Title: Bridging the Gap
Author: amazonqueenkate
Claim: Jacqui Franco
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Theme: Set 2; #7: tabula rasa (blank slate)
Rating: PG
Summary: Even if it's not Jacqui's fault, she's standing on the sidewalk with a suitcase and her bus fare.
Author's Notes: CSI/CSI: NY crossover with a bit of an unconvential pairing. Techs in love, aw.

"If you ever get sick of flashy lights and plastic strippers," he said just outside the security checkpoint, hands in his pockets and cocky-yet-sheepish smile crinkling his eyes, "you know where to find me."

"Oh, I might get sick of lights," she replied coyly, and pretended she didn't long to hug him one more time, "but no one gets sick of strippers."

Jacqui Franco arrives in New York City on a Friday night, and for the first ten minutes after the cab pulls away, she stands on the sidewalk with a suitcase in one hand and just enough money for bus fare in the other.

She silently finds about fifty-seven ways to blame everyone except herself for this moment, choosing instead to blame Conrad Ecklie (who "let her go for budget reasons," which was the "nice" way of saying that Mandy Webster was cheaper to employ than someone with a Master's degree and three extra seminars under her belt), Bobby Dawson (who was so busy with his new boyfriend that he couldn't give ten minutes of his time to an old friend), inflation (because when you're unemployed and your rent jumps a hundred and fifty a month, it's over), and, of course, the owner of the first floor of this New York brownstone. If anything, it really is his fault: he came to the conference, he bought the drinks, he touched her leg, he stayed in Vegas for an extra week under the clever guise of wanting to learn more from the ever-wonderful Gil Grissom. All Jacqui's done is packed her bags, hired movers, and shown up in New York for the second time in her life. Small beans, if she's placing blame.

She tightens her grip on the bus fare before the suitcase. She's rented a room at the local Holiday Inn for the next two weeks, just in case. In case this blows up in her face. Ironic that it all started in the bar at a Vegas hotel, Mr. Brownstone Owner scratching his scruffy pseudo-beard as he explained that, well, he thought she was cute, liked the curly hair, and could he maybe buy her a drink?

The porch light goes on, and suddenly, the scruffy-bearded one is on the front porch, staring at her with wide eyes. "Jacqui?" he asks. "The hell are – "

"Like you said, I know where to find you, right?" She tries to smirk, but it fails miserably. "So here I am."

"Your e-mail said – "

"Yeah, I know what it said," she interrupts. He comes down the stairs slowly, as though he's waiting for her to turn around and bolt. "Look, Adam, I suck at this, but… I'm here."

Adam Ross steps off the last of the stone stairs and crosses the distance to her, their toes almost touching on the New York pavement. It's a cool September and their breath leaves frosty trails in the air as they lock eyes without saying anything.

Jacqui's not sure who kisses whom, but she knows that it's Adam's hands on her hips and Adam's lips against hers, warm in the cool evening air and tasting a bit like coffee, bitter against her tongue. Her fingers loosen but don't abandon her belongings, not even as the hands on her hips loop around and tug her flush against him, bodies perfectly aligned.

"So, you're here," he murmurs after he breaks their kiss, resting his forehead against hers.

She turns her head to glance away. "Yeah." She looks down the street to the bus stop she'd spotted from the cab, the line she knew from endless research of routes and times would take her straight to the hotel. She's suddenly even less sure if this is the wisest choice and considers bolting from his arms to the bus stop. Her fingers refuse to uncurl, though, so she keeps staring at the sign until it blurs in her vision.

"Then I'm glad I changed my sheets the other day." There's lightness in Adam's voice, and when she looks over at him, he's smiling. He traces a hand around the small of her back, but his eyes don't leave her face. "God, Jacq, it's so damn good to see you."

Jacqui's not sure if it's his words or the way he presses his nose into her hair and kisses the top of her head that convinces her not to run, but whatever it is, she drops her bus fare and her suitcase on the sidewalk so she can reach up and hug him back.

"And what's supposed to happen now?" she asked just outside the security checkpoint, her carryon over her shoulder and her fingers playing with the strap nervously. "There's not another New York conference this year. I checked."

"Fate works in mysterious ways," he replied lightly, and reached over to brush a strand of messy hair out of her eyes, "but, if all else fails, I'll just have to kidnap you and keep you here for good."