It's raining outside, Beckett can hear it. (Hear it, not see it. That's the key phrase.)

She lies on her side, back to the window, listening to the plaintive tap of rain on the glass, unable to move because of the pain that cuts through her chest every time she attempts to shift position. Occasionally, a roll of thunder will rip through the stillness, shaking the windows.

The angels bowling.

That's what her father had always told her when she was a little girl, so terrified of thunderstorms they nearly rendered her catatonic. Now they just seem to have an ethereal quality to them.

Beckett runs her finger across the starched white sheet of her hospital bed. Blinding light flashes outside her window, and the lights in her room dim. She hates hospitals. The strong smell of antiseptic (a smell Josh can never leave behind, no matter how hard he tries), the endless white, and the glaring lights. She hates it all.

Beckett closes her eyes, and tries to think of something else. Her fingers inevitably stray to the stitches that form a neat little line across her chest. She cringes, and remembers.

(It's a little hazy.) The first thing she remembers is the stiff heat and the rub of her collar against her neck. The second thing she remembers is that she almost missed a step while carrying the casket because she'd been staring at the back of Castle's head. Esposito had glanced back in her direction for a split second, his eyes concerned.

Then the speech.

Words about Montgomery, that he'd trained her, taught her what it means to be a cop, and then something about finding someone to stand with you.

Beckett's eyes snap open then, because she's coming to the part that keeps waking her up in the middle of the night, and she doesn't want to relive that right now. There's another roll of thunder, and then a soft knock at her door.

Castle walks in, trying desperately to stay serious, but Beckett can still detect the gleam of delight in his face. "Hello, Detective."

"Hi, Castle."

He sits down next to her bed, his eyes sliding over to the window, so he can watch the dark clouds move across the sky. Lightning flashes outside, lighting Castle's face (Beckett watches, and decides that he looks too tired. Far too tired, and that worries her).

"Castle?"

"Yeah?" His gaze comes back to her and he gives her a small smile. There's something in his eyes that she can't read.

"Will you tell me about the storm?"

"Describe it too you?"

"Yes." Beckett twists her fingers in the rough bedsheets, afraid he'll think she's being silly.

Castle nods once and walks over to the window. "The sky is this dark grey-blue color, and the clouds...Beckett you should see the clouds! They're like giant, dark lumps of cotton candy." His gaze moves away from the sky and down to the ground. "Most people are running out to their cars, trying to dodge the raindrops, but there's this one couple, each with their own umbrella, and they're holding hands and dancing through the rain." He turns to look at her, the small smile on his face lit up by a sudden flash of lightning.

Castle comes back to sit next to Beckett. "Of course you can hear the thunder-"

"The angels bowling," Beckett says, and she finds herself reaching out toward Castle. He takes her hand, and his eyes crinkle in the corners as he smiles brightly. "The angels bowling."

Beckett finds herself returning his smile (but it's less blinding than his, and has the touch of a grimace). "My dad used to tell me that when I was younger." A loud crash of thunder drowns out her next words.

I've never told anyone that.

Castle squeezes her hand like he knows, and Beckett can't help but think that maybe he does.

His thumb brushes the top of her hand.

(His touch reminds her of something, something she can't quite put her finger on, something about being happy, or staying, or love.)