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Standing at Alba's side in the arrivals lounge at the airport, Jack fists the hand not tangled in his girlfriend's and shoves it into the depths of his pocket. He's trying, he really is, but it isn't easy to mask the anxiety. Someone actually liked a building that he designed, liked it enough to build it.

And now his whole family are piling in from New York City for the opening of the opera house. "It's got nothing on Sydney." He grumbles again to the woman at his side, chewing on his lip.

Alba huffs and stretches up on tiptoe to kiss him, soothing that abused lip as she sucks it between her own. When she drops back to flat feet - and it still startles him how much smaller she is - she lifts a hand to his cheek and strokes over his stubble, her eyes tender and honeyed on his.

"Baby, come on. You know they're so proud of you. And you have nothing to prove." She murmurs just for him, carving them out a moment of calm in the bustle of the terminal. Her hair hangs over one shoulder in a fishtail braid and she's wearing flip flops, sunglasses perched atop her head.

This, their life, is a world away from the city he grew up in. And Alba too is like a slowed-down, calmer version of the women he knew in New York. So good for him. "I know you're right. Thank you."

"Is that them?" His girlfriend asks, and sure enough when he follows her gaze he sees his family crowding towards them both.

Bea breaks free from between their parents and charges for her brother, capturing both Jack and Alba in an embrace that squeezes a puff of air out of them. "Hey, little sister."

"Jack-Jack, Alba, you guys are so tan." Bea gapes, holding them both at arm's length and shaking her head. Tugging on the end of Alba's braid, she hooks an arm through Jack's girlfriend's elbow and leans in conspiratorially. "Your hair is so gorgeous. Teach me your ways."

Shaking his head at his little sister, Jack opens his arms to his parents and closes his eyes, revels in how it feels to have them both here again. He loves Florida, loves this life, but sometimes even now he gets a sharp pang of dreadful homesickness in his gut.

"Hi." He grins, taking the suitcase from his mother. Interesting, that she won't let Dad carry it for her but she's okay with Jack doing so. "How was the flight?"

"Good." Mom grins, intercepting Dad before he manages to hook an arm around Jack's neck. "Don't trap him, Castle. He doesn't want to walk with you, he wants to walk with Alba."

"Alba looks pretty taken." Jack smirks, watching the way the dark head of his sister dips close to his blonde girlfriend as they walk a little way ahead. Turning to face his father, he snorts a laugh at the exaggerated pout of Dad's mouth and hooks an arm around his shoulders.

Jack's father doesn't say anything, but his whole body hums with pleasure and he shoots a mock glare at Mom. And earns himself an eyeroll, but that's no surprise. They spill out of the airport into the beautiful Florida sunlight and Bea comes back towards them with that strange hopping-walk borne of excitement.

"Hey Mom, come walk with the girls. No one wants to be with smelly boys." She wrinkles her nose, sticking her tongue out at their father and snagging Mom's hand in her own. Twenty four years old now, but there's still so much childish jubilation in everything Beatrice does.

They make it to the car and Jack loads the luggage into the trunk, slams it closed and turns to face his family. "Okay, I'm driving. Mom, you're up front with me."

That gets a cry of indignation from Dad, but Jack knows it's for show. His father notices, and Jack does too, the soft touch of pleasure at Mom's cheeks. The smile she can't quite contain. When everyone's in the car, Jack rolls down the windows and rests his arm against the door, driving with one hand.

The breeze that rolls off the ocean fills the car with the fresh scent of salt and sunshine, and Bea leans past their father to talk to Alba. "Now I see why your hair is braided."

Jack's girlfriend laughs and hands over a hair tie to Bea, reaches in front to pass one to Mom too. "He always wants to drive with the windows down."

"Hey! I grew up in the city, okay. I'm still not bored of the ocean and the sunshine." The three in the back are laughing at him, but Mom's hand comes to his neck and squeezes gently. When he turns to look at her she's smiling, leaning back against the seat.

Retirement looks good on her. "Don't listen to them, Jack. It's good to see you so happy."

"Right back at you, Mom." He grins, focusing back on the road again. Flipping on the stereo, he recognises the song as one his sister loved as a teenager and cranks the volume, grins at her in the rearview mirror.

Mom is turning around to look in the back, her cheek pillowed against the headrest. "Castle, I miss the ocean. Remind me again why we aren't spending our retirement in the Hamptons?"

"Because you love the city, babe. You'd go stir crazy if we were at the beach all the time." Dad grins, leaning forward to tuck the flyaway strands of Mom's hair back behind her ears.

Jack glances away, sees Bea doing the same. Not because it's gross to see their parents this way (although. . .) but because it feels wrong, almost voyeuristic to see it. They adore each other in their old age, and it makes him feel oddly melancholic.

Alba's fingers come through the gap in his headrest, so aware of what this does to him, and the moment breaks open to allow the laughter in again.