Disclaimer: All things "Castle" belong to Andrew Marlowe and the powers that be at ABC.

Author's Note: I was rewatching "Countdown," and Castle's expression at the end when he's in the elevator always makes my heart hurt so I decided to try to "fix" the ending.

Becoming Us

Chapter 1

"You guys don't know how lucky you are."

Castle inwardly stilled at Espo's words, glancing back to look at Beckett, meeting her eyes. Basking in the warmth of her eyes, in her smile as she looked at him. Her gorgeous green-gold eyes, that warm, closed-mouth smile he loved so much (well, he loved all her smiles). The smile he wanted to see every day for the rest of his life.

He suddenly flashed back to that last heart-stopping moment of terror before he'd pulled the wires from the bomb, from thinking their time was up. That if he had to go, her face being the last one he would ever see was something.

But it hadn't been. They had more time.

He had more time. He had another chance. To get what he wanted: the rest of his life—with her.

He tore his eyes away from her, suddenly terrified that she might be able to read his thoughts in his eyes. Long experience with Beckett had taught him some caution, not to push too fast. Because she meant too much to him.

He looked back at Espo, his eyes flitting over Ryan and the Captain's smiling faces. Oh, these faithful friends. "Actually, I do."

Yes, he knew he was lucky. He'd believed he was lucky for years—lucky for the words that welled up in his mind, lucky to have found a publisher, lucky that his words somehow turned into stories people liked and wanted to read. Lucky to have always had his mother. Lucky that his daughter had turned out to be so perfect.

Lucky to have met Beckett.

A knock on the door interrupted them, as Fallon poked his head inside. "Can I talk to you two for a second?"

Castle looked at the boys and made the facial equivalent of a shrug as he stood up and followed Beckett out of the room.

Fallon faced them. "I just want you to know the US Attorney's Office is charging them with multiple counts of conspiracy to commit terror. But thanks to you two, we won't have to add the murder of innocent New Yorkers to that charge."

Castle puffed up a little. Put like that, they really were big damn heroes, weren't they?

"Well, we were just doing our job," Beckett responded. "Actually, I was doing my job. I don't know what the hell he was doing," she added, with a teasing nudge.

"Hey," he pretended to protest. "But that's true," he quipped. What had he been doing? Being Beckett's partner. It had never even occurred to him to leave. He couldn't leave her. Also, he did feel a sense of loyalty to the city—but mostly, it was just her. He'd stayed because of her.

Fallon didn't smile. Did he ever? "Listen, what I do, it's not who I am. It's just what I have to be. I hope you both understand that."

So Fallon did have a conscience.

"Why don't we just say that it was a pleasure and that we hope that we don't have to do it again?" Beckett suggested diplomatically.

Fallon nodded, his granite countenance softening just a smidge. Apparently even he wasn't entirely immune to Beckett, proving he was still human. "Fair enough."

He nodded again in lieu of saying goodbye and turned away.

Hey, wait. After what Castle had just experienced… "If it does happen again, maybe you could just text me," Castle suggested, only half-facetiously. "Have a code word: run."

Fallon lifted one hand in a wave. Well, it wasn't a no.

Castle turned back to Beckett, releasing a breath as some tension left his frame. Now that Fallon, the shadow of Homeland Security, was gone, it really felt as if it was over.

"Hell of a day."

Beckett smiled. "Hell of a day," she agreed.

Seeing her smile, the warmth in her eyes, he thought, for about the thousandth (millionth?) time, that she had to feel it too. This thing between them was too strong, the magnetism, the pull. Too strong to be entirely one-sided. Right? He knew she was physically attracted to him—he knew enough about women to recognize that much. And she… cared about him. She'd become his best friend.

A vague, fuzzy memory surfaced in his mind. The freezer, what she'd said. (What he thought she'd said?) I just want you to know how much I… How much she what? Had she even really said that? His memories of those last moments in the freezer were understandably blurry in his mind; he hadn't exactly been in the best of conditions either. But he thought she'd started to say something, something important.

And he… didn't want to lose his chance. They'd been given more time. Carpe diem, after all.

He took a breath. "So, I was thinking, I'm still kinda wired, don't really want to go home yet. Want to go somewhere, grab a drink, decompress?" He hesitated for a split second. Had the sudden feeling as if the rest of his life depended on the next few seconds. (And maybe it did.) "We could talk? I know a nice bar, friends with the owner," he quickly added with a somewhat lopsided smile, deflecting with humor, as always.

She smirked, giving him one of those indulgent little amused looks. "Sure, why not," she agreed. "I know what you mean. I'm still wired too."

"It's the adrenaline," he commented with mock sagacity just to see her roll her eyes. Which she did, as always when he affected pomposity. Always pricking his pretensions, keeping him on his toes, that was his Beckett. And he loved it.

She turned away, poking her head inside the conference room. "Sir, I'm going to head out now, if that's all right."

Montgomery nodded. "Go, Beckett, and I don't want to see you back here until noon on Monday at the earliest. Get some rest. You've earned it."

"Thank you, sir."

Castle contented himself with lifting his hand in a gesture of farewell that Montgomery returned with a nod and the boys with mock toasts with their beer. He waited as Beckett shrugged into her coat and then fell into step beside her.

She released a rather gusty sigh as they stepped onto the elevator. "Can you believe it was only the day before yesterday that we found Jamal's body and this whole thing got started?"

Had it really only been just over two days? It felt as if weeks had passed, as if it had been weeks since he'd sent Alexis and his mother off to the Hamptons. "It's been a long couple of days," he answered.

"Mm." She made a noncommittal sound of agreement, rolling her shoulders as she occasionally did when she was tired.

"You know, Beckett, if you're too tired, you can just head home. We can take a rain check," he offered, concern outweighing his constant wish to spend more time with her.

She shot him a faint smile. "Nah, I'm okay. 'Sides, you promised me a drink and I'm holding you to it."

He returned her smile. "A drink it is."

He made an exaggerated show of ushering her out of the elevator, sweeping into a half-bow as he opened the door to the street. She rewarded him with a soft laugh and one of her bright smiles that warmed him straight through to the core, better than hot chocolate or good alcohol or anything else.

And as usual, his heart stuttered a little in his chest at the sight of her smile, the affection he swore he could see in her eyes filling him with so much tentative, poignant hope.

He settled back into the front seat of Beckett's car, relaxing into it in spite of the little spring in the back. He had, ridiculously, started to feel a little attached even to that spring because this seat was where he accompanied Beckett everywhere, his seat as her partner just as the battered old chair by her desk had become his chair.

It was strange and surreal to see how normal the streets looked. He idly focused on a couple of giggling college students on the sidewalk, his gaze then moving on to a young couple pushing a stroller. So blithely ignorant that their lives might have ended today.

"It's weird, isn't it, to see everyone going on with their daily lives, not knowing how close things came to ending."

By now, he was no longer that surprised that she so perfectly echoed his thoughts. He shot her a faint smile. "I was just thinking that. I see your telepathic powers are still working."

As he'd expected, she rolled her eyes at him and he suppressed a smile. "Telepathy isn't real, Castle."

He gave her a look of feigned shock, widening his eyes and dropping his jaw. "But Beckett, how else do you explain the way you said exactly what I was thinking?"

"Maybe you just have a terrible poker face."

Now his gasp of indignation was only half-fake. "I have a great poker face! I'm great at poker! Just ask the Mayor or Patterson or Connelly!"

"Yeah, Castle, next time I talk to the Mayor, I'll be sure to ask him how good your poker face is," she agreed sarcastically.

He nodded with exaggerated seriousness. "Thank you, Beckett."

She snorted at that and he let a small smile escape him, his heart lifting inside his chest at this familiar teasing exchange. It was probably not admirable of him but he really did enjoy tweaking Beckett just for the sake of seeing her roll her eyes, for her snarky responses.

They had arrived at the Old Haunt and Castle again made a show of opening the door for her just to see the curve of her lips, the brightness of her eyes. (Yeah, he really was a lost cause when he would do just about anything just to see her smile. Of course that had been true for a long time now.)

It was still early, not quite 5 p.m. yet, so the Old Haunt wasn't busy, just a few scattered patrons here and there, all familiar to Castle because they were the die-hards, as it were, and he lifted a hand to wave at a couple of the ones he knew the best.

He greeted Brian and then turned to Beckett, pitching his voice in a careless drawl like the stereotypical bartender in an old movie, "So what'll it be tonight, Detective?"

He was rewarded for this with a huff of laughter and switched to his normal voice. "Your usual or actually, I have an idea, what about a hot toddy? I figure we could both still use the warmth and I don't like to brag—"

She snorted. "Since when?"

"Touché, Beckett. Fine, I do mean to brag; I make a great hot toddy. I've perfected the recipe over the years."

She quirked her eyebrows at him. "Perfected it, huh? Okay, Castle, a boast like that needs proof to back it up so let's try this 'great' hot toddy of yours."

He grinned. "Prepare to be amazed," he declared grandiloquently, pausing only long enough to see her patented roll of eyes before he slipped behind the bar and headed towards the kitchen.

He hadn't been kidding; he had spent some time experimenting with hot toddy recipes so he made relatively quick work of gathering the ingredients in the kitchen. He tried—and failed—not to let his imagination run away with him picturing some future time making hot toddies for himself and Beckett in the loft, with both of them in pajamas perhaps, getting ready to cuddle on the couch while drinking their hot toddies. Something seemed to squeeze his heart in a spasm of sheer longing at the image. God, he wanted that. There were times he honestly thought there was nothing he wanted more in the world than all those little trappings of being in a real relationship with Beckett, just being cozy and together.

He tucked the mental image away as he added the final touch of a little sprinkle of nutmeg and a sliver of orange peel as a garnish before balancing the two mugs on a small tray as he made his careful way out of the kitchen.

Beckett had moved to their usual booth towards the back and his steps momentarily faltered, his breath stuttering in his chest, as seemed to happen so often when he saw her in the occasional unguarded moment, when her Detective Beckett shield was down, because she was so… lovely. In these moments, it was the only word that seemed to fit. Kate Beckett was a beautiful, gorgeous woman any day but loveliness was a softer thing than beauty and in these moments, when she was more Kate than Detective Beckett, she was just lovely.

She was resting her cheek on her hand, her eyes absently fixed on the wall, her hair spilling over her shoulders. She looked, now that her guard was down, a little pale, tired, and he felt a spurt of protective tenderness, of the sort he rarely felt where Beckett was concerned because she was usually so awe-inspiringly capable. But right now, all he wanted was to be able to take care of her, wrap his arms around her, let her rest her head against his shoulder and sleep.

But then she blinked and her eyes found him and he promptly pasted on an expression of nonchalance as her expression brightened. (God, he didn't know what he'd done to deserve to have Kate Beckett's expression light up like this when she saw him but he was ready to get down on his knees in gratitude to all the powers that be for letting it happen—and would do anything to make sure it kept on happening.)

"Ready to be amazed?"

She scoffed. "Yeah, right, Castle."

"Challenge accepted, Detective Skeptical," he quipped, setting the tray down on the table before he sat down. "One masterpiece hot toddy for you."

She wrapped her hands around the mug for a moment before she took a slow sip, her eyes fluttering closed. A small humming sound of pleasure escaped her.

The baser part of his brain immediately leaped to a faint moan during a hot kiss in a dirty alley just a couple months ago, to all the things he could do to her and with her to induce her to make that sound of pleasure again for more… physical reasons.

His mouth went dry and he took a hasty sip of his own drink, trying to shove down the flare of lust. So not appropriate.

She took another sip while he felt a thrill of triumph before she met his eyes, giving him one of her small, closed-mouth smiles, the ones that still managed to brighten her eyes. But being Beckett, all she said was, "Not bad, Castle."

He feigned outrage. "Not bad! I'll have you know that my hot toddies are the best in the city."

"According to who, the Rick Castle Guide to Drinks?"

He pulled an exaggerated pout. "You're mocking me after I just saved the city?"

She hid her smirk behind her mug but her dancing eyes gave her away. "My apologies, Mr. Big Shot Hero Man," she retorted with exaggerated servility.

He made a show of inclining his head. "Thank you, that's better."

She laughed outright and he grinned, feeling his heart lift, warmth coiling inside his chest. And as usually happened when she teased him like this, he felt that sense of rightness settling over him, as if there was nowhere else on earth he would rather be. It was the sort of peace he'd never felt with anyone except Alexis, this knowledge in his gut, his heart, that when he was with this person, he was exactly where he belonged, he was home.

He was distracted by the buzz of his phone and he pulled it out of his pocket to see that Alexis had sent him a text message.

It was a picture she'd taken of his mother dancing around the family room of his Hamptons house holding a large glass of what, knowing his mother, was probably one of the most expensive wines in the house, in her hand. Accompanying it, Alexis had sent a text saying simply, Gram is celebrating that you're okay.

He huffed a laugh and turned his phone to show Beckett. "My mother is incorrigible."

Her smile softened with enough affection it made his heart leap in his chest. He loved how much Beckett cared about his family. It made him think dangerous thoughts about Beckett being part of his family…

"You have to admire Martha's spirit, her effervescence."

"Speak for yourself. Since it manifests in a constant willingness to raid my liquor cabinet. I should keep it under lock and key."

Beckett—of course—saw right through him and only laughed. "Be nice, Castle."

"I'm very nice!" he protested. "It's not like I make her pay for her keep."

"She's your mom."

"Believe me, I'm well aware of that fact," he pretended to grouse.

Beckett only smiled, her eyes so soft and warm, it was positively drugging. And he could only think, his heart leaping, that he could swear he saw everything he wanted to in her eyes. She had to care about him to smile at him the way she did…

He straightened up, leaning forward a little. "Beckett, I was thinking, we—"

His tentative, hopeful words were cut off as Beckett's own phone buzzed where it sat on the table and he glanced down at it, feeling his heart drop into the pit of his stomach.

It was Josh. Oh shit.

Doctor Motorcycle Boy.

Her boyfriend. The word seemed to lash him like a whip and he inwardly flinched.

He forced himself to meet her eyes, managing a wan smile as he gestured with his hand. "You'd better get that. Use my office if you want."

She gave him a small rather apologetic smile. "Thanks."

She pushed herself to her feet, lifting her phone to her ear. And he just heard her say, "Josh, hey," as she walked away.

Left alone, he let himself slump into his seat with a sigh. Shit. He'd done it again. Forgotten that she had a boyfriend. He really really needed to stop doing that. It was slowly killing him, he thought, the painful torturous spasms of hope and then the brutal reminder.

His imagination was too good, himself inventing what he saw. Building fantasies out of whole cloth. Or rather, interpreting friendship as love just because he was so desperate to see it. Only to be brought up short, his hopes shattered every time, by the reminder that she had a boyfriend.

A boyfriend who had stayed behind from Haiti for her. A boyfriend of whom she had just said the night before, It means we have a chance.

A chance. For a real relationship, one for her to dive into it.

And he wanted her to have that, even if it wasn't with him.

It might kill him, the thought of her with Josh (anyone else) like a kick in the gut, but he wanted her to be happy and he wouldn't interfere, wouldn't do anything to spoil her chance.

She was his friend, his best friend, that was all. And he just needed to accept that.

~To be continued…~