Author's note: Hey there, it's Catherine (Cat's evil twin, teehee, or maybe she's the evil one…), this was originally intended to be a one-shot, but I'm not really sure what I'm going to do. But this was pretty fun to write. It is an AU and Clare and Eli are in there early thirties. I really hope you like it, and please review!

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Degrassi…only my own ideas.

Elevator:

I walk through the revolving door to my office building and briefly wave to the people at the front desk. I glance down at my watch. 8:03. Fuck. I'm late for the eight o'clock meeting. I start running towards the elevator, my feet being abraded by my new work heels. I'm going to have blisters tomorrow. I see the elevator doors closing and start sprinting.

"Wait!" I yell, thinking that it's already too late.

To my surprise, I see a hand poke through the elevator doors, stopping them from closing fully. I sigh a breath of relief and straighten myself out as the doors reopen. There is a man standing in the elevator and as I look him over I notice two things. The first, that he looks very peculiar in this work setting where I am used to seeing men dressed only in suits and the occasional pair of khakis on a Friday. This man is wearing a black leather jacket over some sort of band tee and tight gray jeans. I glance at his hands and note that some of his fingernails are coated with what looks like black sharpie. He looks to be about my age: in his early thirties, but he is dressed as some of the high school kids do. Somehow though, it seems to suit him. He wears his leather jacket and tight pants as if he were the one who invented the look. The second thing I notice is that he is extremely attractive. He's got green eyes that seem to smolder, big lips that are turned up at one side, and dark hair that frames his face perfectly. With his hands tucked into his pockets and his eyebrows raised at me he looks…sexy. But of course, he's not my type. I don't go for guys like that. I want nothing to do with this mysterious man with the green eyes and clothes like a teenager. My kind of guy is someone like me; someone who works hard at his job and takes himself seriously; someone who wears a suit and the occasional khaki on a Friday; someone predictable and well…normal.

The doors begin to close and I realize that I've been staring at him. This is New York. I have to remind myself, even after having lived here for the past ten years. This is where people never make eye contact and always face front towards the elevator door. This is where people look at no one and focus only on getting where they need to go. And right now, where I need to go is to the seventeenth floor to make it in time for my meeting. I press the button on the elevator and feel my equilibrium shift as we rise from the Earth.

"You really wanted to make this elevator, didn't you?" He says and I look at him, the sideways smile still on his face.

"Well I—I have a meeting," for some reason I stutter, and I don't know why. I should feel superior to this man. I am successful and finally accomplishing everything that I've wanted to accomplish, while he is still wearing clothes from when he was sixteen. But I don't feel superior. Instead I feel like I'm back at high school. Back at Degrassi where I was a nerd; where I was an insecure teenager whose boyfriend dumped her for a blonde cheerleader.

"Everyone seems to have a meeting here or somewhere that they need to go to. And that somewhere is always the most important thing," he says this passionately, like he's been contemplating this for a long time.

"Well," I begin to respond as I watch the number above the elevator door increase from 5 to 6, "in that moment the somewhere is the most important thing. Everyone has somewhere important they need to go. Everyone has goals. What's so wrong with that?" I wonder for a moment why I'm even taking the time to have this conversation with this man. But I am, and I realize that I want to. That I feel like I'm supposed to. But since when do I follow my intuition?

"What's wrong with that is that if everyone focuses all their attention on their goals they might miss out on something that's really important. They might never stop to smell the roses. If everyone is so focused on the where and the when, they may never stop to think about the how and the why and the who."

The number above the elevator has reached ten now and I feel the elevator suddenly jerk. I lose my balance and almost fall into the man, but I restabilize. The elevator has come to a complete stop. I look at my watch again and it is now 8:05. Oh crap. I really don't need this. Why today, of all days, did the elevator decide to break? I frantically push the alarm button.

"Looks like we're gonna be here for a while," he says and I shoot him a glare.

"This is Elevator Assistance, are you in need of assistance?" I hear a disembodied voice say.

"Yes. We are stuck on the tenth floor; we've come to a complete stop."

"Okay, we will try to help you as soon as we can."

"If it's possible, I really need to get out of here quickly. I have an eight o'clock meeting, and it's crucial that I don't miss it," I plead the speaker from which the voice is coming. I hear the man scoff in the background and shoot him another look that I hope says 'I am so not in the mood right now'

"We will try our best and should have you down within an hour or two."

"An hour or two? No. I have a meeting and I cannot miss it. Please!"

"As I said, we will work as efficiently as possible, but this process could take a while."

"No, you don't understand…"

I hear a long beep and then an automated voice come on and say, "Thank you for contacting elevator assistance, please hold tight and do not leave the vicinity of the elevator as your assistance is acquired."

I feel like screaming. "Don't leave the vicinity of the elevator? I couldn't even if I tried!" I'm frantic now and I begin pounding on the door. "Help! Somebody help!"

I feel hands wrap around my wrists and I whip my head around, "Calm down there Blue Eyes, you don't want to jolt the elevator," he says softly.

"What did you just call me?"

"Blue Eyes," he says simply, "I don't exactly know your name, and I noticed that you have nice eyes. Very blue. Pretty," he is still holding on to my wrists and I yank them away, slouching down into the corner of the elevator, not caring at that moment that I would get my work clothes wrinkled and dirty by doing so. I lean my head back and take in a long breath, letting it out through my mouth.

"My name is Clare," I say, frustrated, "Please do not call me anything else, just Clare. Unless you prefer Ms. Edwards, which would be suitable judging by your attire."

"Hey, what's wrong with my attire, Clare?" He emphasizes my name.

"You look like you belong in high school," I say, waving a hand towards his ensemble. He doesn't really, he looks very right in his clothes, but I feel like being as insulting as I can possibly be.

"It's a form of self-expression," he says, with that sideways smile again, "Something that you with your suit and briefcase wouldn't understand."

"Hey," I say, "this suit cost eight hundred dollars!"

"My point exactly."

I can't help but smile just a little. "So," I say, "you know my name, it is generally polite to tell me yours."

"Is it now?"

"Yes, it is. Or should I just call you Green Eyes?"

He sits down beside me. "You can call me Green Eyes,"

"Hmmm…tempting, but no. I want a name."

He seems to contemplate for a moment, then finally he says, "it's Fred, Fred Johnson," he extends a hand, "nice to meet you."

I stare at his hand. "Your name is not Fred."

"Yes it is," he says, "I am insulted, Ms. Edwards, you just told me that my entire life's identity was false."

"I don't believe you," I say, "you paused."

"I paused?"

"You paused before you told me your name."

He smiles that funny smile again. "Very acute."

"So, are you going to tell me your name now?"

"Mmm…no."

"C'mon," I say, "Why not?"

"I like to retain an aura of mystery. Keeps you interested."

"No name no game," Was I actually flirting with this guy? God, it had been so long since I had flirted.

"Clare…"

I like the way he says my name. Snap out of it, Clare. He's not your type.

I don't respond, but pull out a book from my briefcase. Since I'm going to be here for a while, mine as well make use of the time. My book's getting to a good part. I flip open to the page that I have dog-eared and begin to read.

I am broken. There is no one to go to because the person that I would go to is gone. She's the one who broke me. Or am I the one who broke myself? I hate myself for what I did. I'm a murderer. I can't hide from the evil, because I am the evil. I stare at the picture in my hands and she stares back at me, her eyes seem to bear into my very being. Dark hair frames her white face and a black frame frames her. That's all she'll ever be now; a memory in a frame; a regret that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

"What book are you reading?" He asks.

I ignore him and flip the page.

He reads the cover, "Regret, by Elijah Goldsworthy. Hmm…is it any good?"

I try to keep reading but I can't focus with the man sitting inches away from me.

"Silent treatment. Real mature, now who's the one in high school?"

I slam the book shut, "still you."

"And she speaks!"

I stick my tongue out at him and he does his little smile thing again. A smirk. I note. That's what it is.

"So, is it?" he asks.

"Is what?"

"Is it any good?"

"Yes. It's quite good. He's my favorite author actually."

The man smirks again as if enjoying a private joke. "What about him do you like?"

"Are you finding this funny?" I say, hitting him playfully on the leg with my book.

"Not at all. I'm intrigued. Well…maybe I'm finding it a little funny. But I'm just trying to learn more about an interesting stranger."

"This, coming from someone who won't even tell me his first name."

He ignores my comment. "So what do you like about the author?"

I give in and begin to talk. "His prose is…powerful. It makes you think, you know? It's dark, but inspiring and beautiful. Not too many people know about him, and I used to not read stuff like this, but one day…" I trail off, realizing what I was about to tell him.

"One day, what?"

"Never mind," I say looking down.

"No, tell me."

I shake my head.

"Clare, chances are, you're never going to see me again. What's the harm in telling a fascinating stranger one of your dirty little secrets?"

"It's not dirty…it's just…you're going to think that it's silly."

"No I won't. This is a judgment free elevator."

I look up into his eyes and I can't shake that feeling again; like I'm back in high school; young and innocent, before I had goals and places that I needed to go, like it is just us here, with nothing to lose. "If I tell you, you have to tell me your name."

He thinks for a moment and then, extending a hand says, "deal."

I shake his hand, my eyes not leaving his. "Well, sometimes," I say, "I play this game. I have to walk into a bookstore, close my eyes, and run my hand along the spines of the books. Then, when I open my eyes, I have to buy and read whatever book I'm touching."

"I don't think that sounds silly at all," he says, looking at me with something new in his eyes; a kind of awe.

I blush, "One time I read the entire C section of an encyclopedia."

"You must be very knowledgeable, then."

"On everything from Calcium to the Czartoryski family."

He smiles. "So that's how you found the book."

I nod.

"It must feel liberating to do that."

"It is. So liberating. So often, people always feel like they have to have a plan. I always feel like I have to have a plan, but in that moment, I don't have to. I know that when I open my eyes, no matter what, everything will be okay. It's my own little way of taking a risk when I so rarely do. And hey, it led me to discover my favorite author, so maybe fate does play a hand."

He stares at me, and I stare at him, "It must," he says.

I jump, as if I have been in a trance when the bodiless voice comes back on through the speaker, "this is Elevator Assistance and we are pleased to inform you that your elevator is running once again, please press the corresponding number of your desired floor."

For some reason, getting to my meeting doesn't seem as important as it had before, but I get up off the floor and press seventeen once again. As promised, the elevator lifts us up, and neither of us talks until I step out of the elevator. I'm about to walk to the meeting room, but I quickly whip back around as the doors are closing. I place my hand in between the doors and they open back up.

"Yes?" He says softly.

"You—you never told me your name."

He smirks again, and as the doors begin to reclose he says, "It's Eli. Elijah Goldsworthy."

Author's Note: Was that really bad? I don't know, but as I said, it was supposed to be a oneshot, but it could be more. Please review and tell me what you think and if you think that I should continue!