The Long Weekend
Castle hurts.
He's really trying not to whine, but Kate throws him pitying looks every now and then and it makes him want to pull a Dash and bury his face in her neck.
Or her chest. He's not particular.
Since it's Memorial Day, they don't have anyone in the house working, but the new floors have been laid, though the main kitchen is a wreck, still needing countertops and new appliances, things out of place. Cookout has been deemed necessary, even though the servants' kitchen would work just fine.
It's possible he insisted on cooking out, not even a dark cloud in the sky.
Kate has Dashiell in the pool while he figures out the grill, his shirt rasping against his sunburn, but he gets the gas turned on and the flame going after only a few mistakes. He wipes the grease from his fingers onto his shorts without thinking, sighs at the streak of black.
Tonight he's plank-grilling fish fillets on specially bought apple wood. He's been dreaming of mouth-watering smoked fish for weeks now. Of course, he has to grill a burger for Dashiell, though the kid won't eat that either. They'll try to entice him with ketchup, and Castle even bought the good, expensive cheese to lay a few slices over the burger on the grill. He hopes Dash will be faked out into thinking it's a big cheeto or something.
Ah, now for the best part. It's an easy art, plank-grilling, and Kate always gets excited, says the fish melts in her mouth with that look on her face that makes him blush. He never blushes. Only Kate can do that to him.
Castle pops the top off the bucket of salt water and draws out the wood planks, dripping, and lays them over the grill, nudging the ends with his fingers since the metal has already gotten hot. He dips a brush into the dish of olive oil and butter, smears the concoction liberally on the face of the planks where he'll put the fish fillets. Already he can smell it, and his stomach is rumbling in agreement.
When he's got the fish fillets laid out on the planks over the grill, and the hamburger patty is soaking up sauce in the tupperware container, ready, he turns the flame low and closes the grill to let the planks smoke and fish cook.
He grabs his drink from the table, swiping the condensation off the glass and onto the back of his neck where his skin still burns. He closes the lid on the salt water, but he leaves out the butter and olive oil; he'll coat the fish when he comes to check on the grill.
"Daddy!"
"Coming, kiddo," he calls back, heading for the pool. The white fence and the wisteria climbing over it make a nice picture against the roll of the green lawn and the ocean over the hill. He hears Dash yelling for him again as he pushes through the gate.
Dashiell is swimming with floaties on and Kate's guiding hands, his wife with her hair slicked back like a seal, natural and graceful, especially compared to the flailing, awkward kid.
"Cool your jets, Daddy's right there," Kate is telling the boy, holding him away from her.
Castle laughs and sinks down to sit on the edge of the pool, taking in the bright blue water and the white sides, the happy boy splashing his mother. Kate swim-walks the shallow end with Dashiell, the sunglasses on her face more protection for the water the kid is vaulting in her face rather than the sun.
Castle leans over and takes the kid, dragging him in close to clutch his father's knees. He extends his legs to let Dashiell hang on for the ride. Kate sighs and stands up straight, the water only coming up to her ribs, her two-piece swimsuit in a little disarray from Dash's kicking feet and grasping hands. She gives him a roll of her eyes for looking, adjusts her suit bottom with her thumbs, making the elastic pop.
He grunts and she laughs, biting her bottom lip.
"You're merciless," he muters.
Kate holds out her hand to him and he takes it, gripping her wrist as well, bracing himself. She gets a foot against the wall of the pool and rises up out of the water, over the edge to stand. He lets go of her hand and she sits down right beside him, water streaming from her body.
Dashiell claps wildly for her, nearly drowning in his excitement, and Castle laughs, scooping the kid up with his feet. Dash does have floaties on his arms but sometimes his head still goes under.
"Nice trick," he tells Kate, nudging her shoulder.
"How's the sunburn?"
"Hurts pretty bad. I'll never do that again."
She lays her wet hand over his forearm, light and silky and cool, draws patterns over his skin. "I bet you won't." She dips her hand into the water and drizzles more along his arm, cooling him off.
"Thanks," he murmurs. He moves his legs in the pool and Dashiell gets tugged along, giggling, making circles in the water by kicking and splashing. "That feels good."
"We'll put more aloe on tonight," she says. Her fingers skim up his bicep and under the sleeve of his t-shirt, trailing faint drops of water up to his shoulder. He tilts his head to capture her hand with his cheek under his shirt and she laughs.
"You sound tired," he says quietly. Dashiell is loud, screeching as he motors at the far reach of Castle's legs.
"Mm, yeah. Little tired from swimming with the wild man."
"Yeah, he can tire you out."
Dash is singing now, something that Castle faintly recognizes but can't pin down. Kate gives up trailing water along his arm and instead leans completely against him, soaking his shirt and shorts both, her cheek to his shoulder. Guess she really is tired.
He cups the side of her face for a moment, lets her go. Can't tame a wild thing, is that the saying?
She sits up and lifts her foot in the pool, flicks water on Dash to get his attention. He's still humming and spinning, singing to himself, little legs kicking water messily. The kid zips around and faces them, grinning, bursts into the chorus.
"What're you singing, baby?" Kate asks, holding out her foot for him to grab. Dash does, still treading water ferociously, churning great waves in the pool, and as he gets closer, Castle realizes what it is.
"'Take It Easy'," he chuckles, looking at Kate. "You know that one - I've heard your Dad play it. By the Eagles."
"Oh, yeah, I know that song. Dash, you singing?" She leans out for the boy, catches a floatie around his arm and tugs him to the side of the pool. Dash is still singing in his baby voice, not all the words quite coming through, but when he sees his mother's interest, he bursts out loudly with it.
"Take easssssy. Take eassssy. Don't let the sons of yourn whales drive you craaaaa-zy."
Castle roars with laughter, has to catch himself on the side of the pool to keep from falling in, and Dashiell is still repeating that misheard chorus, a little more enthusiastically now that he's made them laugh. Take it easy, don't let the sounds of your own wheels drive you crazy.
Or, according to Dash, sons of whales.
"Those terrible sons of whales," Kate laughs. "Shame on them." She sounds like she's choking with laughter. He is too. This is just too good.
"You tell 'em, Dash," he says, still chuckling. "Tell Shamu to f-"
"Castle," she rebukes, knocking into him. "He will repeat that."
"I was only gonna say 'frak'," he grins.
"Frak off, Shamu?" And then she cracks up, practically giggling.
Castle laughs, his cheeks hurting he's laughing so hard, and she hooks her arm in his and leans against him, watching Dashiell. The boy is so confused by their laughter, but he doesn't stop singing.
"Don't let those sons of whales get you down," Castle murmurs, the sun bright on the water and his whole body aching with mirth. Feels good to laugh.
"It's sound of your own... wheels, right?"
"Yeah, I guess like spinning your wheels."
"Don't I know that feeling," she mutters, nudging her cheek against his shoulder before she sits up again. "Good to have a weekend off like this. Just get away from spinning my wheels. Those damn sons of whales."
He grunts. Now who's cursing? "We needed it," he agrees. "You know that day I couldn't reach you, when no one could-"
"I'm sorry," she sighs. "I didn't mean-"
"No, I know. I just remembered something. I was writing that morning at my desk and Dashiell fell asleep on top of my feet. And I never knew anything was wrong."
"Because nothing was wrong."
He shrugs, lifts his feet so that Dash floats a little away, hooks his toes in a floatie to bring the kid back. "Nothing was wrong, no. But for a few hours there, all I could see was Dash's face and how - how maybe that's all I'd have of you. All of our history boiled down to that little boy."
Kate goes still beside him, tense along his arm, and he knows that's not something he should say, not really. It's not fair to make her think about how her job affects him when there's no better choice. Life is capricious like that, and Castle knows it, whether a detective or a writer, a boy or a man.
He sighs. "That's not fair; I'm sorry. I'm just reminding myself to have days like this, instead. To fill up our lives with weekends like this, laughing and the pool and sunshine and the way Dash is happy. Even if..."
"Even if he's got issues?" she murmurs.
"Yeah," he sighs. "Even if we're not where we want to be. Because we can't control how it takes us. Can we? No matter how much you want to fix it or make it right, we can't. Dash is Dash. You're a cop. I'm a lazy writer who keeps breaking deadlines."
She laughs softly, dipping her fingers in the water to trail up and over to his forearm. "Seize the day, is that it?"
He lets out a relieved breath. "Yes. That's it. Carpe diem. And I've got fish grilling too. All fits together."
Kate laughs, bumps his shoulder. "We can do that. Seize our day. We are doing that. Don't you think?"
Castle flips his hand over and catches her fingers as drops of water slide around his wrist. She presses her palm to his, a kiss of skin, and their fingers twine.
Dashiell is still singing about whales, splashing all the way up to his father's shorts, spinning in mad circles in the pool. It's not exactly normal, but he's happy.
Good enough for Castle. He'll take it as a win.
Kate is startled awake by the cold touch of air conditioning, the faintly uneasy sense of something not right. She closes her eyes and nudges forward into Castle, the heat of his body slowly dispelling the chill, and yet restlessness finds her, worms into her head.
What woke her?
Kate drags herself out of bed and stands in the darkness, swaying a moment before her feet can hold her. She shivers in the chill and can't remember if she packed a robe, rubs her hands up and down her arms as she crosses the floor.
The bedroom door isn't entirely closed but apparently it was enough to soundproof the room. The moment she steps into the hallway, she can hear Dash crying.
Kate moves quickly to his bedroom and opens the door, not pausing to get her bearings in the darkness. She stubs her bare toes on the edge of the suitcase they packed tonight so they can leave early tomorrow morning. She grunts and hops around it, wincing, but coming to the crib.
Dashiell is huddled on top of the mattress, clutching his bear for dear life as his tears soak the sheets. Upon seeing her, he lifts up and holds his arms out to her. "Mommy," he wails.
"You're okay," she tells him, leaning over the railing and scooping him up. "Hush, Dashiell. I'm here."
"Mommy, Mommy," he whimpers, wriggling his whole body down into her as if he can escape. His face is wet with tears, his curling hair sticking sweatily to his neck, his fingers already gripping her shirt like he did when he was a baby. "Momma."
"Okay, I know," she sighs, cradling the back of his neck and moving slowly through the room. He doesn't quiet easily, he never has, and she feels sometimes like he's too much like Castle to want to go quietly. It's like he needs her to know just how hurt he is.
Kate gives up on getting him back to bed; the sky is licked with fading stars, so she slides into the hall with Dash in her arms, hoping to distract him.
His head picks up, his interest dampening the tears, and she smiles a kiss against his cheek as she carries him down the stairs. Dashiell sits up, pushing off against her chest, more baby than toddler tonight, and when they reach the first floor, he wriggles against her.
But he doesn't seem to want to get down. He's just happy for a change of scenery.
"Did you sleep at all, baby?"
The only answer she gets is a whiny, pitiful, dramatic sob.
"You're really closer to two than a baby, you know," she whispers against his ear. "Time to grow out of this."
"Ooh, so pretty," he croaks suddenly, his head lifting. His eyes are on the sliding glass doors that lead to the deck and the poolhouse beyond, the fence so white against the dark sky. "Mommy, look."
"I see. Did you know that it's three o'clock in the morning?" she hums back. He's not listening to her, instead reaching for the glass and the moon silver beyond. "Three o'clock is for sleeping."
"We go outside?" he says brightly, turning back to her.
"Did you know that three o'clock is for sleeping?"
Dash cups her face in his little hands and looks dead into her eyes. "Outside, Mommy."
She sighs but he's his father's son. How can she say no? She wants to shake off some of her restlessness anyway. "Okay, fine. Outside." She thinks she's also giving in because his eye contact and his communication are just so clear that his issues can't be that bad. Can they?
"Oh, outside!"
Kate carries him to the sliding glass door, faintly surprised he's not struggling to get down, but maybe he's as exhausted as she is, deep down. If only her mind would let her rest - if only his would.
"You're just like me, aren't you?" she murmurs. She kicks the bar out of the track and pushes back the door. The night breeze comes in with warm fingers, wrapping around them, and Dashiell shivers and buries himself in her chest, but he's grinning.
He likes it.
"Come on, my little night owl. Let's go outside, soak up the moon."
"Soak up a moon," he murmurs at her skin.
Kate steps over the sill and onto the wooden deck, makes for the padded benches set at the far end. The material has faded with years and sun, and she wonders if Castle wants to replace this kind of thing as well.
They need to put a baby gate around the pool. There's a fence, but Dash is quick and clever and can open the locked dishwasher, so he'd find a way inside the pretty white fence too.
"Making a list," she tells him, settling down on the bench and leaning against the corner of the railing. "Pool gate, better cushions on this deck. Ouch."
"Ouch," he laughs back, wriggling his bottom down into her lap. She cups the back of his head and he seems content to stay right where he is, his cheek at her shoulder and his eyes on the horizon.
"You see the ocean way way out there?"
"Waves and ocean."
"Yeah, Daddy told you about the waves and all the sea creatures."
"I see whales."
"You do not," she laughs, kissing his forehead. "No sons of whales out there."
"Whales, Momma."
"Say, go away, Shamu."
"Go 'way, Sam." He makes a shooing movement with a tired hand. "Whales."
"Maybe you see whitecaps."
"High-caps?"
"Whitecaps. The tops of the waves are white where the water churns. Don't worry. It's just words, baby."
"Just words, Mommy."
"Yeah, I know. You and Daddy trade words."
"High-caps?"
"Yeah, you tell Daddy that."
"I tell Daddy."
Kate laughs and strokes the sweaty hair back from his forehead, ruffling the limp curls in the breeze coming from the water. She can hear the ocean from here, now that it's night-quiet, and she's glad Dashiell convinced her.
This is a good place. She knows why Castle bought this estate, and even if that was another wife, a different family, it's still her family too. Alexis is her son's sister, her own step-daughter, there are connections, cords between then and now. It's her children's home, and the pipes bursting was fate intervening to make her see that.
It's her home too. All of this is her home, wherever they are together.
"Whales, Mommy."
"Does that mean you want a bedtime story?"
"High-caps and whales."
"Sure. Let me think," she murmurs, laying her cheek on top of his head. She could fall asleep like this. It would be so easy to drift...
"Mommy."
"Yeah, yeah," she rouses. "Story. Sons of whales on our beach. Hm, there was a little boy named Dashiell who had a whole beach all to himself. Every night, to help him get sleepy enough to stay in his own bed, he would walk up and down the beach. Through the sand, over the dunes, in and out of tide pools, little crabs crawling over his toes and making him giggle."
"Mommy," Dash sighs against her neck. "Where my whales?"
"No interrupting," she murmurs, lightly squeezing his ear lobe. "Every night, up and down the beach. Until one night, he saw a whale coming in close. So close. Almost where he could wade out and touch it."
Kate pauses, just long enough to think of something else, a new direction for her story, a plot, but apparently all Dash needed was a little introduction.
He's fallen asleep against her chest, mouth open, body curled over hers.
She cups the back his head, combs her fingers through the dark hair that's already lost so much of the baby curl.
She'll have to carry this heavy boy back upstairs to his bedroom and tuck him in under the covers again, but for now, she'll watch the moon lace his dark lashes and feel the slow rise and fall of his chest with his breathing.
So their timing has never been great, but she's not half bad at this. Having a little body snuggled up to hers, telling bedtime stories about whales or dinosaurs, these are the things she cherishes.
She and Castle will figure it out; they have all the reason in the world right here.