This was originally going to be one-shot, but after almost 3K and just two verses gone, I decided to make it a two-shot instead. This is an AU based on the song Travelling Soldier by Dixie Chicks, and it's sad (so very sad) but it's such a beautiful song and I've always wanted to do something with it, so.

Two days past eighteen, he was waiting for the bus in his army greens

Sat down in a booth at a café there, gave his order to a girl with a bow in her hair

He's a little shy so she gives him a smile and he says would you mind sitting down for a while

And talking to me, I'm feeling a little low, she said I'm off in an hour

And I know where we can go

With a clear blue sky, the sun beating down on the streets of New York, the heat a seemingly unbreakable barrier, Rick Castle is not entirely sure why he's making himself do this. It's not normal for April, this stifling warmth that makes the air feel like treacle, hoarding the people into their homes with their air conditioning and their freezers. For once, the city is quiet. Resting. Except him. He's trudging along the deserted sidewalk, his army greens a heavy weight on his shoulders. He can see the bus stop in the distance, a bus idling next to it, spewing an unhealthy amount of grey smog up into the air. But, he's not in any rush. No time constraints. He just needs to be there by tomorrow, and that's fine. More time to spend in his city, more time to reflect on what he's actually doing. Leaving his life, his friends and the shredded remains of his family, to go and fight a war on the other side of the world. He's well aware that this could possible be the last time that he sets his eye on the majestic skyline, the block of the Empire State Building, the shining beacon of hope that is the Lady Liberty. And strangely enough, he's okay with that. He's come to terms with it, but it doesn't mean he can't appreciate it one last time.

There's a cliché American diner across the road and even though it looks like it has seen better day, it's fairly crowded. Either it's better than it looks, or people are just that desperate to get out of the heat. The door jangles cheerfully as he pushes it open, the majority of the faces turning slightly to see who it is before going back to their ice cold soda floats and fries. He finds an empty booth, and shrugs off his bag, leaving it on the opposite bench before sliding onto the bright red leather seating. The material is almost uncomfortably warm beneath his fingers but it's comfy, welcoming almost. There's a few heads swivelled in his direction, no doubt questioning his current state of attire. But that's okay. He's used to the confused stares.

"Hi, are you ready to order?"

Rick looks from the menu that's inlaid on the tale and up to his waitress. She's young, couldn't be a couple of years younger than him, caramel coloured hair that falls down her back in curls, tied back with a white ribbon that has been knotted perfectly into a bow. "I – um, coffee. Please. Milk, no sugar."

She smiles at him, small and sweet, a row of pearly white teeth that are ever so close to biting her lower lip. "One coffee, milk, no sugar. Anything else? We've got a special on pancakes."

He shakes his head politely, looks down at his hands clasped on the table. "Just the coffee, thanks."

"Coming right up."

Rick nods, slightly distracted as the bus finally pulls away from the stop, rushing away with a roar of its engine, only half of his attention on the waitress as she walks back over to the white topped counter. Another woman, maybe five years his senior is looking between the two of them with a sparkle in her eye, making some kind of teasing remark that the girl brushes off with a high and clear laugh.

She's back again in a couple of minutes, large mug of coffee on a tray, sat next to a plate of pancakes piled high with whipped cream and strawberries. She slides them both onto the table in front of him. "It's on the house. The pancakes. The boss says you deserve them."

"I do?"

"Sure. You're going, aren't you? To 'Nam." She's looking at him with a mix of fear, apprehension and pride.

"Yeah, I suppose. I have to do training first though."

The girl nods her understanding and then gestures to the pancakes. "Well, then you're going to need all the energy you can get. Go on, eat. They're good." She tosses him a wink as she walks away again, going to the next table of customers that are asking for drink refills.

They do look good, he won't deny, and they taste even better. He didn't think he was hungry, too hyped on adrenalin and nerves to even think about eating. But he eats them, and he drinks his coffee and before he knows it she's back again, holding up the percolator in the universal sign of do you want some more? He shakes his head, but she sets the jug down on the table and sits down opposite him. "Are you okay?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"I know, it's kind of stupid. But some people sign up for this because it's what they want to do, they want to go and fight for their country. But some others they don't want to go, they do it because they don't have anything else to do. Nothing else to live for. Their only option. You don't want to go, not really. I don't pretend to be an expert in these things, I'm just a Junior in high school who works in a diner, but I've seen a lot of people come through here."

"And I look like a sad pathetic eighteen year old too scared to get on a bus?"

"No, I didn't think that. You've got balls to actually sign up, I'd never do that. Hell, I'm petrified thinking about thinking about college, let alone actually applying and going. I mean, going to war is a lot more terrifying than college."

"Everyone's fears are different."

"Not when it comes to war." She fills his coffee cup up, even though he'd waved her off and then slides herself back off the seat. "Look, I'm off in an hour. Stick around for a bit, we'll go somewhere proper where we can talk and my boss won't get angry at me for ignoring customers."

He looks at her carefully, glancing across at the bus stop. There'll be another bus in half an hour, he could finish his coffee and be just gone and he would never have to be in this city again. But… being able to talk, he'd like that too.

So they went down and they sat on the pier, he said I bet you got a boyfriend but I don't care

I got no one to send a letter to, would you mind if I sent one back here to you

"I come down here after work sometimes." She says as she sits down on the wooden slats and pulls off her shoes. "Even if it's raining. I'd just… sit here."

"It's a nice place."

She snorts, stripping off the top layer of her uniform and dumping it next to her."It's just a pier, not Buckingham palace."

"Well, if you want to put it that way."

She laughs and reaches up to tug on his hand, pulling him down next to her. "What's your name, anyway?"

He shrugs off his jacket and lays it down on the wood, follows her suit and pulls off his shoes."Me? I'm Richard. Or Rick. Rick Castle."

She smiles at him and pulls off her socks so she can dangle her feet in the water. "Nice to meet you, Rick Castle. I'm Kate. Kate Beckett."

"So, you live in New York?"

"Manhattan, born and bred. What about you?"

"My mom was in the theatre, we moved around a lot. But originally from here. I came back here when she died a few months back. I tried to get my life back, get a job and settle down, but it seems I was never cut out for life on my own. I'm only eighteen. I shouldn't be in this situation. So, signing up was the only thing that seemed plausible. I think I would have ended up on the streets otherwise." He gives a cynical chuckle, and tips his head back, his blue eyes reflecting the sunlight.

"Well, I think you're amazing. It takes a lot of bravery to do what you're doing, and you shouldn't let anyone tell you different."

"Well, thanks. I guess. Sometimes I lay awake at night thinking about how stupid it is. I mean, surely living on the streets wouldn't be all that bad? I'm more likely to die in Vietnam than I ever am here."

"Maybe so, but you're fighting for your country. Fighting for us." She nudges his arm with her shoulder, forces him into flashing her a charming grin. "If you've got nobody to be proud of you, then I will be."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really. Everyone needs someone to be cheering them on from the sidelines. And so I'm thousands of miles away, but the thought counts, right?"

"Yeah, it definitely counts." He turns slightly, listing his body towards her. "Listen, I don't have anyone here. And all the soldiers I know all have somebody to write home to. And I was just… wondering… you can say no, if you want, I mean I've known you for all of like two hours, but you're nice and you're pretty and you don't stare at me like I'm a freak, and…"

"You want to write me?"

"I… yeah. If you don't mind. It'd just be nice knowing that there's someone at home who I can talk to."

"Oh no, of course I don't mind! Have you got a piece of paper?"

It takes him about five minutes for him to finally drag a parcel out from his bag. It's a shirt, green and clean and only slightly dirty but it's wrapped in brown paper and it doesn't take that long to rip a piece off. Kate pulls a pen out of her hair, something he only just noticed (always keep a pen with you, she says, never know when you could need it), and he watched tentatively as she writes in neat cursive a Manhattan address. "There you go."

"Thanks. I appreciate it. A lot."

They stay there for another good hour, chatting idly about school and friends and family, watching the sun move ever so slowly across the sky. Kate can't keep her eyes off of him, the flop of his bangs over his forehead, the way his eyes reflect the sun and the sea, a constantly changing array of blues that has her captivated. He catches her staring sometimes, ducks his head away with a rising blush on his cheeks while she laughs at him. It's easy and pleasant, and for a long while he forgets that at some point today he has to leave.

"You're not going to be late, are you?" Kate asks, sounding genuinely concerned as they meander back along the docks and towards the diner and the bus stop.

"No, I don't need to be there for another few days. I've got a motel room booked."

"Okay. Good. I wouldn't want you to be yelled at because of me."

"It'd be worth it, even if I was. Don't worry, it's fine. You won't be told off for being late, will you?"

Kate shakes her head. "Nah, my parents are pretty lenient. Besides, they know I have work. Sometimes I stay late to cover shifts, or just to get a few more hours in. Every penny counts, you know."

"What are you saving up for? College?"

"Well, my Dad likes to think so. Or he pretends I am. I put some aside, just as a safety, but I'm really saving up for a motorbike."

That takes him by surprise. "A motorbike? I didn't think…"

"Not the type of girl to ride a motorbike, right? That's what my dad thinks too. Too much of a lady to be going around the city on a contraption like that. But he says I'm as stubborn as my mother, and it's my money and I'll do whatever I want with it. I earned it, fair and square, so why shouldn't I buy whatever I want?"

"You have a point. It is your money. But, really, a motorcycle?"

"You can't change my mind. I am buying one." She's fierce, and protective of her values, and he finds he likes that. A bit of fire, not someone who's going to let someone completely walk all over her.

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, raising both his eyebrows at her. "Alright, little miss spitfire. You buy your motorbike."

"I will. And you can't stop me."

"Not like I could do anything about it. I'm leaving, aren't I. Writing you letters and telling you to not buy a bike that will most likely kill you is never going to work."

"No, I doubt it will."

They can both see the back of the bus by now and he's stuck by an impending sense of doom. He's not entirely sure he can get on. Not on his own, at least. "Hey."

He jerks his head towards Kate, and she's giving him one of the biggest smiles he's ever been given. "You're going to get on that bus, and you're going to be absolutely amazing. You can do this. Okay?"

"I'm scared."

"I know. And if it was at all viable then I would come with you. But I can't. So, until the day you come back, I will cheer you on from the sidelines."

The bus driver is giving him a smile too, seemingly another person that's proud of where he's going. What he's signed himself up for. "Take all the time you need, son. Still another five minutes to go yet."

"See, that's another person proud of you. You don't need a family." Kate's pulling him over to a bench and dragging him down next to her again. They're close, the warmth of the bare skin of her leg seeping through the khaki green of his trousers. He can't help the fluttering of his heart, the way he can't stop staring at the curve of her neck, or the shadow the sun casts on her skin, the leaves from the trees an ever moving pattern on her cheek.

"That's one bus driver, Kate."

"And I'm just a girl in a diner?"

"No, that's…" he sighs, and pushes his hair away from his forehead, turning his head to watch as other people board the waiting bus, "that's not what I meant. Everyone else, they've got brothers and sisters and fathers and mothers sending them off with baskets and hugs and kisses, they send them care packages, and I should feel lucky that you agreed to send me letters, but I wish…"

"You wish you had that too. It's okay. I understand. And for what it's worth, I wish you did too. But I'd still want you to write, even if you did."

"I wouldn't dare forget. I'll write. Don't worry."

"Good." She leans against him, head pillowed on his shoulder, and it makes him jolt with surprise when her hand finds his, wraps her fingers around his.