A/N: I always tell myself that I'm not going to write for another fandom, but with all the angst and drama on Castle lately I couldn't help myself! I've been through somewhat of a dry spell writing-wise lately, and I'm not sure I'll be able to do Castle and Beckett justice, but the idea for this came to me last Monday morning while waiting at my grandmother's doctor's office (of course the promo for that night's episode kept airing in the waiting room…), and I couldn't let it go. Especially after seeing the preview for the next episode! I didn't really want to do a post-47 Seconds fic, but I definitely wanted to do something current, and I think this fits quite nicely. :)

I'm not used to jumping into a new fandom with a multi-chap story, but we'll see how it goes. :) Please read and enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle. :(

Chapter 1

Kate Beckett rubbed her eyes blearily as she sank into her chair at her desk. She stared at her monitor silently and heaved a sigh. She usually liked to get to the precinct before the guys and get a head start on her day—get her head in the zone. But even after nearly 10 minutes of trying to force herself to turn on her computer, maybe finish the paperwork she'd put off the night before, she couldn't manage to do so.

She'd stayed out with Colin until nearly eleven, but even she knew that wasn't why she hadn't slept well all night, why she was half-asleep now. She had seen the way Castle had breezed past her when she asked if they could talk… it was almost as if she didn't matter to him at all anymore. What had happened that he would act like he didn't know how much what they had together meant? He had to know it, right? Behind all the banter, all the jokes and the looks and the inadvertent brushes up against each other—behind all her running and all her suppressed emotions—he had to know that no one in the world mattered to her like Richard Castle did.

He had to, right?

She wasn't sure what was changing between them, but it scared her. She didn't want to lose him, but… maybe—maybe she already h—

She shook her head violently as she choked back a sob and pushed herself to her feet, not willing to think about it. If she lost Castle, then she lost everything—her joy, her hope, her best friend, her future. She couldn't bear the thought that she had waited too long and that she could never—would never—have Castle again.

She couldn't live with herself.

Kate made her way into the break room to make herself a cup of coffee, trying to clear her mind, prepare herself for the day. She had to talk to Castle—she would, soon—but for now, she had families who were depending on her to find answers and catch the bad guys. She couldn't, wouldn't let them down.

That, and Ryan and Esposito would be in soon, and there was no way they would find her crying over her coffee cup.

She'd returned to her desk, shrugged out of her jacket, and managed to take a sip of her coffee before Espo burst in the door, all grins and morning sunshine. She grumbled into her coffee cup as he retreated to the break room, and, when he returned, she plastered a grin on her face. Ryan would be here soon, and if she wasn't back to her usual self, at least one of them would pick up on it.

Kate's eyes widened at the site of Rick Castle, climbing out of his red Ferrari across the street. She slowly climbed out of her car and shut the door behind her, staring at him the whole time. She'd texted him, told him about the murder, like she'd always done, but, to be honest, she really hadn't expected anything. Over the past two weeks since they'd wrapped up the bombing case, he had slowly been pulling away, and he rarely, if ever, showed up for a new case before 10 o'clock in the morning.

She'd figured he would have slept in—maybe not even shown up at all—thanks to stewardess-blond-bimbo-lady he'd probably had sex with late into the night. Or morning. Whatever. (Eghhh, she really did not want to be thinking about that.)

Plastering a grin on her face, she called out to him with false bravado. "Castle!"

He grinned at her, but it nowhere near come to lighting his eyes like it used to. "Detective Beckett," he said, nodding formally.

"I didn't know if you would make it," she said, glancing over at him casually.

He frowned at her. "Why not?"

She gestured mindlessly with her left hand. "Well, it is only 8:30. And I figured you'd be with your stew—flight attendant—" she corrected herself, glancing at him. He was dressed in fitted jeans and a navy striped dress shirt, and it crossed her mind that he shouldn't be able to look that good this early in the morning. Especially since he'd probably just rolled out of bed.

He was so infuriating sometimes.

He rolled his eyes at her. "Don't be silly. I want to help."

She flashed her badge to the officer stationed at the perimeter of the crime scene, and, as he let them pass, she lifted the crime scene tape for them both to slip underneath. She reached into her jacket pocket to retrieve her gloves and strode up the front steps of the suburban home, surveying her surroundings as she went.

They found the body on the ground, covered in a white sheet, in the living room, and she stopped cold in her tracks.

Nothing in the room was where it should have been—furniture was overturned and completely destroyed, broken glass littered the floor, the couch and the grand piano seemed to have been hacked open with an axe, and blood was splattered everywhere.

Across the wall in front of her, written in blood, were the words, Number One. She hugged herself self-consciously.

In all her days as a detective, she had never seen anything like this.

"Wha—" She cleared her throat and tried again, tearing her gaze from the carnage to look at Lanie. "Lanie, is all this—did all this come from… just one person?"

Lanie's hand was on the sheet, holding it down over the body. She nodded solemnly. "It ain't pretty," she said, shaking her head. When Kate came close and crouched down next to the body, Lanie peeled back the sheet just enough for Kate to see the young woman's face.

Kate gagged and covered her mouth with her forearm, trying to regain control. The young woman's face was disfigured beyond recognition from all the abuse it had received, and was completely covered in her own blood, caked to her skin. Blood was matted into her fair blond hair, and her eyelids were swollen shut over her eyes.

Lanie quietly lowered the sheet back over the woman's face. "She appears to have been beaten to death—but parts of her body show signs of torture so I won't know more until I get her back to the morgue."

Kate nodded and backed away slowly, looking for Esposito and Ryan. She caught Ryan's glance from across the room, and he hurried over to them. "What do we know?"

Ryan flipped through his notes. "The victim's name was Elizabeth Sutton. She was a writing student at Columbia University. She lives with her aunt and uncle while she goes to school—they came home from vacation early this morning to find her like this."

"What about her parents?"

Ryan consulted his notes again. "They live in Greenwich, Connecticut." He ripped a sheet of paper from his notebook. "Here's the address. We've got this here—thought you might want to talk to them."

She nodded. "Thanks, Ryan." She turned to go, glancing at Castle as she went. "You coming, Castle?"

Kate glanced over at Castle again as she pulled into the Sutton's home on Glenwood Drive, and she sighed. Castle had his earbuds shoved in his ears—something he would have never been caught dead doing before, not around her, at least—and the volume must have been turned way up, because she was sure she hadn't heard such grating, revolting racket in a long time.

She wanted her Castle back. The one who always insisted on holding the door for her—every door—always sang along with the radio (purposely off-key and sometimes at the top of his lungs), confided in her about Alexis, could make her smile in a heartbeat, drove her absolutely crazy, but made her feel happier and safer than anyone on the entire planet. Which, really, when you thought about it—it was pretty dumb, seeing that she was the cop with a gun.

But still.

She missed him—oh, how she missed him—and she didn't know what had prompted this Castle, either. Just looking at him, taking in the strong curve of his jaw, his expressive sea-grey blue eyes (that usually twinkled with secrets only he knew), those lips she'd been dying to kiss—not five seconds after she'd knocked out that security guard and he had proclaimed that it was amazing. Castle—he was broad and strong and completely embodied happiness and home, and she had known, despite their quibbles and jokes and secrets, that she could always hide in the haven of his arms. Castle was her home. She hadn't been able to tell him—she just couldn't get the words out—but she thought he had known, anyway.

If disgust wasn't rolling off of him in waves, she would have been tempted to reach across the seat, caress his cheek, and try to tell him how much she wanted this, how much she wanted them.

She would give just about anything for him to quirk that half-grin at her, like he still believed that anything was possible. And here she was, about to give a death notification and ask half a dozen questions she never wanted to put the Suttons through, and all she could think about was pulling a smile out of Castle, seeing him look at her the way he had every day for the past four years.

They had to talk—she needed to know what was creating this chasm between them—but now was not that time.

She reached over and touched his upper arm, her heart sinking when he pulled away from her touch. "Castle, we're here," she said, trying to hide the hurt in her voice. "Are you coming in?"

He put away his iPhone and wordlessly climbed out of her car, and she locked the doors behind them. She had to jog to catch up to him, and she wondered why he'd come if he was going to be this miserable. Maybe she'd talk to him about that later.

A few moments later, a woman in her mid-forties came to the door, still dressed in her pajamas and nursing a steaming mug of coffee. "Yes?" she asked, and Kate glanced at the ground before making eye contact with the woman. Death notifications were never easy. Even after years of being on the force, she still wasn't used to them.

"Mrs. Sutton?"

"Yes?"

Kate held up her badge for the woman to see. "My name is Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD. This is Richard Castle," she said with a nod. "May we come in?"

Mrs. Sutton frowned at her but moved out of the way. "Sure—but… what is this about?"

"Is there somewhere we can sit?"

"What is this about, detective?" Mrs. Sutton was becoming more and more insistent. Usually Kate tried to get them to sit, both for their safety and her reassurance, but she could tell Elizabeth's mother wasn't going to do anything until she knew why they were here.

She took a deep breath. "Mrs. Sutton, your daughter Elizabeth's body was found in your sister's house this morning—"

Disbelief flashed across her face, followed quickly by fear. "No—no, no. Not Ellie. There's no way. There's got to be a mista-ake…"

Castle ran over to catch her as her weight fell from underneath her, and he carried her over to the nearby couch. "Mrs. Sutton," he whispered soothingly, settling her against the cushions and fanning her. "Beckett, go get her some water."

She hadn't passed out, but she nearly had. Kate did what Castle asked, knowing how good he was with the victims' families. By the time she got back and handed the water to Mrs. Sutton, she was curled up in a ball on the couch, and Castle was whispering reassuring words to her, never promising everything would be all right but never letting her feel like she was alone.

Castle was so good at that. Maybe that's why she brought him, even though he wouldn't give her the light of day. The victims and their families needed him.

Kate crouched down in front of her. "Mrs. Sutton, is there anyone you can call?"

She looked around the room, looking shell shocked, and finally, she said, "My-my husband. He's at work. Ohhh—" Her face crumpled all over again as tears filled her eyes. "He's at work. He doesn't even know…"

Over the next hour, Kate and Castle helped Mrs. Sutton make telephone calls, and when her husband made it home, they both opened up about their oldest daughter, telling them all about Elizabeth's activities in at their local church, with the neighborhood children, and all her volunteer activities.

As Kate closed the Sutton's front door behind them, she said, "I just don't get it, Castle. Elizabeth's family is well-to-do, but she wasn't killed for her family's connections. There was no money missing, no missing jewelry, no demands—he didn't even try and kidnap her before he killed her. She was likely tortured which means he wanted information on something, but as far as I can tell, she wasn't involved in anything that would have warranted being tortured like that. She was a good girl. She helped others, volunteered almost all of her time, sang in her church's choir. None of that is in the least bit suspicious."

Castle glanced back at the house before lowering himself into the passenger seat. "Well, they are just her parents. She doesn't live with them most of the time. Maybe her aunt and uncle and friends will know more."

Kate sighed. "Yeah. Maybe." She couldn't help but think that Elizabeth Sutton didn't deserve to die in the first place.

As she pulled onto the street to head back to the precinct, neither she nor Castle noticed the beat-up, pale blue sedan that pulls out into traffic behind them, nor do they realize when it follows them all the way back to the 12th.

A/N: So, continue-worthy? I feel completely rusty when it comes to writing fiction, and I feel like there are so many better writers on here than me, but I figured I would give it a go.

Please let me know what you think!