For Pau.
"What're we gonna make for dinner, kid?" he asks, leaning his forearms on the counter so his face is closer to Al's. She's on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, Penguin sitting on her neighboring seat. "We'll surprise Mom and have something on the table when she gets here."
Al pushes her hair, still damp from the trip to the beach, and looks over at him. Her eyes are narrowed in concentration, head tilted to the side as she nibbles her lower lip. "Pizza."
"Pizza? Again?" Castle shakes his head, pushing away from the granite countertop. "How about something different? I'm sick of pizza."
That causes Al's mouth to drop open. "Sick of pizza? Rick."
"Okay. I didn't mean it that way," he clarifies, sliding onto a stool beside Penguin. "I could live off of pizza. But don't you think three nights in a row is a bit too much?" Al's face says that no, it isn't too much. "You're incorrigible, you know that, right?"
She scrunches her face up. "Don't know what that means." Al tugs Penguin into her lap, resting her head on the bird's. "Can we have breakfast?"
"Breakfast for dinner?" Al nods. "Sounds pretty good, actually. Think Mom will go for it?"
"She loves breakfast," the girl says matter-of-factly. "'Specially eggs and bacon."
"Eggs and bacon it is. Want to help?"
"Yes! Penguin too!"
Castle helps Al off the stool before she can try to slide off – she tried that yesterday and it ended in a cut on her forehead that is now graced with a bright green Band-Aid. Penguin follows, Al's hold on his wing making him bump against her leg as she walks around the island into the kitchen.
They've been out here for a week now, Kate making the trip out to the Hamptons as often as she can with work keeping her in the city. He had been disappointed to hear that unlike being a teacher, cops worked year round. Still, Al wanted to go to the beach and Kate shooed them out of the door with the promise to get out to the beach house by that weekend. Al was distracted with the beach and the pool and spending hours making elaborate sandcastles just to watch them wash out into the Atlantic. They called Kate every night, wishing each other a good night among multiple "I love you"'s passed from person to person.
He misses her.
Deep breaths, Rick, he tells himself, washing his hands in the sink that looks out onto the private beach. She'll be out tonight and the bed won't seem quite so large with her body curled up next to him. Hold yourself together for another half an hour.
"So, eggs," he muses, taking a frying pan from one of the lower cupboards and turning the stovetop on. "Think she's up for some omlettes?"
Al is trying to reach the sink on her own, Penguin abandoned on the floor. "Mhm. She likes those."
Castle lifts her up, balancing her on his thigh as she leans over to wash her hands. "Good. Cause I, Miss Al, am an omlette king. Mom will have no idea what hit her." He opens the fridge and takes out the carton of eggs and some shredded cheese, setting them on the counter before he searches the other cupboards. "I know we have chocolate chips here somewhere."
"Chocolate chips?"
"Yes. And marshmallows and graham crackers." He closes another cabinet, swinging the next two open until he finds the ingredients.
"For, like, s'mores? We're gonna have s'mores for dessert?" Al bounces on her feet, following him around and taking the bag of miniature marshmallows that he hands her.
"Not quite," Castle teases. "Something way cooler."
She's exhausted, hungry, and frankly a little surprised that she managed to drive out to the house without crashing. There was a moment where Kate seriously considered finding a place to pull over and taking a nap in the front seat of the car before continuing out. But she had said seven o'clock at the latest and it was already seven thirteen.
The door is unlocked when she turns the knob which means he's up still. Probably waiting for her, foolish, sweet man.
"Mom!"
Kate hears the call seconds before there's a slap of feet on the tile of the kitchen. Al appears in the hall, barreling into Kate's legs at full-tilt. Kate staggers backwards, catching herself on the side table before she falls onto the ground. "Little excited there, kid?" she asks, smoothing her hand over Al's wet hair.
"You're here" is mumbled into her thigh as Al squeezes her tighter.
"Duh. It's Friday. Let me go say hi to Rick, 'kay?"
Al releases her legs, taking her hand instead to pull her toward the kitchen. "I'm makin' dinner. It's yummy."
"You're making dinner all alone? Where's Rick in all this?"
"Slaving away in the kitchen," comes the response as they turn into the room. "Hey, beautiful," he says, voice soft and warm as if the sun had melted it during the time on the beach. He slides the omlette from the frying pan onto a plate, turning the stovetop off, and putting the pan into the sink to soak while they eat.
"Hey back," Kate says, shaking Al off her hand so that she can wrap her arms around Castle's neck, tugging him down for a kiss. She doesn't care that the six year old is now yanking on her blazer, probably grossed out and just wanting food. "Playing Mr. Mom?"
He rests his forehead against hers, their noses brushing. "Love that role, you know. I think Al wants to eat."
"I noticed," Kate says on a smile. "She can hold on for a minute. I missed you."
"You didn't miss me?" demands Al from behind them. "Mom! You didn't miss me?"
"Well now you've done it, Kate," he murmurs, ducking down for another peck on her lips. "She's upset."
Kate lets her hand trail down his arm as she turns to face her daughter. Her daughter who has her arms crossed, eyes narrowed in betrayal. "Of course I missed you, kid." She leans down to whisper into Al's ear. "More than Rick, actually."
"Hey. I heard that." Castle scoots around them to go put plates out on the breakfast bar – the dining table is too big here for the three of them. "No more dinner for the Beckett women."
He's creeped out when he turns from the countertop and finds both Kate and Al with the same expression on their faces. "Okay, okay," he gives in, holding his hands up in surrender. "Food for everyone."
They force Kate into the middle seat, Castle's fingers already searching for a way under her button-up as she cuts into the omlette. He's distracting her; she can feel the warmth of his hand through the thin fabric of the light blue blouse and she just wants to eat and get Al to bed and then get him into the shower with her.
"Oh God, what is this?" she shouts, swallowing the bite of the omlette before glaring at her husband.
"A s'morelette!" declares Al from her other side, looking really proud of herself. "Rick made it up. It's yummy, right, Mom?"
Kate wants so badly to say 'no' but there are two pairs of blue eyes watching her for a response. "It's… interesting. Don't suppose you have a normal omlette that I can steal. I'm not quite ready for this level."
Castle grins, the bastard, and gets up to pull a plate from the microwave. "Figured you weren't prepared, Detective. Only the truly great are. You know," he says, sitting back down and stealing a bite from her plate, "like Al and I."
Plates are piled into the sink before they get Al into bed with Penguin tucked under the lightweight covers. As soon as they're back in the hall, though, Kate shoves Castle against the wall.
"Why would you go and ruin good eggs like that?" she hisses. "Putting chocolate and marshmallows into it. Can't just leave it at cheese and ham or anything normal."
He shrugs. "Being creative. What's the matter, Beckett?" he says, soft as velvet into her ear. "Can't be a little creative sometimes?" He reverses their positions quickly, kissing her so that her head bumps against the wall.
Kate surprises him by looping an arm around his neck and pulling herself up so that her legs lock around his waist. "I'm plenty creative, Rick," she replies, drawing out his name as she rests her cheek on his, her mouth at his ear. "Just not when it comes to breakfast."
"Okay. Serious about breakfast food," he grunts, starting toward the bedroom. "No messing with Kate and her omlettes." He presses her against the door once he closes it behind them, tilting his head to nip at her throat. "Got to admit it's a good idea."
"But it's not," she sighs, threading her hands through his hair to jerk his head back up so she can kiss him. "It really isn't a good idea."
"I'll convince you. Somehow. S'morelettes will be the next step in breakfast foods and soon, Kate, soon you will love them."
No. No way in the world will she ever consent to eat a s'more inside an omlette ever again.
Except maybe when he looks at her like that, all dark-eyed and heavy-lidded and his mouth is on her collar. Maybe then.
No, Kate. Not even then.
S'morelettes, she thinks as he spins them toward the bed and lands on top of her. What a horrible, horrible idea.