Silence is terrible. Castle suddenly wishes that he hadn't said anything at all, that he'd let her keep on dancing an writhing and grinding (What are you? his libido taunts, A man or a mouse?) and drinking his good whiskey because, Jesus, she's really had a hell of a day. He knew what to do when there was noise. Now that it's quiet, he's finding it a lot harder to handle.

He starts to move toward the door, capturing the ends of his scarf and threading them through his collar. "Beckett," he says, but halfway through he loses what he was going to say. His pulse jumps in his ears.