Another friendly reminder: if you are squeamish, don't read this. If you are looking for a fluffy fic, trust me-this isn't it. Nothing in here is more than what you'd see on primetime TV, but it is rated T for a reason. If you're still in for the ride after my warnings, here we go :)

She sends Castle for coffee after she finishes working the scene, right around five AM. She needs a moment to think. She loves him next to her to bounce ideas off of and build theory, but he's doing that thing he does sometimes when he's a proud boyfriend instead of her partner. He's impressed that Levitt is impressed. Part of her is triumphant that even after five years, she can still impress him. Most of her is horrified by her tortured victim.

She needs to solve this case. Now.

She ticks off the details. Jamie Easton, 21. Intern at a high profile publicity firm a few blocks north of the Waldorf, and a senior at Columbia. Her father owns a prolific chain of department stores, and she's a trust fund baby.

Was a trust fund baby.

Kate doesn't want to admit it, but Levitt was right. If she'd known who Jamie was before she examined the scene, she might've pushed it off as a money thing. It still could be about money. It's definitely somebody with a vendetta. The location of the crime, the horrible bruises mottling her skin, the asphyxiation—the cruelty is stunning.

"Yo. Beckett."

Kate turns, sees a tired looking Esposito and Ryan heading toward her. "Hey," she greets. "How's it going with the wedding guests?"

Esposito shakes his head. "Not good. Nobody heard a thing."

"There was a couple in the room next door," Ryan says. "They swear they didn't hear anything. But they were, uh…otherwise engaged."

Kate shakes her head. "I don't care how engaged they were. The screams that come with torture like that would've interrupted."

"Unless she didn't scream," Esposito says.

"Why wouldn't she?"

"Gagged. Drugged. Who knows," he says, shrugging noncommittally. "But you can't hear something that didn't happen."

Kate sighs. "What about the other five senses? Anybody see anything?"

Ryan glances at his notepad. "A couple guys say they noticed her, but not with anyone suspicious."

"Same here," Esposito echoes.

"This was a private party," Kate says. "Hotel security told me that no one got off the elevator without an invitation in hand."

"What about the stairs?"

"Hotel security posted there too."

Esposito shakes his head. "Big deal wedding, huh?"

"Eastons," Ryan says, looking around the room. "Money can't buy love, but it can buy everything else."

"Can't buy love?" Esposito says, looking at his partner.

Ryan looks confused. "Well, yeah. Not real love."

Esposito gives Kate a look. "I thought the honeymoon phase was over."

Kate smiles but ignores him. "If it wasn't the guests, then that leaves the staff. Get a list of everyone that worked with the caterers, the DJ, everybody. I want anything we can get. We'll run it, see if we've got anyone with a record."

They nod in unison, already on the way. She watches them go, biting her lip. She's got a feeling that this case is going to be long and awful. She can already smell a dead end coming.

"Detective?"

Kate turns. A very tall, very attractive man is looking down at her. He's in a tux, his bow tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck. He's young, but the darkness in his eyes clues her in that he's one of the victims of this murder.

"I'm Nate Hale," he says, holding out his hand. "They told me you're the detective in charge?"

Kate shakes his hand. "Yes. Detective Beckett. What can I do for you, Mr. Hale?"

"I'm Jamie's boyfriend," he says. The haunted look in his eyes suddenly makes sense, and Kate feels the twinge of familiarity. How many times has she looked at a victim and wondered if they can see that she, too, has a piece of her missing?

"I'm sorry for your loss," she says.

He nods, swallows. "Yeah. Thanks. Uh. Those other two detectives, they asked if I saw anyone suspicious, and I said no, because I hadn't. But I just realized…" he shakes his head. "I don't know if it'll help."

"Anything you can remember helps," Kate assures him.

"Okay. Jaim and I…we were on a break. Rough patch, you know. I was going to try to talk things out with her tonight, but when I went to find her she was draped over some guy."

"You'd never seen him before?"

"No. At first I thought he was one of the caterers. He had on one of those black vests, you know. But he didn't have a name tag. Anyway, they went that way." Nate points over her shoulder and Kate turns, sees him pointing in the direction of the murder scene. "I didn't see her after that."

"Do you think you could describe him to a sketch artist?"

He shrugs. "I can try. Whatever helps."

X-X-X-X-X

Kate takes her time putting everything up on the murder board. Castle watches her from his position perched on the edge of the desk. She's had more cups of coffee than she can count, and it's only ten in the morning. She's exhausted. If Castle hadn't brought breakfast when he came back to the Waldorf, she'd be starving, too.

This murder has been hers for seven hours, and it's already leeched into her bones. Jamie Easton is the same age that Kate was when her mother died. It's odd, that she's identifying with the dead girl instead of the live victims—it's usually the other way around. But this time, she sees herself in Jamie. Sees the party girl she was at her age, remembers how the death of her mother only intensified her recklessness: on her bike, in the clubs, at her job. She's spent the past ten years living with the effects of her mother's death, but right now all she can think about is how it would've affected her mother if she'd been the one to die instead.

The caffeine has made her jittery. She curves one of her letters oddly, swears softly under her breath, and erases it. She sighs. She feels his presence behind her suddenly, the change in atmosphere comforting.

"Long morning," he says, his voice sliding over her skin like satin. She closes her eyes and drinks it in; it's the kind of stimulant she's been fruitlessly searching for at the bottom of a coffee cup.

"Yes," she finally says.

"Tonight," he continues. "When it's quitting time. You and me. Take-out. A movie. We can doze. I'll even let you drool on me."

She smiles at the murder board. "We're an old couple already."

"Last night negates whatever happens tonight."

Heat thrills through her veins, the memory of his lips on her skin giving the air between them a nearly audible crack. She hums low under her breath. "I'd say it's worth about a week of negations."

"Maybe a month," he murmurs.

It's dangerous, playing these games with him at work. Not because she's afraid they'll get caught, but because it leaves her with desire simmering in her core, a want that will hit its boiling point by the time they get home. They need to sleep tonight, but the way things are looking, she'll be climbing him like a tree before they even make it off the elevator.

Her cell rings, breaks the moment just in time. She answers it as she turns to face him.

"Beckett," she says, enunciating the letters and holding his eyes. She chews her lip, and he gives her one of those looks that makes the boys pretend to gag.

"Detective," Dr. Evans' voice says on the other end of the line. "I've got some…news. Can you meet me in the morgue?"

X-X-X-X-X

Something about Evans's voice on the phone has put her right back on edge. She drums her fingers on her thigh as they head for the morgue. She feels Castle watching her, wonders if she should tell him that she feels unsettled because she's identifying with the murdered socialite a little more than she should. She decides not to mention it until they're home. If she does it now, he'll worry. She doesn't like to make him worry.

When they push through the doors of the morgue, Evans is standing next to Jamie Easton's body looking absolutely bulldozed. His face is a bloodless white, the kind of expression that Kate only sees on professionals like him when something really, really bad has happened. She glances at Castle, wonders how she can protect him from this. He's a grown man but he's also hers, and she doesn't like when part of her world dims part of his. It isn't fair.

"Dr. Evans," she greets, forcing her attention back to the M.E.

Evans looks up, tries and fails to give her a genuine smile. "Detective. You're here."

"We have a COD?" she prompts.

He nods. "Yeah. COD is asphyxiation, officially, but she was in a hell of a lot of pain before she died. Six broken bones, including a rib. Bruises everywhere. Cuts. She was tortured."

Kate is not surprised. They'd learned as much at the scene. Still, the word torture echoes through the cold room. "Any defensive wounds?"

"Not one."

Kate sighs, steps toward the body. "It doesn't make any sense. Her whole family and hundreds of guests were just outside the door. Not one person heard a scream and she didn't try to fight him off?"

"I think I know why. Her tox screen came back positive for alcohol. Point oh-eight."

"So she was drunk."

"And drugged. Her blood was laced with a drug called pancuronium. It only takes ninety seconds to kick in, but its effects last for a few hours."

She doesn't want to ask, because the way Evans is looking at her tells her she won't like the answer. But she has a job to do. "What kind of effects?"

He swallows. "It's a neuromuscular blocker. In layman's terms, it causes immediate paralysis without unconsciousness."

Nausea washes over her. "You mean she was awake when she was tortured."

"Not just awake. Awake and paralyzed. She couldn't fight off the perp. She couldn't even scream for help."

"So he's a sadist."

"Yeah. A sexual one."

The silence is deafening. Kate stares at Evans. She can hear her blood pounding in her ears. Beside her, Castle lets out a low and strangled, "Oh my God."

"Tell me he didn't," Kate murmurs.

Evans shakes his head. "I wish I could. The severe trauma says it all. Your victim wasn't just tortured, Beckett. She was raped."