The angle of the sun blinds her as she turns the corner, the bank nothing more than shadows.

Kate walks at a steady pace down the street, her throat drying out as the building comes into view. It looks the same even after everything; four deep steps surrounding the area that lead into the bank, potted plants to welcome old customers who were willing to come back and new ones who never knew of what happened there in the first place. Her heart clenches and she has to stop, nearly colliding with a couple holding hands. She mutters an apology and steps back against the building, a bird's eye view on another near miss, another explosion.

It's been almost two years and she can still recall the sound of the explosion, the way her body never stopped shaking even after the van ceased rocking underneath her, the sinking feeling in her stomach that she had lost him for good. She closes her eyes, the world spinning like it did that afternoon and this is ridiculous because he's fine, she knows he's fine. She grabs her phone from her pocket, opens up his name in her text messages. Her fingers hover over the keys until she's typing, hitting send.

I wish you were here.

Sure, it's vulnerable and a little unlike her, but he'll keep her steady.

I had a feeling this one would be hard. You okay? If you need me to come meet you, I will.

The offer alone calms her, eases the pressure in her chest. I'm okay. So what's my mission here? Take out a loan? Ask for a thousand dollars in singles, then quarters followed by nickels?

She watches the traffic along the area, arms wrapped around her waist to ward off the effects of the dropping temperature. She hasn't looked at the time in hours, not when she's exploring their city in a way she's never experienced before. They're places she's been to, of course, some places she still goes to often, but it's different seeing it through his eyes, living their entire story together in city blocks and nearly forgotten locations. Her phone buzzes and she misses him, does wish he was here to experience this incredibly ridiculous and fun game.

A thousand in nickels? Oh my god, Beckett! Why didn't I think of that? Look how much good I've done for you over the years. Unfortunately that is not what you'll be doing today. (I am so adding that into my next book though.) I have someone there waiting for you. Before you ask, no, it's not Captain Peterson and his sunny disposition.

Too bad. I think I made quite the impression on him. Okay, I'm off to see what you have in store. You realize you've sent me to all these locations and we still haven't hit a point in this timeline where we're dating. Is this a multi-day adventure or am I actually going to see you tonight?

Oh you'll see me. My lips are sealed on the rest.

The rest.

She can't help but recall Lanie's words at the bookstore about picking out her own bridesmaid dress and any anxiety that lingered in coming here has dissipated because she wants this. She wants to marry him for every reason he's listed today, for all the ones he's left out. She wants to marry him for each heartfelt letter, each joking text, each person he's sent along to a location because he loves her that much. He's turned her into a sap and she'll gladly take it because he also taught her to let go of the past while still relishing the good memories.

Kate breathes in deep, preparing herself to cross the street and walk through those terrible memories, when she feels a hand on her arm. She turns around and finds his mother, dressed in exotic colors, gold and teal bracelets on her wrist, a matching necklace crowding her neck.

"Kate," Martha says warmly, wrapping her in a hug.

The scent of Martha's perfume is overpowering yet comforting and Kate wishes her own mother was here to celebrate in this, wishes she could somehow be a part of everything Castle is giving her. "Hey, Martha."

"It figures my son would send me to the location where I have an ex-lover just inside."

Kate smiles with a small shake of her head. "Or perhaps because of the hostage negotiation?"

"Oh yes, there's that. Knowing Richard, though, the torture lies more in the former category. Take a walk with me, kiddo?"

"Of course."

They walk in an easy rhythm, heels clicking across the concrete sidewalk. The silence envelopes them, supported by the sounds of Manhattan, lined with the words that don't need to be spoken between them.

"I was worried about him before he met you," Martha finally admits after a few minutes. Kate turns her head slightly to look at the older woman, but she's focused on the view up ahead, the way the street curves around into another. "I know he would have been fine eventually. Richard has an uncanny ability for taking the hardships of his life - however small they may be - and using it to his advantage. He would have written another character, he would have gotten over the fact that he'd let another marriage end in divorce, but he wouldn't be the man he is right now if it wasn't for you, Kate."

"Martha, I-"

She places her hand on Kate's shoulder, warm and motherly, and leads her over to the ledge of a building to take a seat. "I wasn't always the best mother, at least not the kind my son deserved for many years of his life. I loved him, of course, but he was left to his own devices more often than not, sent away to school because I believed it was best for him. I think the only reason he let me move in when he did was because Alexis needed someone and I was the only option left." Martha pushes a piece of hair from her face, the bracelets rattling. "After he met you, I wasn't all that delighted with the fact that he thought he was a cop. I know my son. I know the trouble he can get into. The entire first year he followed you around I thought every phone call was news that he'd been shot."

"My dad told me the same thing," Kate answers with a small smile.

"Yes, we've discussed that. We both realized however that children are going to do what they want no matter what their parents say. Richard was a lot like me in his wild ways. Parties, late nights. You calmed him, darling. Even if it didn't always seem like that, even if he still has his crazy theories and adventures like this one, he stepped up and became the man I think he always wanted to be." She rests her hand on Kate's leg. "He saved us in that bank. I worried about some of his foolish decisions at the time, but he knew what he was doing. He knew that if he gave you a clue, you'd understand it and follow."

Martha pulls a letter out of her oversized bag, the same familiar, crisp white like all of the others. "You, my dear, are everything I ever could have wanted for my boy."

Kate bites down on her lip, feels the rush of tears building in her chest, behind her eyes. She laughs when she tastes the salt on the tip of her tongue because this entire day has been almost too much; one day meant to remember and celebrate five years with him, relive one stimulating, nearly perfect adventure after another.

"Martha-" Kate pauses, squeezing Martha's hand. "Thank you. I-"

"I know, darling." She hands over the letter, running her hand over Kate's hair. It's more maternal than she expected and she's not sure how much more of this she can handle and yet at the same time wants this day to last forever. "I will leave you in peace to read it." His mother hugs her, gentle and soothing. "I just want you to know that, as a mother, I am so proud to be gaining you as a daughter."

The words settle inside of her long after Martha has gone. The sun warms her arms, chest rising and falling as she repeats Martha's words over and over in her mind. Daughter. Mother. Words that haven't been next to each other in so long when it wasn't about murder or alleys or mysteries. She looks down at the envelope and pulls out the letter, another chapter in the story of their life together.

I'm not a fan of exposition if it can be helped; it bogs down a story, takes away from what a writer really wants to say. I've been known to go on and on but I like to think that everything I say has a purpose. Added words take away from the magic of the story, the depth of the meaning. I remember everything about that day in the bank, Beckett. How aggravated I was to be there in the first place, how surprised I was at how much I missed you. I remember the laugh in your voice when I said we were about to be robbed, the moment of silence when you realized it was in fact true.

I could write an entire novel about that robbery if I had to but all I really care to remember about that day is you. The way you held my hand when you came in dressed as a paramedic with this look in your eyes that was so pure and honest, full of promises you didn't yet have the courage to speak. The sound of your voice as you called out to me after the explosion, strained and raw and desperate with the hope that I was still alive. How you rushed into that room, knelt down in front of me and smiled.

That was when I knew you were in love with me, Kate.

Everything that came before (and even the things that came after) was inconsequential compared to that moment. I was certain nothing ever would mean as much to me as the love in your eyes that day. At least not until you showed up at what eventually became our front door, soaking wet, gorgeous, and willing to give us a chance.

I love our history. I love that even when I annoyed the hell out of you, you gave me the chance to prove myself again and again. You never truly gave up on me and for that I will be forever grateful.

And now we've reached the end of singledom in our adventure; let's move on to the year in which we've been together. I could have sent you to a lot of places that have been important to us or have played an integral role in our story over the past twelve months but one in particular is calling to me. The place where after four years you finally did the thing you'd been threatening to do since the day we met.

You shot me.