Follow up to my other futurefic drabble, based off the foreshadowing/prediction in 'Time Will Tell'

Dinner is fun, but he is so exhausted he can barely keep his eyes open over dessert. The twins are nattering on to Alexis about their plans in Boston, and their big sister (who did part of her internship after medical school in the city) is gamely trying to hold up her end of the conversation when they let her get a word in edgewise.

His parents and brother-in-law (Alexis having chosen wisely in an brilliant but erratic English Lit professor at NYU- his parents love Danny) have probably escaped to the study for a gab-fest about books and literature, and he's tempted to join them, but a sudden massive yawn reminds him bed is probably the best idea, so he makes his excuses and escapes.

His old bedroom is a guest bedroom now, but the cool blue walls are familiar and comforting nonetheless. He's just about lying down to sleep when there is a soft knock on the door.

"Hey, kiddo, you awake?"

"Come in, mom."

She smiles at him softly as she walks over to the bed, sitting down next to him, long and elegant fingers maternally brushing a lick of hair over his forehead. He lets her for a second, then pulls away.

"I'm sorry I couldn't join your father and the girls when they came out to see you in Australia. There was an emergency session of Judiciary committee and then…"

"It's OK."

"No, it isn't. My work is important, but it isn't as important as my family. I'm sorry." A genuine thread of apology winds through her words, her eyes steadily holding his, and he acknowledges it with a nod.

Silence fills the room. Not awkward, but comfortable. He is his mother's son, calm and quiet and driven. His sisters are like his father, intelligent and boisterous and more than little reckless.

"So…Castle mentioned you were seeing someone? In Sydney?" Growing up he never found his parents' use of each other's last name all that strange, but having moved out, he can hear the idiosyncrasy. He ignores it.

"Nothing serious, mom. Just…you know, a holiday thing. Casual." He shrugs, sort of embarrassed but yet not. They work in tandem, effective. Dad lets them come to him, never asks, never pushes, just lets them open up as they need. She is the interrogator, the detective, the one who pieces all the bits of the puzzle together. Secrets have always been impossible to keep in this household.

"OK."

"Besides, you and dad set us a pretty damn high standard, you know." His sisters have always been sort of embarrassed by his parents' grand love story, but he always found it entrancing, semi-mythic.

"Our story is the last one either of us want any of you to emulate, trust me." She laughs to take the sting out of her words, but her hand moves to her chest. He knows why. He pieced together the story himself as a teenager, from books and news reports and bit and pieces of information they'd just casually drop in conversation, till one day he just flat out asked his father shortly after his freshman year at university.

They'd sat down and told him the story together, alternating in turns, raw and honest for the most part. So hard to imagine his parents, his mom who'd taken him to baseball games and made him all the Halloween costumes he'd asked for and his dad who'd taught him how to fence and how to make killer cocktails and taken him to ComicCon in full cosplay…so hard to imagine them as the heroes in a tale worthy of Hollywood. Heck stranger than fiction literally (his dad's), truth be told, even as he served as part of the story.

"Yeah I could do without the shootings and bombs and definitely without the tiger…"

"Oh, I don't know, the tiger was one of the fun parts."

He rolls his eyes. Occasionally he'll see that side of her, the thrill-seeking adrenalin-junkie who was a living legend in the NYPD.

"Andrew James Castle, you did not just roll your eyes at me."

"Must be genetic." He rolls them again as he speaks but then they flutter closed before he can stop them, the jetlag hitting him like a bus.

She leans over to feather a kiss on his forehead.

"Sleep tight kiddo. I'll make you pancakes in the morning."

"G'night."

"Till tomorrow."