Disclaimer - I don't own anything (unless a crap ton of student loan debt counts).
Takes place sometimes post-5x21
The first time is an accident.
It isn't really an accident, though – because sex doesn't ever happen accidentally.
They don't slip, lose all their clothes, and somehow wind up tangled together on her striped sheets.
It doesn't happen like that.
But he is pretty sure that neither of them is planning it or even thinking about it seriously until it's actually happening, until it's almost as if there's no choice in the matter.
There really isn't anything unusual about the night at the start either, because they have drinks at the end of the day all the time, sometimes by themselves and sometimes with Fin coming along, and it's nothing but co-works blowing off a little steam. He's got nothing but time on his hands now that Maria and Zara are off in D.C. and there is nothing appealing about going home to an empty house – and he knows that free time really isn't a good thing for Amanda either, even if she doesn't want to talk about it with him, so it's almost like they're keeping each other out of trouble.
That's the idea anyway.
They're drinking alone the night it happens – maybe they're trying to bury the hatchet after everything that went down when she worked UC with Murphy and nearly blew her career to bits or maybe they're just trying to reassure one another that everything is fine after that son of a bitch Lewis turned Liv's life upside down once again. Work is all either of them has to focus on these days, so when things aren't going well there, it feels like the ground is crumbling beneath them, like there's no way to get sure footing again.
Fin is as dedicated an officer and as loyal a partner as he's ever known, but the guy knows how to separate himself from the job at the end of the day. He's got friends who have nothing to do with work and he dates women who don't carry a gun or haven't had some tragedy befall them in the recent past, and there's some part of Nick that envies him. Maybe it comes from working UC for so long, from having to keep that sharp distinction between who you are and who you're just playing at being.
But then, Nick knows all about that life too so he should have learned the same lesson. Maybe it would be easier if his wife and daughter weren't over two hundred miles away. Maybe he'd understand better if he had any kind of life outside the job.
Still, he's not consciously looking for anything other than a distraction when they head out for a few rounds – and it's all pretty innocent, with talk about the terrible car racing movie she saw on her day off and whether the new Asian fusion place around the corner from the precinct has a chance to make it and where they'd want to go if either of them ever took advantage of their vacation days.
Later, though, they wind up going to bathroom at the same time and they run into one another in the cramped hallway outside on their way back out and the timing makes all the difference because a couple of women happen to be headed to the restroom too and he and Amanda wind up pushed together against the wall so they can pass.
It's been so long since he's experienced this kind of full body contact with a woman that when her breasts press against his chest, heavy and warm, he feels something like electricity course through him. When her eyes meet his, he sees the same hunger in her that's suddenly seized control of his body and then he's kissing her, hard and desperate, right there in the back of a bar only four blocks from the precinct.
It's nothing he hasn't thought about doing before and he thinks maybe she has too, so there's something about the whole thing that feels almost inevitable as he tangles his hand in her hair and she bites at his lower lip.
Until she presses a hand to his chest, pushing back hard enough for his head to bang against the wall.
"Wait," she says, breathless and low. "We can't…"
She's right, of course, to shut it down because it's crazy and wrong and more complicated than either of them probably needs at the moment. He tries to catch his breath and get his head on straight, but then she grabs a fistful of his shirt just above his belt and pulls so hard that it starts to come loose. Her knuckles drag across the bare skin of his stomach and he shivers with how good it feels.
"Not here," she whispers into his neck, and he's not really drunk but his head is fuzzy enough to make driving seem like a bad idea so the next thing he knows, they're in the backseat of a cab and Amanda's giving the driver her address and they're speeding off toward a very certain fate.
They somehow manages to keep their distance in the cab, with a couple of feet between them on the seat, until the driver makes a hard right turn and she slides right into him, curling her hand around his thigh almost automatically. Her fingers brush against his inseam and then he's pressing her back against the opposite window, licking his way into her mouth until she's moaning against him.
He expects to feel some hesitation or doubt when he's undressing in her dark bedroom – because he hasn't been with a woman other than Maria in years and he's not sure if he knows what the hell he's doing anymore - but the thrill of something new and maybe a little forbidden leaves him too turned on to think too much and he's helping Amanda out of her clothes like his life depends on it.
And she turns out to be exactly how he imagined on all those long, lonely nights when he let his mind wander free – she is determined to give just as good as she gets, so there's nothing passive about the way she squeezes his hips with her bent knees or drags her nails down his back to coax him into going a little faster, a little harder.
At some point – and he's not sure how she does it – she even flips them so he's flat on his back and she's on top, riding him into oblivion until he doesn't give a fuck about anything but what's happening in her bed.
It's a different story in the morning, when the bright, unforgiving light of day is streaming through her blinds. They're both a little embarrassed, not quite sure what to do with the knowledge that they've seen each other naked and made each other come. Amanda clutches the sheet to her chest and keeps her gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling while he dresses beside her bed, and he fastens his shirt so fast that he skips two buttons right in the middle.
They don't have a conversation about it being a one-time thing – they don't have much of a conversation at all, actually – but they both obviously understand that there are plenty of reasons why it shouldn't happen again. He's still married and hasn't given up on that, on figuring out some kind of happy ending with his wife and daughter, and Amanda is in the midst of a pretty fragile recovery, which means she shouldn't be concerned with anyone's needs but her own.
And that's not even taking into account the whole working-together-with-lives-on-the-line-everyday thing, which really makes getting involved with one another a seriously bad idea.
He loops his tie around his neck, grabs his jacket, and turns back to face her where she lies in bed. She manages a sheepish smile so he tries to match it.
"I guess I'll see you at work," he says, feeling like an asshole.
But she nods, seeming grateful that he's willing to let it all go.
"We've got that meeting with Barba at 11. Don't forget."
"I'm not the one who's always late," he teases.
She rolls her eyes, but there's something playful about her expression so he knows that she's not really taking offense. He gives her a lame, little wave and finally makes his escape.
On the subway, he tells himself that it'll just be a nice memory to help keep him warm on those long, lonely nights.
He thinks he can live with that.
The second time is premeditated.
They go out to drink away a particularly nasty case, just like always, but they're both already thinking about it.
It's been almost two weeks since the first time and they haven't mentioned it at all, but he's been remembering every single moment for what feels like fourteen days straight and it's starting to make him feel like a creep. Just that afternoon, when she collapsed into her chair with a weary sigh, he actually found himself wondering what her underwear looked like and he couldn't look her in the eye for the rest of his shift.
So it's not really a surprise that their stools slide closer and closer together as the night goes along, until there's so little space between them that she's practically sitting in his lap. She leans an elbow on the bar to support her head and smiles at him, slow and lazy.
"So…" she says, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "My place?"
He grins, even as he looks around to make sure that no one they know is around.
"Yeah?"
She only nods once, but it's pretty emphatic.
"Yeah."
When he kisses her on the sidewalk in front of the bar, she tastes smooth and sweet, like the bourbon she's been sipping all evening. But later, when he licks his way from her ankle to between her thighs, she is even sweeter, richer.
By the sixth time, it's become a thing.
Not anything official, with dates and plans and pet names, or something that they talk about, not even to ask what exactly it is or where it's going or to reassure one another that they're just keeping things casual.
But it is something regular, something routine, so after a long shift or a brutal case, they'll go for a drink and then wind up at her place – his house is full of toys and family photos and a china set he was given on his wedding day, so it doesn't seem like the right place for what they're doing – and it's not just about sex (though it's easy to forget that when he's inside her and they're sliding against her softer than soft flannel sheets like they've got all the time in the world) so sometimes they'll watch TV afterward, mostly sports because Amanda's down for watching pretty much any game – Spring Training baseball, hockey, and basketball – but he wonders if that's too much of a temptation for her, if it maybe starts an itch under her skin to look up the odds and wonder how much she could make if she picked smart, so he tries to suggest that they watch something else, like 'Die Hard' when it's on cable or her copy of 'Groundhog Day.'
Because they may be sleeping together but the real dirty, little secret that they don't want to talk about is that neither of them wants to be alone.
His personal life is in shambles and his professional life is on thin ice too - he has to live with the knowledge that he put a poor, innocent kid in a wheelchair and deal with Murphy on a daily basis, and so maybe he just wants something to hold onto for a while, something to make the rest of the crap in his life fade away.
After everything he sees at work day in and day out, there's also some part of him that needs to be reminded that sex isn't always sick and twisted and destructive, that men and women aren't always hurting one another. He can lose sight of that sometimes, especially because his own marriage has become a mine field of hurt and disappointment and there doesn't seem to be anyway to navigate it anymore without it all blowing up in his face.
He thinks that it's the same for Amanda, that she's also looking for some kind of escape, and it's good that they can be that for each other, that it hasn't become some messy, complicated thing with too many expectations and strings attached.
She passes him the container of Kung Pao Chicken, laughing as Bill Murray finally punches the insurance guy in the face, and he feels himself relax for the first time all day.
It's around the twelfth time when it hits him just how many new things he's learning about her.
Like how she uses cinnamon-flavored toothpaste, which is just all kinds of wrong, and that her favorite comfort food is buttered graham crackers. She baby talks to Frannie when she thinks he can't hear her, and she has a not-so-secret crush on the Channel 2 weather guy. She loves 'The Walking Dead,' but 'Mad Men' doesn't do a thing for her.
And, perhaps his favorite thing of all, she sings in the shower, mostly classic rock though she mixes in some Taylor Swift every so often.
So he's standing in front of her bathroom mirror, stuck shaving with the disposal razor from his travel kit because he didn't hear the alarm on his phone and doesn't have time to go home before he heads to the precinct, while she showers behind a flimsy plastic curtain that doesn't buffer the sound of her crooning at all.
"Oh yeah, all right," she sings - and her voice is terrible, but she obviously doesn't care at all, belting out the words loud enough for them to echo off the tiles. "Take it easy, baby… make it last all night… She was an Amer-i-can girl…"
He laughs, running his razor under the tap.
"Don't quit your day job," he calls.
She jerks back the curtain, her shoulders glistening in the fluorescent light, and frowns – but only for a minute because then the corners of her mouth lift in a sly, little smile and she slants her hand through the shower stream beside her so it sprays across the room and splatters across his undershirt.
"I don't think I asked for your opinion."
She flicks a little more water his way, smirks triumphantly, and drops the curtain back into place.
He can only laugh.
It's not until the fifteenth time that it happens without the guise of blowing off steam at the end of a shitty work day.
They've both got off for a couple of days, starting Friday night, but he's pretty sleep-deprived so they don't get a drink at the end of their shift and he heads straight home to bed. When he wakes up Saturday morning, it's pouring rain, which already has him in a bad mood, so when he feels the four walls of the house start to close in on him, there's no choice but to get out.
Originally, he had plans to go down to D.C. and see Zara until Maria made last minute plans to take her to Charlotte to visit family, so maybe that makes the house feel even lonelier than usual. Whatever the reason, he texts Amanda in what can only be called an act of desperation – because it's barely after noon and he types, Up for a drink?, which is a pretty pathetic code for what he's really asking and he's embarrassed for himself.
But it takes less than five minutes for her to reply, and she somehow manages to convince him to come to her neighborhood because he has a car and she doesn't want to trek to the train with the weather as bad it is. When he gets to her building, she's waiting in the foyer with an umbrella in hand, but she considers the rain almost skeptically through the door.
"It's really coming down," she says.
His plucks his wet t-shirt away from his body and nods grimly.
"It is."
She tilts her head thoughtfully.
"I've got that imported beer you like. We could just stay here."
Once they get upstairs, though, they forget about the beer and she pushes him toward the bedroom, licking the rain away from his throat and sliding her hand down the front of his jeans so he loses all sense of time and space.
Afterward, they lie on her futon and make it halfway through the first season of 'Orange Is the New Black.' They decide to order a pizza but get into the same old argument over toppings – she wants pepperoni and extra cheese and he wants peppers and black olives – so they wind up having to do half and half. She tries to give him half the money after he pays the delivery guy, but he refuses.
"I've drank half your beer," he tells her. "So we're probably even."
"Not to mention all those coffees I'm always buying you."
He grins.
"But it's not like you're keeping track or anything."
She shoves at his thigh with her bare foot and flicks an olive that's migrated onto her half of the pizza onto his plate, but she's smiling the entire time.
He doesn't end up going home until Sunday evening when they've finished 'Orange Is the New Black' and the rain has finally stopped.
When he realizes that he's lost count of how many times they've been together, he is wearing an orange jumpsuit and she's trying to convince him to fight. His life is spiraling out of control so quickly that he barely has time to catch his breath, but she still looks at him like there's something there worth saving and he wonders if that's enough.
She gets Munch to give him a pep talk because maybe she knows that it'll take more to get through to him. But then the charges suddenly disappear, and he knows that Amanda had something to do with it, even if she won't admit it, and he tells himself that it's just because they've worked together for a while and they've learned to always have each other's backs and maybe they're even pretty good friends at this point – not because of anything else, of anything deeper.
That means he has to studiously ignore the fact that there is a marriage and child and years of history between he and Maria, and she ran away the second that things got rocky, while there is nothing tying he and Amanda together and she stayed and fought for him. But it's really not a fair comparison, and Maria did invite him to tag along to L.A. – though part of him suspects that she asked only because she knew he wouldn't go.
At Amanda's apartment, he slumps back on her futon, absently petting Frannie who's curled up beside him. Amanda pulls a bottle of champagne from the fridge and smiles.
"Let's celebrate," she declares as she starts to work on freeing the cork.
"Celebrate?" he scoffs. "What? That I'm gonna be busting people for running red lights and parking in front of hydrants?"
She stops opening the bottle and sinks on the futon beside him.
"How about that you're not in prison?" she asks pointedly. "That you haven't lost your shield?"
He lowers his head, feeling pretty fucking ashamed because he made this mess all himself and all she's done is put herself on the line for him. He should be more grateful; at the very least, he shouldn't be such a prick.
But he can't seem to help himself.
"I'm still fucked," he whispers.
He hears her set the bottle on the coffee table and then he feels her arm curl around his back. She leans in and rests her chin on his shoulder, and there's something comforting about the warmth of her against him.
"You're gonna be fine," she tells him. "Liv isn't going to let you waste away on traffic duty. You know that."
And maybe he does, but right now he needs her to believe it enough for both of them.
The first time he sees her after he starts back on the traffic beat, she comes to him.
For a couple of weeks, he's made excuses, even when she calls or texts about meeting for drinks or a bite to eat. It's not that he doesn't want to see her, but she's out there busting real perps and he's writing out damn parking tickets and maybe he's feeling a little embarrassed. Or maybe he's still a little freaked out when he thinks about what it means that she was willing to do something obviously shady to get him out of trouble and he doesn't know what to say to her about that.
But then it's late on a random Tuesday night when he's dressed in sweats for bed and there's a knock at his door. There she is on his doorstep, smiling a little tentatively.
"Surprise," she says, and he must look annoyed or put out because she points at his face and smirks. "Yeah, I didn't think you'd let me in if you knew I was coming."
She pushes past him into the living room, and it occurs to him that this is the first time that she's ever been to his place – he's not quite sure how he feels about that.
"It's not like that," he lies feebly. "I've just been busy. The life of a traffic cop… but you probably can't remember that far back."
She sighs, shaking her head.
"Come on, Nick. It's just temporary. You can't get too down about it."
"Easy for you to say."
The words come out harsher than he intends, and he's surprised that she doesn't flinch. Because the truth is that maybe he resents her a little bit – she got herself into serious trouble and she was able to skate without a stop in traffic duty – and he hates feeling that way about her. She takes a step toward him, and it's as if there's some sort of gravitational pull between them because he can't stop himself from moving forward too, and then she's taking her hand in his, tangling their fingers together.
"You've just got to hang in there," she whispers. "You've just got to—"
He's tired of talking, so he curls his hand over her cheek and presses his mouth to hers, trying to drink every bit of her in. He winds up fucking her right there against the front door of the house that he shared with his wife, where he raised his daughter, and maybe it makes him a terrible person but it's the most right that he's felt in weeks.
She doesn't stay afterward – she just straightens her clothes and leans in to kiss his cheek.
"I'll see you soon," she says, and her tone makes it clear that she's done accepting his excuses.
The third time they meet up at that summer, it's an Italian place downtown with little red votive candles on the tables that give the whole place a romantic rosy glow. But it's not a date or anything like that because Fin comes along.
Nick's still smarting from the whole demotion thing, so there is a silent agreement to table shop talk for the night, which means they eat too much pasta, crush a few bottles of red wine between them, and waste most of the evening lamenting the Yankees', Mets', and Braves' chances for the season.
By the end of dinner, Amanda is a little tipsy, which leaves her all flushed and giggly, and Fin has to steady when she stumbles over a crack in the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.
"You'll make sure she gets home okay?" he asks, looking at Nick. "I'd do it, but I gotta get uptown. Gotta see someone about something."
Nick nods, but Amanda swats at Fin's chest with the back of her hand.
"You've got a date!" she declares gleefully.
Fin smirks as he takes a couple of steps backward.
"There might be a woman involved, yeah."
"Don't do anything we wouldn't do," she laughs, slurring the words a little.
Fin still gets the message, though, because he stops at the curb and shakes his head.
"I'm gettin' away with a lot if that's the case," he says.
Amanda laughs again, like she enjoys the joke, but Nick drops his gaze to the sidewalk, not wanting to give anything else away if Fin's starting to suspect something. It's a humid night, so Amanda slides out of her blazer, leaving her in some dark tank top thing that makes her skin seem even paler than usual. She loops her arm through his then, leaning into him a little for support, and grins.
"You gonna make sure I get home safe?" she asks, as flirty as he's ever heard her.
He smiles and steers her toward the car.
"I'm gonna try."
The second to last time they meet up before he finishes his traffic duty tour, they're lying in his bed, the sheets thrown off because even though the summer's almost over, it's still pushing 90 degrees. Amanda stretches against the pillows, and he notices for the first time how exhausted she looks.
"Long day?" he asks.
She nods listlessly.
"And frustrating."
He toys with a corner of the loose sheet, wrapping it around his finger until it goes a little numb.
"What're you guys working on?"
She brushes the hair out of her eyes and shrugs.
"Gang rape at a house party in Washington Heights," she tells him. "The vic was a friend of a friend, so she didn't really know anyone at the party, which is making pinning down the guest list a real pain in the ass."
"You should check social media," he says. "Maybe someone on Twitter mentioned the…"
He trails off when he notices her wry smile.
"I have been doing this job for a few years, you know."
He huffs out a strained laugh, feeling more than a little embarrassed.
"I guess this is rock bottom," he says. "I'm actually envying you for investigating a real crime when there's some poor girl who's gone through this nightmare."
Amanda scoots closer to him and trails her fingers up and down his arm.
"Nick," she whispers. "It's okay.
But it's not and he thinks that they both know that.
The first time they're together after he's reassigned to SVU, it's just after they've finally nail that slime ball producer. He brings his own bottle of champagne to her place and she smiles as lets him inside.
"Now we really have something to celebrate," he says.
She grabs a couple of glasses from her cabinet, and he sends the cork flying halfway across the room, scaring Frannie and making Amanda laugh.
"It wasn't the same without you," she tells him as he hands her a glass.
"You sayin' I'm irreplaceable?"
She smirks, tapping her glass against his.
"What I'm sayin' is that I'm used to your brand of pain in the ass. It's no fun breaking in someone new."
He nods and takes a sip of the champagne.
"It's okay," he drawls. "You can say it. You missed me. You missed me big time."
She drops her glass on the coffee table and grabs a hold of his tie to pull him close.
"Shut up," she growls.
When she kisses him, he ends up spilling his champagne in both of their laps and then the sensible thing to do is get out of their wet clothes.
The first time that he shows up at her apartment unannounced, it's the night after Holden March is shot right in front of her eyes.
He figures that it's okay to come by without any advanced warning even though she's been quiet and distant because she came to his house uninvited a few months back when he was in turmoil so he's just repaying the favor. She lets him inside reluctantly, and it's clear that she doesn't really want him there but she's too tired to fight at the moment.
He holds up the box of cinnamon graham crackers he picked up on the way and shrugs.
"Thought you might like these."
"I'm fine, Nick," she sighs, sounding supremely annoyed.
He bends down to pet Frannie, watching as Amanda grabs a glass full of an amber-colored liquid from her kitchen counter.
"Sure," he says. "Of course. You're always fine."
She turns and pins him with a fierce glare.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you never want to admit when anything's wrong."
She laughs darkly, shaking her head.
"Right, cause you're just an open book when you're upset. Please."
He understands why she's upset – she saw a kid killed right in front of her eyes when there was a chance that she could have talked him down, which has to have her feeling a little helpless – but he isn't quite sure why there's so much anger directed at him. Even if March wasn't off in the head, she has to know that the things he said about them weren't true – because Nick's belt doesn't have many notches to begin with and maybe they don't talk about the way they feel but she's got to understand that he cares about her.
He cared even before they were sleeping together – that had to be obvious.
She stares back at him blankly, though, so maybe it isn't as simple as that. He thinks that his marriage blew up because Maria figured he didn't care anymore, because his ways of showing how he felt didn't quite cut it with her, so maybe there's some defect in him, some short circuit that keeps everything from firing like it should.
But he doesn't know how fix it, maybe there isn't even a way, and this thing wasn't supposed to be so much work anyway.
"This isn't about me," he tells her. "I'm not the one who had a front row seat to a guy dying today."
She shrugs, like none of it was a big deal, and drains the rest of her glass.
"Look, I'm not up for company tonight, okay? So let's just do all this tomorrow …"
He cocks his head, studying her carefully. It doesn't seem like a good idea to leave her alone – he imagines her calling an old bookie to bet on one of the pennant races or driving down to A.C. to let it all ride on red – but he knows what happens when he pushes her, how hard she pushes back, and right now, he is too tired for that too.
So he takes a deep breath and nods.
"Fine," he says. "See you tomorrow."
On his way out, he leaves the box of graham crackers on the counter, but he doesn't look back.
The next time that they see each other, she wants to pretend that nothing happened – and maybe he shouldn't go along with it, but he does.
She's got him in her bed within a minute of coming through her apartment door and he just tries to hold on and let her dictate the pace. Afterward, she's still moving a mile a minute, grabbing his undershirt from the floor and slipping it over her head while he's just trying to catch his breath. He watches her pad over to her dress and rummage around the items on top, looking for something. She plucks a pack of cigarettes from the mess, extracts one, and lights it, all while he tries to remember if he knew she smoked.
She takes a couple of deep drags before moving to the window, opening it a few inches, and perching on the sill so she can blow the smoke outside.
"Those things'll kill you," he says, and he works hard to keep his tone light.
She looks at him over her shoulder and shrugs.
"I'm a cop, Nick. A stray bullet is more likely to do the job."
He frowns because that's a dark, hopeless kind of thought and it's unnerving to hear her voice it, even if it's a reality that they both live with every day.
"I'm just sayin.' It's not healthy."
She laughs a little darkly, stubbing out the cigarette against the side of a Falcons' coffee mug that's on the sill beside her.
"I've cut back," she insists. "But I slip up sometimes. This might be hard for you to understand, but I'm only human."
He narrows his eyes in confusion.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She shrugs again, bending to pick up some of her clothing from the floor.
"It means everyone's not perfect like you, Nick. We make mistakes, we screw up, we do stupid—"
"When did I ever say I was perfect?" he demands.
"You always know what everyone else should be doing," she says. "Don't you?"
She's avoiding his eyes now, gathering up her socks and underwear from beneath the bed and dropping them in the laundry basket in the corner of the room.
"All this because I pointed out that smoking can kill you?"
She lifts a shoulder, shaking the wrinkles from her blazer. She seems annoyed, but she's seemed annoyed for a couple of weeks now and he still doesn't understand what it's all about.
He wants to smooth things over, though. He doesn't like the friction between them.
"Amanda, I'm not—"
"Forget it," she says, waving a dismissive hand. "Maybe we should just stop talking. That's what always gets us in trouble."
She drapes her blazer over the foot of the bed, and then she's tugging his T-shirt up and off and climbing back over him in bed. She starts pressing open-mouthed kisses down his chest and over his stomach, and it feels as good as it always does, so he tangles a hand in her hair and lets his eyes drift shut.
Maybe she's right.
The last time it happens, they don't know that it's the last time.
They're just back from Chicago and they're kind of exhausted so when he drops her off at her apartment after the airport, it's easier to just go upstairs with her then trek all the way home.
They wind up in the shower together, running a soapy mesh sponge all over each other's body until he hoists her up and presses her against the cracked tile wall for better leverage.
Four days later, she gets drunk and tries to goad him into doing something unforgivable – well, at least something he could never forgive himself for. She doesn't know all the details of what went on with his father when he was growing up, so she can't understand how sensitive this subject is for him, how black and white it feels to him. He doesn't understand exactly what's going on with her either, but it isn't just about Paula Martin and the case – he is smart enough to figure that out.
She obviously doesn't want to talk about it, though, and he's not a glutton for punishment so he leaves her alone in that bar, and he knows that whatever it is between them, it's cracked right down the middle.
The first time that they're really alone together after the scene in the bar, it's in the squad room after a case that was draining and offered little closure.
They've been keeping their distance from one another, while trying to maintain a polite, professional façade at work, and he is exhausted from the whole thing. It's not that he thinks they can't get past what happened, but he wonders what the point is. It's not like they were in the midst of some great love affair after all, it's not like they were married – and he gave up on his actual marriage, didn't he?
Why would he fight for something that was half over form the start?
But he looks at her across the room, dutifully finishing off paperwork at her desk, and sighs. It's nearly 7 a.m. and they've been working all night so his mind is a little fuzzy, but he thinks that maybe she's right in a way. Maybe she doesn't need saving – or maybe she does, but if she won't take any help that's offered, there's nothing to do be done anyway.
She stands suddenly, stretching her arms over her head. She catches his eyes as she grabs her jacket from the back of her chair.
"I'm gonna run to the deli," she says. "Want anything?"
He hesitates, wondering if it's some kind of test.
"Um, bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel?"
He starts to reach into his pocket for his wallet, but she waves him off.
"It's okay," she tells him. "My treat."
It's not a big deal because they pick up meals for each other around here all the time, but he gets the sense that she's trying to extend an olive branch and he's got to meet her halfway.
"Thanks."
She smiles and nods, but that only makes the distance between them seem greater somehow. He goes back to his paperwork without another word.
The second time that he thinks about her during the holidays is on New Year's Eve when he's contemplating his resolutions.
He's been busy running around, so he really doesn't have much time for thinking – which is why it isn't until he's boarded the plane to L.A. on Christmas morning that he thinks about texting her. She is probably alone – she hasn't spoken to her sister in a couple of years and he doesn't really know what the deal is with her mother, but the holidays are always rough and he worries that maybe she's feeling the temptation to place a bet on one of the bowl games.
But then she'd probably see it as him checking up on her, trying to save her from herself, and he really doesn't want to go down that road with her again. Besides, whatever it was that was going on between them is over and it's best not to prolong the whole thing.
Because right now they can still work together and he doesn't want to rock the boat.
When the New Year rolls around, he thinks about calling or texting her again, wishing her a friendly Happy New Year like he did with Liv. He gets as far as pulling his phone out of his pocket and clicking on her name before he reconsiders.
A clean break is best for both of them, he tells himself. It's the best way to handle things.
When her past comes back to haunt her the most recent time, he really puts his anger management training to the test.
Because whenever he thinks about what that son of a bitch Patton did to her, he wants to smash the asshole with his bare hands, rip him to fucking shreds.
Their fight suddenly makes a lot more sense too, because he understands now why she was so opposed to Paula being made a victim – and he wants to tell her that, he wants her to know that she can share every terrible detail if it'll make her feel better, but he knows that he can't push.
Years of working at SVU have taught him that, but his knowledge of her underscores the point pretty emphatically.
So he tells her that he's there if she needs him and he hopes that's enough.
The day after Patton finally gets some of what's coming to him, Liv is threatening to send Nick home with a police escort if he doesn't catch at least an hour of sleep after working through the night. So he begrudgingly takes a cap nap at the station, which is going pretty well – until he hears the door creak open and he knows without opening his eyes that Amanda's beside him because there's the musky scent of vanilla in the air, that perfect combination of her perfume and body wash, so even though he's got twenty minutes left before his alarm is set to go off, he feels himself jerk to full alertness.
"You awake?" she asks tentatively.
"I am now," he teases as he pushes up a little against the pillow.
She sits on the edge of the bed, just beside his feet, and sighs. Liv's been trying to convince her to take some time off, which is obviously a good idea, but she insisted on tying up some loose ends before using any vacation days.
Maybe he's one of the loose ends.
"I'm sorry to bother you," she says, not looking him in the eye. "But… I just… I want to make sure you know that I'm still the same. I'm still the same person I've always been. None of this changes that."
He nods automatically.
"Yeah," he agrees. "Of course."
"So I don't need you treating me with kid gloves now, worrying about how cases are affecting me or anything like that. I'm fine… I'll be fine."
He sits up, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed until he's sitting beside her and can wrap an arm around her shoulders. She tucks herself into his side without hesitation, so he holds her to him, resting cheek against the top of her head.
"I wanna kill him," he whispers into her hair. "I want to beat him to a bloody pulp. It's all I can think about."
She bobs her head in what he thinks is agreement, but then he feels her start to shake and he realizes that she's crying silently as she presses her face into the curve of his neck and fists her hand in his tie.
Fin chooses that moment to breeze into the room, humming an unidentifiable tune under his breath. But he sees them immediately and shoots Nick a concerned look before backing out of the room as quickly as he can.
Amanda never looks up.
The first time he realizes that maybe things aren't quite as finished between them as he thought, he's getting ready to take the stand at his father's trial.
She is still in Costa Rica, as far away from New York and Atlanta and sex crimes as she can get, and he hasn't been in touch with her since she left, but Fin or someone else must have told her what's going on with him because his phone buzzes and there's a message from her.
I'm here if you need me, it reads, and he realizes that it's essentially what he told her back when Patton bulldozed his way back into her life, and she's returning the gesture – and everything is still a fucking mess, but somehow it's enough to get him to take a deep breath for just a minute. That probably means something, he realizes. It probably means something important, but he isn't in any place where he can figure out what that might be.
Thanks, is all he writes back.
The first time they have a minute alone after she gets back from her trip, they're barely alone.
She doesn't get to ease herself back in because she and Liv pick up a case the night before her first day back, and it's a hard one, so they're both too busy for small talk. She's also probably remembering the last time they spoke, when she literally cried on his shoulder, and he knows her, how tough she forces herself to be all the time, so he understands how much that probably cost her. So maybe she's avoiding him a little bit too.
But when the case winds down and they're just tying up loose ends, she stops to grab something from her locker and the rest of area is empty so he heads over to her, trying to look as casual as possible in case anyone might notice.
"Hey," he says, leaning against the locker beside hers. "I didn't get to ask. Good trip?"
She smiles, lifting a tired shoulder.
"It wasn't bad," she says. "I mean, I'm not really any good at calming things down, you know? But I think it helped… cleared my head a little."
"Good. That's good."
She closes her locker and leans back against it so she can meet his eyes.
"I'm sorry you went through such a tough time here," she says. "I know a little about that."
He nods slowly.
"Not really a club you wanna belong to, though." He shrugs. "Maybe there's something in the water around here."
She huffs out a dry, little laugh and shakes her head.
"But maybe that's all the bad luck for us around here for the year. Maybe we got it all out of the way by February 1st."
"Wow," he says, grinning. "That retreat really must've worked. Because that's pretty positive thinking."
She smirks, nudging his side with her elbow.
"Don't get used to it, okay?"
He nods, and there are other things that he wants to say but he doesn't really know what or how. It seems like she might feel the same way, and they both wind up contemplating the dirty floor tiles when they don't know what else to do. Talking's never really been their strong point, which was a big part of the problem, so it would be easy to walk away now and consider the whole thing a success.
But he lingers there against the lockers and so does she and then he has to say something.
"Frannie must've missed you."
He wants to kick himself for sounding like an idiot, but the corner of her mouth lifts a little and she meets his eyes again.
"You would be wrong," she says wryly. "The kennel she stayed at was this fancy place with suites and everything. There was a couch and a bottomless basket of beef chews in her room so she was kind of pissed when I picked her up."
He chuckles a little.
"Well, you might've been missed around here. You know, just a little."
She tilts her head, studying him intently for a long moment – but then her gaze darts away and she smiles a little.
"Who are you kidding?" she teases. "You just missed me bringing you your 4 o'clock caffeine fix."
He can't argue in good conscience, so he just shrugs.
"And maybe your smile. You know, the three times a year when you actually do it."
As if on cue, she smiles, and the flush that comes over her cheeks makes it even better.
The first time that it happens in over four months, they've just finished working a cluster fuck of a case.
It's been double shifts and twenty minute naps, and now that they've finally closed it, he doesn't know whether he should sleep, eat, or shower first. Fin took off after he crossed the last T on his paperwork, Liv had to duck out early to get Noah to a doctor's appointment, and Carisi's off tying up loose ends before the arraignment tomorrow, so it's just he and Amanda finishing up in the squad room. She closes her laptop with a flourish and sighs.
"This has been the week from hell."
"That's an understatement," he says.
She nods and pushes away from her desk to stand.
"And I know I need sleep… a week's worth actually… but it's like I'm almost too tired to actually close my eyes."
He bobs his head in understanding, watching as she approaches his desk almost tentatively. It's always struck him as funny that for someone as tough and brash as she is, she can have these moments where she is so shy and unsure – and there's something charming about it, so when she perches carefully on the edge of his desk, he can only smile.
"So… want to grab a drink?" she asks.
He knows what she's trying to do, that she's trying for some kind of fresh start – and he's not entirely sure that it's going to work out because maybe they aren't any good for each other, maybe they're both too stubborn and wounded and proud to be any good to anyone. But then maybe, they're both in a better place than they were last year. Maybe dealing with the demons from their past has given them a clean slate. Maybe it can be different.
It's worth a shot.
"Actually," he says, dropping his pen. "I can't remember the last time I ate something that didn't come from a vending machine or inside a pizza box. That Asian fusion place has been around the corner for a year and I still haven't tried it… how about dinner?"
She smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Fin swears by that place, actually. He and Ken go there all the time."
"So… dinner then?"
"Yeah," she says. "Sure. Dinner sounds good."
Maybe this time, it can be that simple.