Castle was burning. Instead of blissful numbness, frozen fire seeped in from the icy floor. He had long lost the warmth of the outside, and he wished on every star that help would arrive soon. His cold fingers grasped tightly at the brittle fabric Beckett's leather jacket, holding her as close as his body would allow.

Snowflakes frosted his eyelashes and swirled around their huddled forms.

With every breath he felt the chilled air enter his lungs, followed promptly by a pained whimper. It hurt to move, and it hurt to remain still. Frostbite bit at his hands and the back of his legs from where they lay against the floor. His blue eyes were mere slits as they watched with glazed appreciation. At least, he reminded himself, he was alive.

With nothing left to do, his mind began to dwell on what had brought them here. It was his fault really. He was the one who dragged them into the warehouse and pushed them into the freezer. Now they were fighting for their lives, and it was all because of him.

In the perfect world, he would be on the deck of the infamous Hampton beach house, with Beckett at his side. In a perfect world, he wouldn't be freezing to death.

Before she they'd met, Kate had been fine- short hair and full smile. She'd been confident and hidden safely behind her walls. She may have been lonely, but she was safe. From the moment she'd placed those handcuffs on his wrists, he had destroyed that. He tore down her walls and let himself in, regardless of what she'd wanted.

When she finally did accept him, he'd run off with his tart of an ex-wife, forgetting to look behind him and see her heart break. His stupid vulnerability had made her shoot Dick Coonan. He was the cause of all her suffering and, if help didn't come soon, her demise.

Castle's thoughts became cloudy as hypothermia sunk in. They slurred into pointless rants that even his writers mind couldn't decipher. Every breath was slow, and each heartbeat a little fainter. He could feel life slipping through his fingers, and his tired mind almost sighed in relief.

At this point, he welcomed death with open arms, but something held him back. A small voice shouted from the back of his mind, begging him to stay awake. His aching head nodded faintly, planting his chin further into his chest.

He blinked slowly, as if the weight of the world rested upon his eyelids. Images appeared, like a slideshow, across his vision and his frozen lips quirked up in a small smile. Footage of Alexis twirling and smiling flitted across his mind. The sun was shining and he could almost feel the phantom warmth.

His hand twitched as the next vision, clenching around the familiar shape of the coffee cup. The cheap cardboard burnt his hand but, unlike the frozen flame, it was a welcome heat. The first time, he remembered the grateful look which grazed her delicate features.

With renewed vigor, he drew a deep breath, ignoring the sharp pins which pierced his lungs. He had to survive, the voice screamed. All the victims they would find justice for, all those families they would free- for their own families, for their friends, for the precinct.

He knew he was a goner- every feeling he had, emotional or otherwise, was gone. His limbs were frozen at the joints, and keeping his eyes open was sapping all his energy. Beckett's still frame was tucked against his and he wondered idly if she felt the same way.

Her still chest was a painful sight and his heart was wracked with guilt. Every slow beat was a reminder that he was still alive, and one more step closer to death. Her feisty spirit had set her apart, but now it was gone. In its place was a mere ghost- a vessel of Beckett, but nothing like Kate herself.

It looked like her, and it had previously sounded like her, but now she was an empty shell, pain painted on her once beautiful features.

Full of regret, he closed his eyes and watched as darkness slowly enveloped him.