad, before he grew up, before he learned how to be a good father and a good man. It was that man that had a failed marriage, not the one in front of her reliving his past. Her fingers squeeze around his and she finds her voice.

"Thank you," it's barely a whisper. Her eyes flick to his mouth and then back to his eyes, some part of her wanting to kiss away the hurt she caused by asking him to relive this painful moment in his past.

He releases a breath, looks away causing his bangs to flop in his eyes. He looks like a little boy about to ask mom if he can borrow the car.

"So ..." he looks at her again, tease in his eyes. "You like me more now?"

She laughs on an exhale and can't contain her silly smile.

"Make me breakfast, Castle."

His excited grin splits his face and he bounds around the counter, clattering the fry pan onto the burner as he passes on his way to the cabinet. He pulls out ... Marshmallows?

"What ...?" her mouth hangs open as he grins at her and holds up the marshmallows in triumph.

"Smorelette!"

She leans back in her chair and shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. There's her goofball.