I wasn't going to do this. It's a story that'll be meaningless on Monday night anyway. I want to know now, though, what happens in that freezer. This is my version of it, and I'm honestly disappointed with the way it came out. Didn't quite capture what I wanted it to. Nonetheless, it's out…and while it's not the best product I'd be able to produce with this scenario, I also don't have time to deal with it…and I know now that it's out I'll drop this plot and move on with my life.

Hopefully, my sudden obsession with this scene will bring you entertainment.

It's probably obvious, but this is based off a combination of the U.S teaser, the Canadian teaser, and the promo pictures for s3ep17, "Countdown."

Cold Comfort

Cold.

He'd been cold before. One gets used to it when living in New York, especially lately. Snow left the city, this city that never sleeps, drowsy and bleak. It shut down streets and forced people indoors, where they could curl up by a fire or a loved one and weather the storm.

But this? This was different. This was a deep freeze, the kind no man or meat is meant to come back from. This is the kind of cold you'd get in the far north or the far south, near the icecaps.

This was the kind of cold that would freeze a man solid in less than six hours. Their friend in the corner could testify to that…if he were still alive.

A chill ran up his spine. He bristled a little and tried to shake it of…though he couldn't tell if "it" was the brutal temperature or his own morbid train of thought.

"How cold do you think it is in here?"

Kate Beckett was walking around their white prison, surveying every wall, logging every dent. "Well below freezing," she replied gravely. "We need to get out of here."

"I suppose the door is too convenient."

She was back at the door, running her grey sleeve-covered hand along the seams. "No handles, no latches. Even if it isn't locked, it's not like we can just turn a knob."

He looked back at the corpse, face down on a plastic palette. To his right, he noticed some plastic wrapping. He reached down to grab it, to cover Jamal. Not only did it seem the right and decent thing to do…the man was beginning to creep him out.

He wondered, not for the first time, if Jamal had any idea what he'd been transporting, if this strange job would end n catastrophe. But nobody ever though something like that could happen to them, did they? Everyone thinks they'll live forever.

"I've got nothing over here," Beckett said a moment later, derailing his train of thought. He stood back up and looked toward her as she pulled out her phone. "We need to call this in. Do you have a signal?"

He snapped to action, reaching into his coat pocket. His hands clutched an iPhone-shaped ice cube. He pulled it out of his pocket gingerly and hit the home button.

He sighed when he saw the depressing-looking flat line in the left-hand top corner. His heart sank even further when even that blinked out, and the spot simply read "No Service."

"You've gotta be kidding me," he mumbled. "Of all the places."

He heard the click of Beckett's phone as she slid it shut again. "Same here. We're on our own."

He frowned, looking around at the giant freezer. His eyes landed on the door. "We only have one way out, don't we? You think they locked it? That wasn't much of a handle."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't think they just shut the door and left us to escape, Castle."

"Well, no…but maybe it's not that secure. Maybe we can shake it loose! C'mon, Beckett…on three."

He lined up with the side they'd walked through, crouched just a little, ready to run through the door and back into the damned warehouse where he'd probably get shot, but that was beginning to sound better than staying in an icebox. He was beginning to lose feeling in his face.

But Beckett just stood there, handing him the mother of all incredulous looks.

"Come on. We have to try."

She looked down at her feet, and he followed her gaze. Those heels, on this icy surface…it was going to be trouble.

"Why do you wear those things, anyway? Not that they don't make you look – " he stopped talking when her eyes narrowed. "Thay're just not very practical."

"They're fine. Usually."

"Just not right now."

She said nothing, did nothing for a long, scary second before she walked over to crouch beside him.

"Fine," she conceded. "We have to try."

On a threecount, they launched themselves at the door, slamming hard into the wall shoulder-first. He'd expected something – some slight give on impact that made it at least feel like a door.

Instead, it was like slamming his shoulder into a brick wall. A cold, iced-over, unforgiving brick wall. Pain shot through his left side, and he groaned.

"Ow."

Beckett, for her part, hooked a little off-balance, but otherwise fine. She was hunched over, hands on her knees, breathing deeply.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she replied. "That just…that didn't work. You?"

"I think I jammed my shoulder," he said, rubbing the aching area. He studied her carefully, just to be sure she didn't give any indication of pain. He'd heard the impact – she gave that door every ounce of her weight.

He watched her mouth twitch into what looked like a sly smile for just a moment. "Need some ice for it?"

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "Oh, har har har."

She frowned a little, then reached up to her forehead. When her hand came back down, there was ice on her finger. Frost was already building up on them...it was colder than he thought.

"Castle, that's not good."

"No," he replied. "It's not."

The rest of that small smile faded quickly, and her dark eyes went back to the door. She stared at it like a lion in wait would stare at a gazelle from the brush, or maybe more like the gorilla stares at the bars of its very small cage.

Beckett took four steps back.

"Get behind me," she said quickly.

"What? Beck-"

"Now, Castle."

He scrambled as quickly as he could, but lingered in front of her for a moment. "What are you planning to do?"

She didn't look at him, her gaze locked with the door. When she pulled out her gun, though, he leapt behind her.

"Wait!"

A shot rang out. Instinctively, he ducked…and it might have been a good thing he did. He wasn't sure if it was the confined space giving off some mean echoes, but he could have sworn he heard a ricochet.

His shocked squeak did nothing to stop her from shooting again.

"Jeez!"

And again.

"Whoawhoawhoawhoa!"

She lowered the gun. "I'm out of ideas, Castle! That's the weakest point in this entire container. Bullets are the only weapons we have."

"Well, yeah, but it's not going to do us any good if we're injured by said bullets as they ricochet dangerously around this very small metal container!"

"Nobody knows that we're in here." She turned to face him, her tone edging up to that exasperated boss-lady voice she used on Ryan and Esposito. "That bomb goes off in less than fourteen hours, and we're the only ones that know that. We have to get ourselves out of here…there's no white knight coming to our rescue."

Our rescue. He was reminded that, usually, she was out there to save him or he was out there to save her. This was the second time in as many days that they were stuck together, waiting for someone else to find them, to catch the hail mary throw.

Who was left to rescue the protagonist if their white knight was stuck in the trap with them?

"You're right," he said. His voice was small, and his shoulders sagged as he said it. The vicious chill, which had left for a few minutes thanks to activity and adrenaline, started seeping back into his very bones.

He watched her watch him carefully, her gun still in her hand by her side. After a long moment, she looked back at the door, then down at the gun in her hand.

"We're going to start to lose body heat quickly. Our only hope is that workers find the car and call it in. Someone at the precinct will come find us."

He took a few steps forward, coming within a foot of her. She put her gun away and raised her hood.

They stood like that for a minute or two, shivering.

It disturbed even him how uncharacteristically bleak he was being. He had no jokes to offer her, no quips to present for her amusement, or even her irritation.

"I could use a silver lining right about now," she said.

That thin leather jacket and even thinner hoodie, he thought, would do nothing to keep the cold out. Her lips were taking on a bluish hue. Her skin was already pale.

She wasn't going to make it till morning.

"I wish I had one," he rasped.

They'd tried banging on the container door. They'd tried their cell phones again, resorting to wandering around, shivering, holding their hands in the air, begging the iPhone gods to please, please take their text messages. They'd finally settled against a wall, exhaustion and stress taking its toll around 4am. They had nothing left to give their icy tomb. It had sapped away everything.

He'd long ago brought her to the ground. She was there, curled up against him as close as she could get. Her warmth had helped at first, but he noticed she was slowly growing colder. Frost was forming on her jacket, her arms, her eyelashes. She was having a hard time staying awake.

"I'm sorry."

She sighed. He frowned when he realized that her breath was only warm enough to be faintly seen. "What for, Castle?"

"I'm sorry Josh isn't there for you. I'm sorry you feel like you can't compete with Africa. The truth is, you can, Kate. You do. But…it sounds like his priorities are just different. It's noble to want to save the world, but the truth is you can't-"

He cut himself off. The cold was seeping into his brain, dulling his mind. He shouldn't have even thought that, let alone said it.

"More than what?"

"No…nevermind."

"Castle." Her voice was fading, cracking from exhaustion and weakness, but it still carried a warning. It was his turn to sigh. What was the point?

"I was going to say you can't have normal relationships when you're always leaving them behind."

He was afraid to know what she was thinking. The truth was, it also applied to her. She was the one that kept one foot out the door, just in case. She was the one that was sure from the beginning it wasn't going to work.

It was probably not unfair to say she always did that, because she never wanted to get that close to anyone.

"I love him."

The words were quiet, and they hurt him more than they should have. His chest grew tight.

"But I'm not in love with him. I was never in love with him. I was in love with the idea of him."

"Mister Perfect, who rides motorcycles, saves sick children in third world countries, and mends broken hearts."

"It would only work in one of your stories. I should have known that."

Castle chuckled mirthlessly. "No, it wouldn't. The character I'd write would have this very same revelation."

He had already noticed that she'd stopped shivering. He was growing more concerned about her by the minute. He was also beginning to feel numb, but he couldn't be sure anymore if it was because her head on his shoulder had cut off circulation or if he was beginning to lose his battle with the ice. The ice had beaten Beckett…if someone didn't let them out soon, it would finish her off.

Dammit, it can't be like this!

"Can't feel anything." Her voice was frail, wavering, barely above a whisper. Again, his chest tightened. Just in the small amount of time between words, she'd weakened exponentially.

"It'll be okay, Kate," he murmured. "Someone will find us."

"I don't know anymore."

And there it was. The thing that broke his heart. She'd given up on hope. She'd given up.

"You have to fight it, Kate. You have to stay awake." His heart sped up, fear taking over the spaces where numbness had set in. He was beginning to feel again, but it was all shades of pain.

"Castle…thank you…"

It was a whisper. She was fading.

"What do you have to thank me for?"

Her eyes fluttered closed. Her long, dark eyelashes, covered in frost, were now white. "Kate? Please…please open your eyes."

"Thank you…for diving in with me."

His mind froze. His brain, still a little sluggish despite the fear, took longer than he would have liked to re-engage.

And when it did, it looped only a single thought.

I love this woman.

Like whiskey, like a blast of hot air, the thought scalded as it worked its way across. In its wake, though, there was only warmth.

"Always, Kate."

Just stay awake. Please.

"Have to tell you…" Her voice was strained past breaking, lower than a voice on the wind. "Just want you to know how much I…"

But she couldn't hold on any longer. The words stopped, and as she fell into unconsciousness, her hand fell from his coat lapel into his lap.

He gathered her closer, praying he could keep her just warm enough to stay alive. "Stay with me," he whispered brokenly, on the verge of tears. He closed his eyes to try to stave them off.

"Please, Kate…stay with me. Open your eyes. Finish that thought. Yell at me."

Her breathing grew more shallow. He could feel it, but he couldn't see it anymore.

"God, please…please let her live."

This is a tragedy. Our story is a goddamn tragedy. This can't happen!

He pressed his lips into her frosty hair.

"I love you. You can't leave me, Kate. I love you."

Her pale face was strangely peaceful. He suddenly felt very abandoned, and very alone.

And still so very damned cold.

"We're supposed to dive in together…"

In his fear, in his grief, he lost track of time. He began to think of all the lost time, all the lost opportunities. Above all those, perhaps, was the summer before. Why had he wasted it with Gina? Why hadn't he insisted she come with him? Dragged her away from Demming long enough to at least let her have a nice vacation? He remembered how thin, how angry she'd been when he finally came back.

They were moments he'd never have. Moments he couldn't take back.

And he was beginning to realize there were no more moments.

But if there's a heaven. Maybe we'll see each other there.

Castle slowly became aware of a hum. He wasn't sure what it was, or if it was his imagination. It was low, and comforting. It was familiar. He closed his eyes, embracing the sound, embracing his fate.

But his fate was diverted when he heard the familiar squeal of bad brakes, muffled voices, and closing car doors.

Brain engaged. Voice activated. "HEEEEEEEEEEEY! IN HERE! IS ANYONE OUT THERE? PLEASE! HELP US!"

There was nothing for a long time, long enough for him to second-guess whether or not he'd actually heard anything. He shifted Beckett, drawing her closer. She had no time left.

Come on.

"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!"

"Castle?"

It was muffled, but it was there. He knew it had to be there. "Esposito! Beckett's unconscious! Get us out of here NOW!"

Moments later, the door creaked open. He started moving, but he was still pretty numb. He half-scooched, half-dragged Beckett closer to the door as Esposito and Ryan came rushing in. "She's been out for a while. She needs help now."

The pair stopped for just a second at the sight of their boss, half-frozen, still tangled in Castle's arms. Carefully, gently, Esposito picked her up and ushered her out of their frozen prison. Ryan helped Castle to his feet, then helped him out.

"How did you find us?" Castle croaked.

"Your texts. They all came in about fifteen minutes ago. We got here as soon as we could."

He led Castle to a waiting ambulance, where they were already working on Beckett. Blankets were piled high on top of her, and they were checking her pulse frequently. The paramedics ushered him into the wagon quickly, layered him with blankets, and gave him warm water to drink.

He stared at her, at her still too pale face, and her closed eyes. The frost had already melted from her eyelashes.

And she was alive.

"You were lucky, Mr. Castle. Both of you. I'm not sure how much longer she would have made it."

The EMT, a warm-looking young blonde woman, smiled at him. "She'll be all right?" he asked.

"Yes. She'll be fine. I'd bet she'll wake up in the next ten minutes or so."

The blonde busied herself with other things, and he watched his partner – no, the woman he loved – breathe and warm up.

She would be all right.

He wasn't sure he'd ever felt such relief.

It wasn't too long before Fallon and Montgomery showed up. He glanced outside the rig as they neared. He wasn't sure what he'd say to them, except maybe "I told you so."

And then for good measure, maybe he'd yell at the narrow-minded son of a bitch for kicking them off the case. With proper backup, this whole thing would be over. Instead, they had less than 10 hours to find a nuclear needle in the mother of all haystacks.

He turned his head back to Beckett. His heart skipped a beat.

Her eyes were open.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," she replied.

"How do you feel?"

She smiled a little ghost of a smile. "Cold," she said, "but alive."

He nodded. "Thank god for that."

There was a commotion outside the wagon, punctuated by the sound of Fallon's voice.

"Castle? A word?"

He glanced in his direction, sighed, and stood up to walk out, but was stopped by the hand that grabbed his.

Beckett's hand.

Beckett's warm hand.

He looked back to her.

"Rick…thank you. Again. For having my back. For saving my life."

There were a thousand things he could say in that moment. He could tell her everything – how he felt, how scared he was when he thought she was dying. What it felt like to be told she'd live, that she'd be okay, and how his heart tasted when it leapt into his throat after she lost consciousness.

He could tell her that in those scary moments in between she was his only focus, even though he should have been worried about never seeing his daughter and mother again. He could tell her he would follow her to hell, if she asked.

But he smiled and squeezed her hand back. It was more important to make sure they and the rest of New York had more than nine hours to share. He swore to himself he would tell her everything, but not now. Not today.

Not until she was ready.

"I'll always be there, Kate. Always."

He gently placed her hand back under the blankets and left to talk to Fallon.