A/N: For those who are still here, who have been kind enough to continue reading my work, thank you for your time, your dedication, and your encouragement. This show, this love story, will always be close to my heart and always worth writing about. Though, it wouldn't be nearly as enjoyable without the privilege of having all of you along for the journey. Again, thank you.

For the sake of this story's timeline, Beckett's shooting takes place during the first week of December, closer to the holiday season.

The darkness is like a sea, waves of it crashing around her, cold and threatening to drag her under with every hard slap against her chest. She's barely keeping her head above water, the bone chilling temperature infiltrating her skin, freezing her from the outside in. Her lungs crumble like paper, deflating while the struggle of surviving lays siege to her heart. Whatever's left of her heart.

The gentle touch to her face tugs her to the surface, an anchor in the storm, warmth in the cold. She's lost, drowning, freezing to death, but she can hear his voice, asking her to stay.

Stay with me, Kate. Stay with me, I love you. I love you.

She clings to it like a lifeline, clings to the soft words in her ear and the warm caress to her cold skin. She clings to him, to that voice, as everything goes dark again.

When they tell him she's awake and that he can see her, his heart skips and stumbles its way through his chest while his feet do the same down the holiday decorated hospital corridors that will lead him to her. His palms sweat around the vase of flowers he picked out for her, vibrant oranges and gentle pinks, a bouquet of beautiful colors and subtle contradictions. It made him think of her. The best he could think to go with after nearly losing her to a bullet and confessing his love to her at the same time.

After all, he wasn't exactly sure which arrangement of flowers best said 'get well soon' and 'I hope I didn't freak you out too badly'.

Shit, he loves her. And she knows.

Rick pauses outside her hospital room door, checking his appearance in the reflection, before taking a deep breath, pushing inside.

For a moment, all he can focus on is Kate. Her skin is pale, the dark circles under her eyes highlighted by the lack of color, the hollow structure of her bones giving way to sunken cheeks. The mess of her hair frames her face, the slash of her frowning mouth and creased brow. But her eyes are open, her lips moving, her chest rising and falling with the lowered volume of the heart monitor's beep.

She's alive. He was so terrified he would never get to witness such a beautiful sight again, but she's here, she's breathing. She's going to be okay. It's all that matters.

His chest clenches as his gaze drifts to Josh sitting at her bedside, but listening to their argument in hushed tones has confusion quelling his disappointment, his brow drawing into a furrow.

"Babe, the doctor said it's only temporary, it'll come back," Josh insists quietly, his words patient and soothing. His 'good doctor' voice, Rick would assume. Her boyfriend reaches for her hand with both of his, smoothing his thumbs along the plastic patient bracelet encasing her wrist. "I know it's scary, but-"

"Stop touching me," Kate hisses, slipping her wrist from his grasp. "I don't even know you."

"Kate," Josh sighs, dragging both hands through his hair.

It's then that her eyes flicker to Rick, agitated and dark, burning with frustration and a hint of fear. But no recognition.

What does she mean she doesn't know him?

Kate blinks, spares a momentary look back to Josh. "Who's that?"

His heart drops.

She doesn't remember?

Josh Davidson, the surgeon who continues to claim that he's her boyfriend, leaves after a few tense words with the man who just walked in. He's holding flowers, an armful of soft shades and vivid hues, the bouquet standing bright against the black of his clothes.

He looks stricken, grief flaring in his eyes, bright like the flowers, when they land on her.

"I'll be back, Kate." Josh brushes past him, purposely bumping against the other man's on his way to the door.

The power move annoys her, has her questioning her own character. Why would she be dating a jerk?

She wouldn't mind if he didn't come back.

But with Josh gone, it leaves her alone with the man with the beautiful flowers and sad blue eyes.

There's something familiar about him. She can't place it, can't draw up an actual memory of him, but there's comfort in his presence, in his broad frame and the way he looks at her.

Whoever he is, they have a history.

"I'm assuming I know you," she murmurs, swallowing past the dryness in her throat, trying to ignore the way it triggers the fierce burn in her chest. She needs water, but Josh never stopped talking long enough for her to ask and the stranger in front of her… she needs answers before she asks for anything else.

The man swallows too, his adam's apple rippling along his throat. He takes a tentative step closer, his arm tightening around the flower vase.

"Yeah, actually. We're partners. Well-"

He glances to the seat Josh abandoned at her bedside, looks back to her as if for confirmation. She nods, slowly so not to upset the fragile remains of her chest, her bullet-pierced heart. He places the flowers on the table closest to her and she catches their scent, sweet and subtle. A caress to her senses rather than a brutal punch like everything else has been since she awoke to this strange world of nothing but pain and hospital rooms, blank spaces in her mind and people trying to stake their claim in it.

"Josh mentioned you're having trouble remembering, but does he mean… everything?"

She purses her lips, frustration stirring the headache forming at the forefront of her skull. "I didn't even know my name when I woke up," she confesses, watching the concern bloom like spring in his eyes. "I - my dad was here, talked with the doctor for a while. I must have fallen asleep and when I woke up, Josh was here. He told me a few things, not much."

"I can try to help." Those blue eyes spark with hope and it sparks something in her. Something like a memory, but not quite. She just knows that she's seen that look before, that it eases some of the rioting fear in her brain, some of the additional agony in her chest.

"You could start by telling me your name," she suggests, a touch of amusement fluttering along the sandpaper stretch of her throat when he blinks almost comically.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," he chuckles, but he looks so tired, sounds so weary. She wonders why. "Richard Castle, but you usually just call me 'Castle'."

Castle. Strange name, interesting.

"And you're… my partner?" she picks up from earlier, watching him nod.

"You're a cop," he elaborates, easing into the hard plastic chair. Admiration shines in his eyes when he says it, like he's proud of her. She can't help compare it to Josh's explanation, how bitter he looked when he mentioned her profession. "A homicide detective for the NYPD. I'm a mystery writer-"

Wait, what?

"Writer? But you said… you're not a cop?" she questions, that headache starting to throb again.

But Castle is patient with her, not a hint of irritation in his features. Just a twitch of hurt in the corner of his eyes. She's hurting everyone she apparently knows, though - her father, Josh Davidson, Richard Castle.

"It's a long story. I'll tell it if I need to, but you look spent," he murmurs, his eyes roaming her face, drifting to her chest, lingering. Indignation flares in her battered chest. So he knows. Just like everyone else seems to know what happened to her and why. "How are you feeling?"

"You know why I was shot," she says instead, lowering her head back to the pillow. She can't keep it up anymore, her bones straining to support the weight of her skull. "No one'll tell me."

A shadow crosses his face, that soft gaze going dark. She may have lost her memory, but she hasn't lost her instincts, her skills as a cop. There's leftover horror in his eyes, the grief she spotted earlier telling her all she needs to know.

He was there. Whenever this happened to her.

"It's a lot to tell, Kate," he murmurs, his eyes falling to the hand at her side.

She releases a shallow breath. She doesn't have the energy to push, to know; she can already feel herself starting to drift again.

"Castle," she mumbles, watching his eyes fly back to her face. So quick and ready, so concerned and anxious. He's loyal, good to her, that much is clear. She hopes she's been good to him too. "You gotta stay."

Something like relief washes through his face. "I won't go anywhere."

She believes him.

Her eyes start to flutter, lashes brushing at her cheeks and threatening to fall shut. Her fingers twitch, her body fighting to stay awake even as it begins to succumb. The warmth of his hand covering hers, searing through some of the numbing chill inhabiting her bones, has her blinking past the blur, seeking the brilliant blue of his gaze like a beacon.

She manages to hook her index finger in his, holding on. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

His lips part, panic flickering in his eyes before he closes his mouth, offers her the touch of a smile.

"I just never thought I'd see you again."

She doesn't know him, isn't sure if whatever memories her mind has apparently repressed will ever bring Richard Castle back, but just looking at him now, she's certain of one thing.

Kate closes her eyes.

He loves her.