Richard Rodgers has struggled his whole life, through his mother's disappearance and being forced to live with his alcoholic uncle, to being forced onto the streets of New York City. He has never known the meaning of home. At least not until he met her; Kate Beckett.

Tabatha's Author's Note: This is an extremely AU fanfiction and some of the characters are completely OOC at the beginning but will slowly develop more into character as it goes on, and some aspects of the characters storylines have been altered. This is my first collaboration with the amazing Ellie, who has always been there for me through thick and thin. So please be gentle but be critical.

NONE OF THE CHARACTERS BELONG TO ELLIE OR I. WE ARE JUST BORROWING THEM AND TWISTING THEM FOR FUN. ALL CHARACTERS YOU RECOGNISE BELONG TO THE SHOW WRITERS.

People think of New York City and they think of Broadway and neon lights, of the bustle of people on the streets and the tail-to-tail traffic. The Big Apple, the City that Never Sleeps. But nobody really thinks of the slums or the alleyways between the buildings, and more specifically, the people that live there. Hell, most people don't think of those in any the chance that they do, they either ridicule them or they throw money at them with some pitying remark and not a second glance.

It was no different for him.

Most of the time, he sits in the space between a coffee shop and some small lawyer's office, huddled up with his legs drawn up to his chest with his head leaned back and resting on the wall. Here he isn't bothered by the angry yells of restaurant managers who are throwing out the trash or the scowls thrown at him by passersby. Mostly he is just ignored, invisible to the people rushing to and from wherever it is they're going. That is how he's spent most of his life - invisible, that or hiding from the drunken rage of his uncle. The few friends he had inevitably left for one reason or another, so it isn't like it's anything new. His whole life he has been almost completely alone.

It is early in the morning on a cold Monday sometime in late November and the weather is bitter and dull, his thin coat doing almost nothing against the biting cold. As usual, his mind has begun to wander, listening to the sounds of the few people passing by at this early hour, never looking up, never asking for anything from anyone, preparing to get through another day. He only looks up when he hears the clack of high-heeled clack of shoes stop next to him. He dares to glance up and standing before him is a woman, and God she's gorgeous. A mile high with long caramel colored curls softly framing her face. And her beautiful hazel-green eyes are looking at him, actually looking at him in a way he doesn't think anyone has ever looked at him. It's like for the first time in his pitiful life someone was actually looking within him.

He thinks he feels his heart stop.

She doesn't normally go to this coffee shop, usually just going for the piss-poor crap that passes for coffee at the precinct. But last night had been rough and she hadn't gotten much sleep so today, she needed the good stuff.

She is about to step into the shop when she spots him.

He's young, very young. Maybe late twenties to early thirties. He's curled up against the wall, knees drawn up with his arms banding around them, his shoulders hunched in a feeble attempt to block out the cold, which his miserable excuse for a coat was completely useless against. Even from here she can see the gauntness to his face, the sunken-in quality around his eyes and the light scruff that covers his jaws. His hair is thick and shaggy, dark bangs hanging over his eyes, and falling nearly down to the base of his neck. He's not scrawny but he is definitely thinner than what should be considered healthy. To a normal person, he would look like the typical New York homeless man. To anybody but her.

His whole being radiated misery. His curled up figure looking as if he was trying to protect himself from more than just the cold. His eyes had a hollowness to it that spoke of years of pain and loneliness. He looked defeated. Like the world had thrown too much shit at him and he decided it wasn't worth it to fight anymore

This is what she sees. Because she has felt all of it herself. To this degree? Of course not. She had people to pull her back up after her mother's death, but for this man-it looked like he had suffered an entire war alone.

After a minute, the man seemed to notice she was there and glanced up at her. She had to keep herself from taking a step backwards at the look in his eyes. There was so much pain, so much loneliness and longing mixed in with a swirl of others that she couldn't name. He was not like the other homeless people she had encountered. He didn't beg for money he didn't give her some pathetic story to gain sympathy. He just sat there looking as if he wished he was anywhere but there. No, his eyes were the begging of a different kind - a begging for everything to end and it just about broke her heart.

When they say eyes are the window to the soul, they aren't lying. His eyes bore into hers as she stands there. The tragically beautiful blue orbs swallowing her in, like bottomless oceans she could get lost in for hours, she could drown in them. She was right. The pain in his eyes was so raw and the fear she saw there as he stared at her struck something deep inside her. No matter what things a person had done in their life, nobody deserves the pain she sees in those eyes. Many things she might wish for them to endure, but not this.

She stared at him for a long time, at the man shivering before her, his fear so prominent. Fear she thinks is of her. But behind that fear she thinks she sees just the slightest shimmer of hope.

The tinkling of the bell on the coffee shop door breaks her out of her trance as she brings her eyes up to the tiny building. With one last glance to the man, she steps into the shop herself.

His heart drops in his chest when she walks away and he suddenly hates himself for being foolish enough to hope. When had anybody ever cared about him? About the worthless man on the streets. He feels the emotions of being rejected swell up in his chest anyways and he has to close his eyes against it.

When he feels the warmth of someone kneeling next to him mere minutes later, he lifts his head and startles, nearly hitting his head on the wall.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you" she said, her voice quiet and gentle, her eyes soft on his. In her hands was a piping cup of coffee, steam billowing in the air. The smell was glorious and his mouth watered with craving. He flicked his eyes back to her face with incomprehension and nervousness.

People don't do this. No matter how much he hopes, no matter what he does, people don't talk to him; they turned their noses up at him and walk away. But she was. And he wanted to trust her, wanted to talk to her, but he knew now how people betrayed you, turn their back on you. How ironic to hope for something so badly and not be able to accept it when it's right in front of your face.

When he doesn't respond she holds the coffee out in front of her as well as a small paper bag he hadn't seen. "You look like you could use this".

He stared at the goods for a long time, swallowing thickly. He had to force himself not to reach out and grab it.

He remains silent.

She chuckles softly, a friendly sound of amusement low in her throat. She sets the coffee and the bag down beside him and reaches out to briefly touch his leg and he closes his eyes at the touch. "I understand" she says softly, her eyes so bright and intent on his, so kind. She stands and looks down at him for a few seconds more before she speaks again "I'm Kate, by the way".

And with those five words, she slowly walks away, the clack of her heals left ringing in his ear and he can't stop watching, wondering what the hell just happened.

She walks out of sight and his eyes return to the goods at his side and slowly reaches out to grab them. He opens the paper bag and pulls out a warm pastry that smells of freshly baked dough an honey - a bearclaw, he thinks it's called - and his stomach growls in response. He brings the pastry to his mouth and takes a bite. He closes his eyes at the wonderful, rich taste. Never before had he tasted anything like it. The food he manages to scrounge is bearable at best and never easy to come by. He felt like this food was a miracle itself.

He reaches for the coffee, its warmth seeping into his frozen hands. He takes a long, deep gulp and feels the blissfully hot fluid slip down his throat, immediately feeling its warmth zip through his veins.

He slowly finishes the bearclaw and the breakfast, wanting to savor every drop and every bite of it, unsure of when he would get something like it again. He sends up his silent thanks to the sky for whoever that woman was and couldn't help but wonder if he would ever see her again.

But neither of them were aware that today's encounter was one that was going to save his life and put them both on a path he never dared to dream of.