A/N: Insert for 4x19, 47 Seconds. I don't own anything
He had to get out of the observation room fast. Pushing the door open, he made sure to close it quietly so Beckett couldn't hear. Esposito looked up at him as he passed his desk.
"Where you going, man?" He looked genuinely confused, Castle loved watching Beckett in interrogation, so him leaving midway through one was a bit weird.
"Family emergency. I'll be back later." Castle replied hastily, grabbing up whatever things he'd brought in that morning - his phone, wallet, and pride – and made a quick escape to the elevator.
Espo nodded, accepting his response as a good enough answer, before going on with his work.
When Beckett left interrogation, she'd have no clue he knew. Castle wanted it that way, because if they had a conversation about the fact that she knew? She'd run further than he could ever even try catching up to.
He'd accepted that fact a long time ago. And now he needed to accept she didn't feel the same. That's the way it was.
He got off the elevator and pushed his way outside. He needed fresh air, and the second he reached it he gasped, sucking in as much air as possible. He quickly moved around the corner, to a semi-abandoned alley, where he leant against the wall and took deep, long breaths, until he felt his heartbeat start to slow.
He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, his face settled in his hands, his knees pulled up.
Why would Beckett lie? He'd thought – brief moments of doubt – that she might've been lying about it, but he always had faith in Beckett. Always. And now? Finding out that she didn't tell the truth, that she knew about what had happened? What he'd said? He felt betrayed.
He had to stick around though, keep her nose out of her mother's murder. He promised Smith.
He promised himself.
But he'd pull away as much as possible. Hang around enough to keep an eye on her, but not enough to hurt himself. He never intended it to end up this way, but what other way was it going to end? Him with Beckett? That chance was low enough as it is, but now he had proof that she didn't want him.
So he was going to go vent to his mother, pull away from Beckett, maybe go to Vegas for a weekend, anything to get his mind off her. Maybe this time it will work.
But it probably won't.
So he brought himself to his feet, and began to walk through the busy New York streets, eyes unfocused, head spinning, but still able to let him know where and where not to go.
Walking should clear his head, not the opposite. He wasn't fazed when people walked into him, and the occasional 'Hey, move out of the way!' barely got a reaction from him. The Old Haunt called to him for a second, but he shook those thoughts away. He needed rational thinking right now and he wasn't going to get that through a bottle of scotch.
He couldn't talk to Alexis, he knew she was feeling under the weather from all the senior year stuff she was going through, and so he was going to talk to his mother.
Maybe he wasn't thinking completely rationally.
Nonetheless, he continued towards his loft, his mother would no doubt be there – she had no pressing lunch date, no acting school requirements. She preferred to go out at night anyway. She would be available for a good chat.
But would he? Honestly, he didn't know where he'd be without Beckett. Would he be a washed up writer? Would he still have a good relationship with Alexis and his mother?
He didn't have any of the answers. But now was the time to find them.