Author's Note: I'm experimenting here so let me know what you think.

I'm creating a whole new genre called Worthwhile Angst in 3 Acts. That means it will be worth your while to stick around until the third act.

Thank you to MariaLisa for the comments, beta'ing and the inspiration. Special thanks to Peanut2lb for the thumbs up on the snippet.

DISCLAIMERS: I do not own any of these characters. They belong to Jerry Bruckheimer and the wonderful writers for CSI: NY. Any resemblance to scenes from the episodes is included for clarity and continuity and I do not claim any of those as my own work. However everything else is mine.

A Chance Meeting

What would she do to feel alive?

I. Lost

Teetering between nothing and everything

Desperate for a chance

"House merlot, please."

She smoothed her perspiring palms along the silky fabric of her dress, giving a visible start when her palms encountered bare, freshly-shaven skin halfway down her thighs. She rarely wore this flirty little chiffon number with its plunging neckline and lack of back.

"Thank you," she murmured as the bartender set a generously filled glass of wine in front of her.

She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the array of colorfully labeled bottles of liquor, each promising its own brand of comfort for whatever ailed you. She grimaced in disdain as she took in her appearance; hair piled atop her head, tendrils curling seductively about her neck, lips falsely reddened, heavily mascaraed eyes, wide and vacant. This wasn't her. The diamond studded earrings slyly winked back at her as if to say, "We know what you're up to."

What am I doing here?

Suddenly, intense blue eyes, full of hurt and disbelief, loomed in her head as confused and angry words played in her ears. That's why she was here.

She frantically dug through her purse. These evening bags are small enough; you'd think….

"This seat taken?" A beefy face puffed scotch into her face as an equally beefy body settled onto the bar stool next to her.

"Doesn't seem to be," she replied coolly, as she pointedly looked around at the myriad of empty stools flanking the bar.

"Dale Minick. I'm here at the sales conference, leading salesman in my region. How about you?"

"I was just leaving."

Ignoring the proffered slab of a hand, she snapped her bag shut, started toward the door and then remembered she hadn't paid for her drink. Of all the things she was, a thief wasn't one of them. Small consolation. She ducked into the hallway containing the payphones and restrooms and leaned back against the wall. As she let out a steadying breath, she wondered how long she'd have to hide out before she could return unhindered and pay.

She studied her immaculately polished nails, siren red tint mimicking that on her lips. Did she feel like a siren? She certainly looked the part --- desirable in a dangerous way --- but she didn't feel the part. Actually, she didn't feel much of anything these days. Her calves began to cramp from standing too long in the black, stiletto heeled pumps. She peeked around the corner; the beefy salesman had moved on.

Slowly, to keep from stumbling at the cramping in her calves, she made her way back to the bar. She perched on the stool, relieved that her wine was as she had left it. She flexed and pointed her feet, the shapely calves bunching and releasing in response.

She raised the glass to her lips and froze.

Questioning eyes met hers from across the bar. She boldly continued, deliberately slowing her movements to give an air of nonchalance. The face hardened momentarily; then something flickered in his eyes as he raised a tumbler of amber colored liquid in a silent salute to her, before taking his own swallow.

The hardness on his face repelled her, but that flicker in his eyes beckoned her. Bag tucked under arm, curve of the glass cradled into the palm of her hand, she rose from her stool.

Halting beside him she heard the well worn line slip from her lips.

"This seat taken?"

He cocked his head toward the stool without looking at her.

"It's a free country."

He swallowed more of the amber colored liquid; his choice of respite for the evening.

As she settled herself on the stool she quickly noted the well-cut sport coat which emphasized the breadth of his shoulders; but her gaze stalled at his hand, staring at the ring on his finger.

He drummed his fingers against the tumbler as if trying to dislodge her stare. Suddenly he spoke.

"She's going through something right now."

The revelation startled her.

"I can't seem to get inside her head," he continued, "to help her, and it's…"

He tightened his hand into a fist and shrugged, letting the words hang.

Once again she stared, but this time at his throat, as it rippled in response to the liquid waving its way downward.

"And you?" he inquired, still not looking at her.

She sighed, screwing up her courage.

"I'm… I'm beat down by the day to day routine…feeling completely numb."

"Don't you have a way to… or someone who can relate, understand…"

"Yeah, yeah, that's what I thought, but…"

She fiddled with one of the stray curls at her neck. Her finger twined in and around the curl… again… and again.

"I think may be he's too close to it though. We, uh, work together." Her finger tightened into the curl.

"Isn't there a way..."

She cut him off abruptly.

"I need to get away… a complete break."

She gulped the ruby-red liquid. Too much. Tears pooled in her eyes as it burned its way down her throat. She placed the glass carefully on the bar.

"I don't know how to cut through the numbness," she said softly as she twirled the stem of the glass. "All I know is I want… need… to feel alive again."

He placed a hand on her wrist; a vaguely remembered warmth shot through her body.

Before she could lose her nerve she blurted out, "Do you have someplace we can go?"

For the first time since she had approached him, he looked at her. She didn't care that her face was a desperate mixture of raw pain and pleading expectation. His hand, on her wrist, had made her feel something, and she desperately needed to anchor herself to that. It was all she had at the moment.

He offered her nothing, just stood, threw a twenty on the bar and guided her, with a light hand at the small of her naked back, outside to a taxi.