Disclaimer: I don't own anything, don't want to offend anyone, I am meek and worthless, etc.

Author's Note: A CasSid fanfic (I just invented a word! I am a wordeator. And again!) for those who contemplated tracking down the actors and capturing them and putting them in your dungeon and forcing them to act out a reunion scene (...not me). To be updated weekly (by which I mean whenever I goddamn choose) with a reasonably canon post-season two storyline, mostly characters-from-the-show focused. I look down my big fat pretentious literary nose at songfics, but if you wanted to put on Cursive's album, Mama I'm Swollen, for its own sake, you would probably be a better person for it. Also, I realised on the re-read that I coming out a little American-hating, which was truly not my intention. (I love Americans! My best friend is American! etc.) Comment, criticisms, feedback of any kind encouraged. Finally, this will probably (hopefully) be the last time I add Author's notes, because they are a veritable binge of self-gratifcation and word-count padding and I am too often tempted to indulge. With that said, enjoy, and I'll hopefully speak to you again soon.

New York City, New York.

Again.

"Excuse me, sir, have you seen this girl?"

"Yeah, dude, last night!"

"You did?...Oh. You didn't."

Again.

"Ma'am, have you seen this girl? Her name is Cassie. Ma'am...?"

Again.

"I'm looking for my- this girl. Have you seen her?"

"Sorry, buddy. There's a shelter on 22nd Street."

Again.

"Have any of you girls seen her? Cassie Ainsworth. She's from Bristol."

"Oooo! English accents are so sexy!"

"Don't be a bitch, Katie. Sorry, mister, haven't seen her."

"Right."

Again and again and again...

Hours passed. It was getting close to evening in the city, and Sid's resolve was waning. Where was he going to sleep? He needed some food. He had some money, well, about twenty quid, but no idea where to convert it and how far it would stretch.

"Seen this girl? Seen this girl? Know where I can find her?"

He stopped to lit a smoke. Fuuuuuck. This wasn't going well.

"Spare a ciggy, pal?" A spotty teenager in a purple tee had his hand on Sid's shoulder.

"A ciggy?" Sid looked down, saw his last lonely Lucky Strike, and sighed. "Fuck it." He passed it along, sinking down to sit with his back against the wall. The boy sunk down amiably with him, imitating his sigh melodramatically.

"Down on your luck?"

"You could say it."

"Where you from?"

"The accent? Is it that obvious?"

"This is enn why see, friend. No-one is native. It isn't a place to call home."

"Oh yeah? Where are you from, then?"

"Manhattan born and bred, guvna'," he said, tipping an imaginary hat.

"I though you said-"

"Other thing about New York City is no-one ever tells the truth."

Sid studied the boy for a moment, then dropped his head. "Fair enough." Wearily, he pulled the crumpled photo of Cassie out of his jacket pocket. "Wouldn't happen to know where she is, I suppose?"

"No such luck, old chum."

"Alright, alright, can you at least tell me where I might exchange some pounds?" The kid cocked his head for a moment. "English money."

"Certainly, ole mate, know just the place. They're only around the corner. I'll take ya." With this, he stood up and crushed the butt out underneath his jogger. Sid followed suit, carefully placing the photo in his back pocket where it wouldn't fall out. He followed purple tee around the corner, down the street, around the next corner, and down three blocks.

"How much further is this place, anyway?"

"Ah, just in here. Great exchange rates." He disappeared down a small sidestreet.

The street was dark, and devoid of any shops. Sid ambled along for a little while, and then realised the street was dark, devoid of any shops, and he and the spotty boy were the only two in sight. "Hang on a second, I thought you said-"

"Exchange, innit?" said the boy, his face split in two by a huge grin. "You give me them moneys, and your phone, and that watch, and I don't have to knife you." He suggestively slipped the first few inches of a knife handle out of his pocket.

"Oh, fuck." Sid looked from grinning face, to knife handle, to grinning face again. "Really? Fuck, alright." Resigned, Sid offloaded his last pounds, his watch, his phone. "Just, careful with that watch, alright? It was a present from me Dad, and now he's dead. He'd kill me if I broke it." The boy cocked his head again. "I know, I know, I don't make sense."

His grin returned. "That's the thing about the big apple, my friendy-wendy, nothing makes sense." And with that, he was off.

"Hang on, can you point me to 22nd street?"

The thief turned around, still jogging backwards, considering. "About five blocks that way, sir! Hope your luck improves!"

***

Utterly defeated, Sid trudged down what he was reasonably sure was 22nd street. It was now – well, he couldn't be certain, on account of the fact that his watch tan did a much less effective job of telling the time than his watch. It was late, regardless, and he was hungry, tired, mugged, missing Cassie and a long way from anyone that cared. Nevertheless, he did feel slightly better when he finally got to something that looked like a homeless shelter.

There was a burly man out the front. Sid mustered up his energy and walked up to him. "Any chance of a bed tonight, sir?"

The man looked him over. "You fucken' immigrants, think you can catch a plane over here and we'll look after you when you can't be bothered getting a job. Well, too bad, we're full."

Sid stood still, shocked. He could feel a childish temper rising, but he was powerless to stop it. All he wanted was to be home, in his bed, with Cassie. Or a kebab and a pint. Or anywhere but here. It was unfair! Sodding Americans and their sodding egos. Well... "Look, for fucking starters you're all English immigrants, so don't talk down to me, right? Next, lets look at some of the things you've imported from us, right, well... democracy, there's one, okay, and ships, and toilets probably, and... well, my dad and one of my best mates died this year, and my girlfriend left me, and I got mugged three hours ago – or it feels like it but I can't tell 'cause he nicked my fucking watch! So, so..." he petered out, spent. "Go easy, okay?"

The old man laughed. "You think that's the saddest story I've heard in the past hour? Jesus, you didn't even try to work rape in there somewhere." His eyes softened. "Well, give us a look then." He grabbed Sid's arms and pulled up the sleeves. "Not a junkie, there's that in your favour. And you can certainly speak American, har har." Sizing Sid up, he nodded at some internal decision. "Well, I didn't lie, we are full. But if you can work, I know a guy at a nightclub a few blocks away that needs some workers. Pay's good, place opens at one" - he chuckled kindly - "sorry, in about thirty minutes. Tell him George sent you, he'll probably put you on tonight, and maybe you can convince him to give you a little money in advance, though I recommend you ask very quietly and politely, without swearing so much." He gave him a sad smile. "Best I can do."

"Oh. Right. Thanks." Sid hesitated. "Umm, bum a smoke for the road?"

"Bold little shit, aintcha? Okay, okay, don't look at me like that, there you go. Go that way, first left, second right, place is called Puzzles, fucked if I know why. And don't come back here if you get fired!"

Sid lit the cigarette with a renewed sense of hope. He might get that pint and a kebab before morning after all. "Thanks, sir. Oh, and, have you seen this girl? Her name's Cassie, she might have been around here about a week ago."

"Not me, kid. I'll ask around the town, see if anyone has seen a blonde Cassie from England. Come back tomorrow with a pack of cigarettes, about eleven in the p.m., that when I start. There's a clock in Times Square, har har!"

***

"I.D.?" The bored black bouncer held out his hand without looking down.

"Oh, er, actually, I was told this place was hiring. George sent me, told me I could get some work?"

"I don't know any George. No I.D., no entry. Now piss off before I -"

"Oh, Arjay." A cute girl in black, previously hidden behind the bouncer's bulk, cut in. "Stop being such a rude pig. Come on love, I'll take you to James, the manager."

"Thanks."

"I'm Sarah, by the way."

"Sid."

"Where you from, Sid?"

"Bristol."

"Umm..." She bit her lip. Sid determinedly did not notice this.

"Sorry, in England."

"Oh, England! Why didn't you say so? So have you met the queen?"

"Er, no. No, I haven't met the queen."

"Of course, silly me. Anyway, here's James' office, he's a big sweetie, just say Sarah from front desk personally reccommends you, you'll be fine."

"Okay, thanks. Ah, it was nice to meet you. Hey, do you mind if I ask-"

"Anything!"

"Have you seen this girl at the front desk, or anywhere?" He pulled out Cassie's photo.

"Oh. No, I haven't seen her, sorry." Sarah's vivacity dimmed a little.

"'Salright. Stupid anyway."

She brightened. "See you soon, Sid-from-England!"

James, a flamboyant middle-aged man, was actually a sweetie, Sid thought. He listened attentitively as Sid summarised his first fifteen hours in America, and told him he could start work straight away if he wanted. And he had not seen that darling girl. Sid thanked him, picked up a spare apron, and made his way to the bar. Sarah was waiting for him.

"I got one of the other girls to cover the front desk so I could tutor you in the ways of tending the bar." She yelled over the thumping music.

"That's nice of you, I guess."

"Well, there's the glasses, there's the washer. We'll put you washing for a little while, but when you start serving, the only thing to know is the pecking order."

"The-"

"-pecking order. First the rich ones, then the pretty ones, then the ones who've been waiting the longest. Right?"

"Right."

"Well, off you get!"

***

At the end of his five hour shift, Sid could see a sliver of light from the rising sun poking through the front desk. People were streaming out of the street, party-goers in loose and thin clothes mixing with the impeccably dressed suits in the crowd beginning their day. He had two-hundred American dollars in his back pocket, his pay and advance on tomorrow's easily won from James the Sweetie mixed in with tips (mostly from middle-aged women demanded him to say something or other in his 'sweet little accent'.) Sarah walked out with him.

"Um, you wouldn't know of a backpacker's hotel or something around here, would you?"

"You've got no place to stay? Sid, you can bunk at my place, its only a couple of subway stops away!"

"Er, I don't think... well, I don't mean to-"

"Shush, dear. You don't want to stay in one of those places, disease-ridden and they'll mug you in your sleep. You can sleep on the couch, no trouble, and pay me in breakfast right now." She said, as if the matter were settled.

"I am really hungry... oh, thanks, then. Any place you know of that does an English breakfast?"

"I think Micky Dee's does English muffins?"

"Good enough for me."

***

Later, when Sid was settled on Sarah's couch, having endured an hour of non-stop talk and overcooked powdered eggs, he allowed himself to drift to sleep. As usual, Cassie came first to his mind. Cassie dressing up. Cassie at school, doodling pictures of medieval horsemen or leprechauns. Cassie undressing. Cassie in his bed, Cassie on top of him, Cassie's hands on his back, digging in, Cassie whispering 'I love you, Sid' when she thought he was asleep. Cassie...

"Cassie!"

Sid was startled awake. The light was already fading into evening. He fumbled for his glasses, unsure whether the name he heard ringing in his ears was leftover from whatever his dreams were torturing him with or if-

"That was her name, right? That girl in the photo."

"The girl in the... yes, Sarah, that was her. Is her."

"Well, I forgot to say, Sid."

"Say what?" Sid asked, sleepily, sitting up.

Sarah cringed, apparently worried about how Sid would take her next statement.

"I was so busy, I completely forgot. At the club last night... I think I saw her."