Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: NY or affiliates.
Mac watched the sidewalk artist continue to draw something in the middle of the circle. He loved to watch how they turned the cement into something that should have been preserved in a museum. The artist seemed to glance at the sky often, seeing only blue skies and smiling to himself, glad that it wouldn't rain soon.
Turning his own sketchpad slightly, Mac glanced over the crowd. They all spoke, walked around, stood still, danced to their headphones. He tried to find a person who looked just interesting enough to draw. He looked at their faces, trying to decipher a code of who had an interesting background. He liked to put them in places that they could have been.
The nervous young man was a college junior who planned on marrying his life-long friend that he knew since grade school. Once he proposed to her and saw her family's response, he left her for a new school.
A portly woman who held onto a small girl's hand was a dress maker. She had been run out of business for a few years, finally marrying a man for his money. Once the husband died, leaving her with two children (one of whom stayed in school for a long time and the other who gave her the granddaughter), she started designing her own dresses, causing her business to get some fame.
The woman who shared the bench with him grew up in an orphanage in New York, going to college to work with narcotics and finally the crime scene investigators.
He started to draw Stella slowly, beginning with the thin arch of her eyebrows. He moved down to her eyes, concentrating on the lids and eyelashes before shading in the color of her eyes - light enough to be green, but just dark enough for their real shade.
Her nose was Mac's favorite part of her to draw. It was long and rounded enough that he could act loose around it - something that was hard to do in the angular city of New York.
Stella grinned at Mac and looked over his shoulder to see his drawing. "You draw?"
Mac paused, putting his pencil at a tilt. It wasn't something that he often let people know, but he had been a drawer since he was a teenager. His mother had taught him early on, giving him a sketchbook, a set of pencils, and a set of her old pictures. He tried copying them, glancing between the blank page and her pictures, trying to recreate them. It took him months before he got close, and he was hooked on habit by then.
"Keep on going," Stella said to him. "I like watching you."
Mac continued, looking between Stella and the sketchpad. She looked at it curiously, as though trying to figure out whether it was supposed to be her or not. Her fingers tapped her leg gently, not quite drumming, but almost. Her neck lengthened to look closer and her eyebrows furrowed together. Mac considered what it would be like to draw that expression.
"Why're you drawing me?" Stella asked him quietly.
He paused again, then continued with her lips. Once he drew their outline, he darkened the area between her lips where they parted slightly. Mac thought back, very vaguely, to the other drawings of her scattered in his sketchbook.
"You're a beautiful person."