Dis: I own nothing except for my OC. Criminal Minds and the characters belong to those who created them. Songs listed belong to their respective artists.

The first time it happened it was a drunken rendezvous. A collision between two people in pain, fuelled by the artificial bravado given to them by thirty year old whiskey. It was purely physical, not a hint of emotion other than primal passion. When it was over, there was no awkwardness. Just the acceptance of what had happened and a silent goodbye.

I was singing in a classy little jazz bar in New Orleans. It was one of my favourites to work and relax in. Dark wood on the floor, rich colors on the walls. The perfect atmosphere for the broken hearted to drown their sorrows.

I noticed him from the moment he walked in the door. His whole demeanour spoke volumes to me of the anger and frustration he was feeling. The jacket of his expensive tailored suit came off and draped haphazardly over the back of the stool. He wretched his tie loose before stripping it off completely and shoving it into an inside pocket. He unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows. One hand ran thru the short black hair on his head, making it stick up at odd angles. I saw more than heard his sigh as his head dropped into his hands.

Nate, the bartender and owner, was at the other end of the bar speaking to a regular. He looked to me as I started the last song in my set. I motioned towards the newcomer with my head and he nodded back to me. The guy barely looked up as Nate spoke but he must have ordered a drink because a double shot of Glenfiddich soon disappeared. Then another. The third he sipped at, slowly.

When I think back to the song I started singing after he came in, it was poetic coincidence. Ella Fitzgerald's version of 'My Heart Stood Still'. If I had known what lay ahead that night, I wouldn't have tempted fate with such an offering.

(Oh, the lies that settle as ash on my tongue.)

I could not stop my eyes from straying to him as I sang. He must have sensed it, for his gaze finally turned to the stage I stood on. For a second, the note I was holding wavered. I had never before had such an intense stare focused on me. His eyes were so brown they were almost black. I could see the emotions he was trying to hide. And yet his face was blank. For anyone who hadn't taken the time to look he was just some guy in a bar. But I could see . . .Oh I could see so much more.

Perhaps it was my own expression that brought him to self awareness. Perhaps it was the wavering note. Perhaps it was the whiskey that finally settled his heightened emotional state. Whatever it was I curse it. For it made him close his eyes and when they opened again, they were as blank as his face.

I forced myself to look away with restrained difficulty. But I could tell that his gaze never strayed from my presence. The end of the song came and to quiet applause I headed to the bar. Nate poured my usual and gave me a wink. I knew what that wink meant. It was an offering. One that I would have been inclined to accept but for one thing. A double shot of whiskey was placed next to my hand.

Conversation started with a compliment followed by the requisite inquires of residence, vocation and marital status. With age comes wisdom and the lack of a ring did not mean what it used to. But with heartache comes loneliness and before my next set our level of intoxication was well matched.

A little Billie Holiday, a touch of Lena Horne and I could read the passion once again. His half smile made my heart pound. I wanted nothing more than to be swallowed up in the maelstrom of emotion that swirled around him. Moments after my last set, we were heading for the exit. It was a blur of lights and color and muted voices as the door to my home became our last obstacle. I was pressed against it as it closed.

There was such urgency in our embrace that completion wouldn't be denied. The first time he took me against the door. Hard, rough, no loving words or careful caresses. And it was exactly what we both wanted. The pleasure was so great that tears cascaded down my face as I reached behind me to hold him closer. He rested his forehead against the back of my neck, shuddering in the release.

When he stepped back, I turned to him. Whatever he beheld in my face caused him to reach for me. I took his hand and showed him upstairs.

The night was punctuated with pleasure and conversation. I told him about my husband's infidelity with my closest friend. He spoke of his fiancé who had called off the wedding that morning. He had brought her here for a relaxing weekend and to explain that he had been transferred from one side of the country to the other. She hadn't taken it well.

I assured him that she would change her mind. He hoped I was right. He assured me I would find love again. I feared that I already had.

As he brought me to the heights of pleasure yet again, I prayed that I would forget this night. That the whiskey that had brought us here, took with it the exquisite memories we had created. That in the morning all that would remain was the aftermath of an erotic dream.

He was gone in the morning, but the gentleman in him dictated he leave a note. It was short and to the point. But it was written with incredible honesty and passionate gratitude. The smile it brought to my face was nothing compared to the affect it had on my heart. The ache of betrayal eased and I regained some of myself worth. I could look in the mirror without wondering if another man would find me attractive and worthy of his time.

I didn't know if I would ever see him again. But in the morning with a head free of the cloud of alcohol, I prayed that I would.