Castle discovers that he doesn't like the answer to that question, regardless. Speculation is the stock and trade of policemen and authors, and neither one of them particularly enjoys being left dumb and blind in the middle of a story. Right now, Beckett's sending him clear signals that she doesn't want to consider the case, and that's fine. 'More fine is the comfortable slump she's gotten herself into, her shoulder blades pressed against his chest. He gives her upper arm a soft squeeze and moves his mouth to the crown of her head, laying a kiss into the part of her hair. "My work here is done," he says.