Wow it's been a really long time since I was last on here. A really long time.

So this is my first crack at the Castle fandom. *bites fingernails* I hope I do it justice cause it's an amazing show. Srsly. This is sort of a post - finale fic (which I swore I'd never write) but with a twist. Or not a twist. I don't know. It's different but not AU different. Man I wrote the thing and I can't even describe it...I'll let you lot decide what it is or isn't.

A/N: I don't own Castle. I just follow anything Castle related on Twitter.

Memory is an odd thing. It can define us, shape our experiences and help us relieve our most triumphant achievements as well as our greatest failures. But how do we keep these memories? How do we save our most treasured memories and keep them from simply becoming a blip in our existence? Some people write diaries; their accounts and recollections of important events forever immortalised in a book. Some people keep trinkets; objects of significance and symbols of moments passed, hidden from prying eyes, brought out only when one is feeling nostalgic. And some people, like Katherine Beckett, keep photos.

Kate was four when her mother gave her a second hand Polaroid One Step Camera. Her first photo age; of the next door neighbour's cat – the creepy one with one eye that spat and chased her halfway up the old oak tree in her front yard one time – was displayed proudly on the fridge for almost three years.

Since that day, where Kate went, her camera went. The one time she went out without it, to play soccer with the neighbours boys, she brought home the dead bird they'd found because, according to her six year old logic, it was too icky to not take a photo of. Johanna Beckett had gingerly taken the bird outside and let Kate take one photo before she pulled her daughter away to vigorously wash her hands. After that, it wasn't unusual for her mum or dad to remind Kate if she had her camera with her before she left the house.

Soon the drawer that she kept the photos in began to overfill. Kate must have been about ten when she went to put her latest picture in the 'photo drawer' when one over enthusiastic tug sent over two hundred photos flying. After several frantic calls for both of her parents, Kate began hysterically scooping up her beloved memories. Unfortunately that day had been particularly hot and Kate had left her bedroom window wide open. A large breeze swept through her room and carried several photos out with it. Several hours later, despite her father's best efforts to retrieve the lost photos, Kate was inconsolable. Some of her precious memories were gone forever. The next day, after arriving home from school, throwing her bag on the floor and stalking upstairs, Kate was surprised to find her mother sitting on her bed surrounded by five photo albums. They're all for your photos Katie. Then you won't lose any of them again. But remember that even though you lose your photos, you can never lose your memories. Memories are a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, and the things you never want to lose.

Then after that fateful day - the death of her mother; the one memory she can never forget, no matter how many pictures blow out the window – Katie the photographer stopped being. Kate Beckett, the tough, ballsy homicide detective took over.

And for the longest time, there were no more photos.

Until fate decided to interfere as it often does; usually when we least expect it, leaving us shaking our fists or screaming into a pillow.

One second Kate was giving a eulogy, and then next Castle had tackled her to the ground; a burning sensation spreading in her lower abdomen. Confusion and fear exploded in her mind leaving her dizzy and winded. She couldn't breathe properly. It was getting harder to think straight. Her vision blurred. She was surely dying.

Bullet. Ground. Pain. Hat...where's my hat?

Before she passed out and followed the light in the tunnel, Kate heard a voice. Soft and far away, she tried to focus on it. And then, as the fuzzy darkness and searing pain began to envelope her, she saw his face and heard his voice. Barely even a whisper, but she heard it.

"I love you Kate. I love you."

And there it was. Love.

Love defines itself as a feeling of tender affection for somebody, or a feeling of romantic and sexual desires. Well that is what the dicitonary defined it as. This was so much more.

Love.

He loved her.

A weak smile graced her face. Through all her pain his words could still manage to make her smile.

Then everything went black.

It's short but hopefully sweet :)

More to come soon!