We all need a freefall to teach us how to fly – R. Lyons

"Castle, do you have second? Can we talk?"

"Actually, I don't. Jacinda has the Ferrari double-parked in loading zone."

The words bounced around in his head and made him want to punch the wall of the elevator he was in. It was a lie. There was no Jacinda and no Ferrari waiting for him in the loading zone at the rear of the 12th Precinct.

"She doesn't seem like your type."

What there was instead was a truckload of anger and hurt. He'd wanted her to feel it, too, so he'd hurled some knives at her in the form of words. He was a writer, after all, even though he'd once stupidly thought he might be more than that. Might be considered her partner.

"She's fun and uncomplicated. I think that's what my life needs right now."

It was petty and infantile. But worse than that was the fear that his words hadn't cut her at all.

Because she didn't care.

Kate Beckett knew he loved her, but she pretended not to because that way she wouldn't have to deal with it. That way she could keep stringing him along and he'd be there when she needed his crazy theories to spark new life into a murder investigation.

She was a lot of things, his partner; beautifully unpredictable on a good day and wildly infuriating on a bad one, but he'd never, ever. have pegged her for a coward.

How wrong he'd been.

Castle felt the silk lining of his jacket pocket, instinctively aware that something was missing.

Fuck.

His phone.

He could have sworn he had it on him a minute ago, when he'd thrown Jacinda into Beckett's face.

The elevator jolted when it reached ground level, bouncing him around a couple of times before the door jerked open. It wasn't the first time it had done that this week. A couple of days ago, he had to wait a few minutes before the door finally opened.

Otis. 1962.

That's what was engraved on the metal template below the buttons, in a vintage font belonging to the same era.

This thing was older than he was. No wonder it was cranky and temperamental.

Castle pressed the button to take him back up to Homicide, hoping that Beckett wasn't there when he got out. That maybe she'd gone for a coffee in the break room or decided to take the stairs down, as she often did.

It was when the door opened that he suddenly noticed an unnatural weight in his left pocket.

His iPhone. Why would it be there? He never put it in the left pocket. How out of sorts had he been lately to do that?

But there it was indeed, in his left jacket pocket, and there was Beckett, standing right outside the elevator landing as soon as the door opened, waiting to step inside.

He got an icy glare instead of a hello. "You forget something, Castle? Or did you come back to show me a photo of some squid ink risotto that you and Jacinda had on your lunch date?"

He was taken aback. Unprepared for the venom in her voice. If he didn't know better, he would have thought she was jealous.

Beckett crossed her arms and waited for him to get out, and when he didn't she stepped inside the elevator anyway, turning her back to him as she pressed the button for the ground level.

"I thought I did," he shot back, into the back of her head. "Forget something that is." He felt for his phone again. "Turns out I was mistaken."

There was no response from her.

He got the cold shoulder. Literally.

The soft, white turtleneck sweater she wore made her shoulders jut out like icicles, behind the cascade of long brown hair that he was facing.

Beckett was standing right in front of him, staring at the door of the elevator in silence, arms crossed, and he was staring at her backside, wondering what it would feel like to run his fingers through that beautiful hair.

Don't you do that, he chided his foolish brain for that and all the other thoughts he couldn't control. Not with that view.

He shut his eyes.

In a handful of seconds the elevator door would open and she'd storm out.

It couldn't happen soon enough. Five seconds were an unbearable eternity. Maybe for once his mother was right. He had to get away from the 12th until he'd flushed Kate from his system, because being around her was agony.

He opened his eyes again only to see Beckett bounce a little in front of him, as though she'd stepped on a spring.

The elevator jolted and suddenly he was weightless. His feet were airborne as the elevator plunged like an amusement park ride and then violently jerked to a halt.

It couldn't have plunged more than a floor, if that, but those nanoseconds of weightlessness were enough to knock them both off balance and topple them down to the ground like human dominoes.

Fool that he was, his first instinct was to reach for her and break her fall, but she didn't need it. Beckett was back on her feet in an instant and finally turned around to face him.

"What the hell…?"

Meanwhile he was still on his ass, wincing at the pain that was shooting through his knees.

For an instant he thought she was about to hold out her hand to help him up, but then decided against it.

So he got up himself, with considerably less speed and grace than she did.

Castle dusted off his pants and watched Beckett press the ground floor button multiple times, stabbing her index finger into it to no avail. Without hesitation, she then pressed the red-coloured alarm button.

"It was acting up earlier too," he offered lamely.

"You okay in there?" a voice rang through the intercom. Castle recognized it as coming from Officer Dellaventura, the 12th precinct's evening dispatcher.

"Fine," Beckett answered.

"Anything happening when you press the buttons?"

"Nope."

"You in there alone, Detective Beckett?" There was no camera in the aging elevator, but Castle knew that Dellaventura recognized Beckett's voice. There weren't that many female homicide detectives at the 12th.

"Castle's with me."

Castle could've sworn he heard Dellaventura chuckle. "I'm sure he doesn't mind being stuck with you, Detective."

"Are you getting us some help here, Officer?" Beckett, who never threw around her rank, lingered on the last word and it was enough to temporarily silence Dellaventura.

"Are either of you in any distress?"

Castle eyed the intercom. Yes. You have no idea.

"No. We're not."

"In that case I'm gonna follow procedure, Detective. Wait ten minutes to see if it resets and if it doesn't I'll call in a technician."

"How 'bout you call them in now?"

For the first time in days, Castle nodded in agreement with her. "Good idea."

"I'll run it by the captain, Detective."

Beckett released her index finger from the intercom button. "Oh for fuck's sake. That'll take longer than ten minutes." She concentrated on the panel of buttons in front of her as though it were a murder board. As though it were a case that she could solve. And when she realized that she couldn't, she slammed the palm of her hand into the 'door open" button.

The elevator didn't offer so much as a grunt in return.

Castle, on the other hand, made himself comfortable. He slid down against the wall and wondered how it was possible that his day kept getting worse. As if watching a dolled-up Beckett go to a soiree with that James Bond-wannabe draped over her arm wasn't bad enough.

At least this way if the elevator decided to take another dip, his ass was already on the ground. He might not be claustrophobic, but the thought that it could plunge another two stories or so down to the lower level of the underground parking lot did unsettle him a bit.

And of course his overactive imagination went there.

Beckett finally gave up sat down as well, cross-legged and as far away from him as the small space allowed, and because staring at the wall or the door would have been ridiculous, she was forced to face him this time.

Anger.

That's the first thing he saw on her face.

That's rich, he thought, feeling his own anger rise in response. As if she were the one who'd been duped and strung along for a year. He looked her straight in the eye. "You said you wanted to talk. I guess we have time now."

Hurt. He could see that in her eyes too now, and as angry as he was with her, it gnawed at his insides. He wasn't good at hurting her, and he was okay with that. Earlier outburst aside, it wasn't something he ever wanted to be good at, no matter how much she'd hurt him.

"Is that what that I have to do to talk to you these days? Trap you in an elevator?"

"Are you saying this is your doing then? I'm flattered."

She shot him a look of disbelief. "Don't you have to call your date and tell her you're running late?"

Date? Castle suddenly remembered his lie. Jacinda double-parked in the loading zone.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to his daughter. Can you grab some fettucine on your way home? The fresh-made ones from Gourmet Garage.

He waited for a reply. Saw that Beckett was watching him.

His phone buzzed.

-Can't, Dad. Studying at the library 'til late tonight. Ask grandma?

-No worries.

He put the phone back in his pocket. "Guess she'll take the Ferrari for a spin without me."

"The poor thing."

"You said you wanted to talk," he reiterated. Irritation rising again. Maybe it was the fact that she couldn't run this time that spurred him on, because he suddenly itched for a confrontation. One that she wouldn't be able to flee from.

Beckett ran a hand through her hair and stood back up. "Doesn't matter anymore," she mumbled and then jabbed her finger back into the intercom. "Dellaventura! Tell me you called a technician."

"Yes, Detective," the officer's voice answered instantly. "ETA is thirty to forty minutes."

"Seriously?" Beckett groaned. "Forty minutes?" Then she paced and gave the console another whack for good measure.

"Why don't you sit down?" Castle suggested. "We're stuck here whether we like it or not. You have somewhere you need to be?"

She made no move to sit down. "Maybe I do."

"A few drinks with Scotland Yard before you drop him off at the airport?"

"That's right," she shot back, latching onto the provocation. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing," he mumbled. "Do what you want in your spare time."

"At least I leave my dates in my spare time. I don't drive up to crime scenes with them."

"Says the woman who used to kiss her police detective boyfriend at the precinct. I didn't realize getting a ride up to the yellow tape was a crime."

Irritation made her pace faster. "What is wrong with you lately? It's like I don't know you anymore."

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?" He got back up as well, needing to be on equal terms in this fight. The elevator suddenly became a boxing ring. "My dating life?"

"I…uh, no." She was inexplicably flustered. "Yes."

"What business is it of yours? You've made it clear that you and I are nothing more than work partners."

"I did what?"

She had such a convincing look of shock on her face that Castle almost wanted to applaud her acting skills.

"What are you talking about, Castle?"

She really was going to make him spell it out. Unbelievable. "I was there. When you interrogated Bobby and told him you remembered everything from the day you got shot. Everything."

Her eyes widened into a different kind of shock. "You where there?"

"I was there," he confirmed. "You know that I love you. You've known for a year. But you'd rather pretend that I didn't."

Colour was draining from her face and she was at least two shades paler than a minute ago. "What…?"

"I thought that when we talked at the swings all those months ago…that it meant something different, and that's my mistake. I can't expect you to feel something that you don't, Kate. I can accept that you don't feel the same way. I can accept that being with the funniest kid in class isn't enough. But, after everything we've gone through together, I did expect you to be honest with me. To not play me for a fool…"

She shook her head, vehemently, "Oh God, Castle, no. That is not what…"

Beckett didn't finish her sentence because suddenly the lights flickered and then they went out altogether, plunging them into darkness. A second later the sound of something snapping ripped through the air, as though a whip had cracked down onto the ceiling above them.

The old elevator shook violently and then it began another freefall.