Light splashes on the walls and Castle's got an image of Beckett in his head that he'll take to his grave: her sitting in the middle of the bed, sheets drawn up around her waist, her long neck bent forward as she wills herself not to cry. The sight of her hits him in his solar plexus.

"Hey, hey, hey, now hang on..." He crosses the room and, for once, he's not taking inventory. He sits on the edge of the bed and puts his hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Jesus, she's shaking.