AN: This idea started when I saw a picture of Rollins and Amaro from the episode Military Justice (15.08). I remembered that scene where Barba and Benson (sort of) were scolding them for almost screwing over the investigation because they didn't know about the Garrity Rule. So, I tweeted this: AU where Rafael is Amanda's dad (take your daughter to work day), & Liv is Nick's mom and it's like a weird Brady Bunch situation... and then this: actually, now that I think about it, it would make sense if the Cubans go together. But Nick being wary of his stepdad Barba. *sideeye emoji* Anyway, so I ended up going with Rafael as Nick's dad and Liv as Amanda's mom. And relations and all that will be further explained in the story. This story is AU and I will take some creative liberties with characterization, especially with the teenage characters. However, I will try my best to stick to Nick and Amanda's personalities on the show. Read, enjoy, and review.

Save Room

1. Lonely Town

"Wake up, sleepyhead." Olivia Benson tugged at her daughter's duvet before she walked across the room to open the curtains. The early October sunshine filtered into the room and bounced off the light yellow walls, earning a groan from her groggy and half-asleep teenager.

With Amanda's voice muffled into the pillow, Olivia thought she heard her say 'five more minutes.' She smiled and set the cup of coffee down on the side table as she sat on the bed. Days like these were rare for the two of them, so she wanted to get a head start. They had several things they had to check off on their list – find a gift for her partner's birthday, purchase ingredients for those cupcakes they told themselves they would make when they bought the cupcake pan, and go to Barney's to score a good deal on a homecoming dress.

"We have the day off on a Wednesday," Amanda moaned, turning her head to face her mother. She shielded her eyes from the glaring daylight as she cleared her throat. "Can't you sleep in like a normal person?"

Olivia shook her head and smiled. "I don't sleep in and I don't sleep early; you should know that by now."

Amanda rolled her eyes before she buried her face back in the comfort and darkness of her pillow.

When she emerged out of her bedroom half an hour later, showered and dressed for this epic day of 'mother-daughter bonding', Olivia had breakfast ready. Two glasses of her signature kale and blueberry smoothie and two bowls of granola parfait waited for them on the kitchen counter. Amanda peered over the smoothie and took a sniff before she threw its contents back in the blender. She tossed in some Froot Loops into the granola and feasted on her breakfast as she sank on the couch and watched The Today Show.

"Mom, when did Al Roker get so skinny?"

"What?"

"I said—" she stopped mid-chew, "never mind!"

Olivia emerged from the bedroom with her phone in hand and a folder in the other. She walked into the kitchen and saw Amanda's empty glass sitting in the kitchen sink. "Honey, want some more of the smoothie?"

"Uh, no, I'm pretty full."

"So…" Olivia trailed off, squeezing in next to her daughter with her own bowl of granola parfait. "I know I said no work today but I have to drop these files off at the courthouse. I promise we'll be in and out of there in fifteen minutes, tops."

Amanda twisted her mouth into a smirk. "No need to explain yourself. It's the nature of the job – I get it."

"Are you sure?"

"Mom, please," Amanda said, rising from the couch to add more Froot Loops into her bowl. "I'm the most understanding kid on the face of the planet. You should consider yourself lucky."

Everyday, since the adoption papers were finalized Olivia considered herself more than lucky to have Amanda as her daughter. It had been a long and grueling journey. It started on her first year as a detective in the 1-6. They were working a case on foster parents who filmed children so they could distribute child pornography in the black market. At the height of the investigation she and her partner, Elliot Stabler, found an abandoned infant when their suspects attempted to flee the city.

Throughout the years, Olivia followed the case of the baby girl as she moved from Child Protective Services to foster homes and back. It was a never-ending cycle for the poor girl, which Olivia couldn't understand because little Amanda was perfectly healthy. When the girl was six, her foster parents were discovered to have had a crystal meth lab in their basement. Amanda was sent back to CPS until they could find another suitable home for her, and the older she got, the more unlikely were her chances of ever being adopted.

So, in spite of the warnings people told her about raising a child on her own, Olivia asked the family courts if she could petition to adopt Amanda. They gave her a grace period of a year to see if she would make a suitable parent, and Olivia surpassed all the tests. Amanda, who had already adored her since she was a toddler, grew to love her even more. But just weeks before her grace period was up and she could finally work on the adoption papers, Olivia got a call from the Atlanta Police Department.

They found and arrested Amanda's birth mother, who was being charged for murder. It was a crime of passion. Her abusive boyfriend raped her and so she retaliated by grabbing a chef's knife and stabbing him sixteen times in the chest and the abdomen. Amanda's birth mother wanted nothing to do with her child; but APD told Olivia that Amanda's grandparents had learned of her existence and they were filing for custody of their granddaughter.

In the span of a year, Olivia had gone from a mother to a beautiful six-year-old girl back to living alone in her apartment. It was the most devastating experience of her life to watch her daughter hauled off to another state, to another family. And even when she tried to situate herself in the grandparents' shoes, she couldn't fathom why this had to happen and why they insisted on taking her away. Stabler tried to get her to understand that they were her blood relatives, and Amanda had a younger half-sister, so maybe they just wanted her to have a real family. Olivia recalled avoiding her partner for weeks after that, because how dare he say that she didn't count as 'real family'.

Thankfully, they were decent people – at least, that's what Olivia was made to believe in the beginning. Her grandparents allowed Olivia and Amanda to exchange letters; and although they never made trips up to New York, Olivia tried to come down to rural Loganville to visit and see how she was doing. While it was painful, she was comforted by the fact that Amanda was doing well in school and enjoying having a little sister.

Then Amanda turned twelve, and the communication just came to a grinding halt. Letters stopped arriving. The family changed phone numbers. After weeks of searching, Olivia tracked them down to a different, more remote town and by the time she took a flight down to Atlanta, news had spread of a runaway. APD was convinced that Olivia had kidnapped the child, and while she was down there it was like a witch-hunt, where they tried to charge her with all sorts of bogus claims, just because their department was so incapable of finding Amanda.

In the end, Amanda was found after a joint effort by SVU and the APD. Olivia remembered the first time she locked eyes with Amanda and how her little girl ran towards her and desperately clung to her shoulders. She was weeping and telling her that she didn't want to go back to her grandparents. They didn't physically abuse her, but there were years of emotional and psychological trauma brought about by a cult-like religious indoctrination. With her birth mother wanting nothing to do with her, and her grandparents giving up on their 'sinful' child, Olivia had a chance to take her back to New York and legally become her parent.

It was a tough road, but Olivia definitely considered herself lucky.

"Detective Benson," Assistant District Attorney Rafael Barba announced, scanning his eyes from the top of her $60 haircut to her practical black boots. He snuck in a sneer before he looked up to meet her warm brown eyes. "I was unaware that it was take your daughter to work day."

Olivia forced a smile and placed an arm on her daughter's shoulder. "ADA Barba, Amanda," she introduced, "honey, this is the new ADA who will be working with the unit on most of our future cases."

"Well, detective, I wouldn't say I'm 'new'." He lowered his head and smirked. "I'm simply changing the scenery."

"You mean, transferring out of Brooklyn?"

"Is your mother always this pleasant?" He turned to the blonde teenager.

Amanda rolled her eyes, trying her best to be patient. While she told her mom that she could understand why their little side adventure to the courthouse was necessary, it still wasn't her idea of fun. To make matters worse, she had to deal with smartass lawyers dressed in flashy suits that were worth more than her school's athletic program. "They don't call her the heart of SVU for nothin'." She forced a smile.

Barba cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brows. "That accent," he pointed out, "South Carolina?"

"Georgia," Olivia answered. Amanda's childhood was something neither one of the girls hashed over with just anyone. She knew Barba could easily pull some strings and figure out their story, but here and now was neither the time nor the place. "Enough small talk, I'm here to discuss the Jocelyn Paley case."

"Yes, yes, of course," He said, ushering them out to the hall and towards a private conference room.

Olivia turned to Amanda as soon as they reached the doorway. "Honey," she said, pulling out a wad of bills from her pocket. "Why don't you wait outside by the hotdog cart and get us lunch. I'll be out in ten minutes, I promise."

Amanda held her hand out as her mother dropped a ten on her palm, but she kept her hand out and Olivia shook her head and added another bill. Smiling broadly, the blonde girl whipped around and practically sprinted down the hall.

"Teenagers," Olivia chuckled, shaking her head. "Do you have any kids?"

"Huh? Me?" Barba gestured to himself and looked around, realizing there was no one else the detective could be directing her question to. "Yeah… Uh, I have a 15… no, 16-year-old."

"Really? You married?"

Barba narrowed his eyes. "Are we investigating the Paley case or my personal life, detective?"

Olivia shrugged and smiled. "You're right," she said, drawing out the case file and showing him what the squad had uncovered on the rapist, Adam Cain.

Amanda sat at the courthouse steps and checked the time on her phone. She had been waiting fourteen minutes now, and her mom's hotdog was getting cold and the ice had already diluted her diet coke. Tapping her feet impatiently, she observed the suits, with their briefcases on hand and cell phones pressed up against their ears, running up and down the courthouse steps.

She was never really a big fan of lawyers. Maybe it had something to do with them always making promises of nice, normal families adopting her; when there was never any follow-through. Then there was mom's ex-boyfriend, David Haden. He seemed nice at first, but Amanda always had this gut feeling that something was wrong with him. Her mom mentioned it was probably because she didn't trust lawyers, but it turned out Amanda was right about him. What was it that her best friend said about David Haden after that citywide scandal? He said David Haden had a black book of escorts that could rival Drake's.

Then he started randomly singing Marvin's Room whenever Olivia was around, "I'm just sayin' you could do better."

Speaking of her gay best friend, homecoming date, and track team rival – Amanda just received a text from Wesley Jordan himself.

[How's the dress shopping going?]

[Oh, fantastic. So many options at the supreme court.]

[Mama got called into work again? *sad face emoji* Well, when you finally get your ass to Barney's, remember that you look gorge in blue and purple, but you don't look so hot in hot pink.]

[Rude.]

[Do you have anything hot pink in your closet?]

[No.]

[Well, I rest my case, your honor.]

"I'm so sorry I ran late, honey." Olivia dashed down the steps. She stopped and looked down at her daughter, who was typing away at her phone. "Hey, are you texting Wes?"

Amanda craned her neck up to see her mom standing a step behind her. "Mhmmm… he wants to know how the dress shopping is going. Wants to make sure I look worthy to be his date."

"Did he really say that?" Olivia narrowed her eyes.

"Mom," she passed the cold hotdog and the drink over to Olivia. "It's Wes. It's implied."

"You know, I think it's sweet that you two are going together as friends. But I don't see why neither one of you could find more…" she paused, debating her word choice, "satisfactory dates for homecoming. You're pretty, he's attractive…"

Amanda stuck out her tongue when Olivia called her pretty. "A bunch of guys asked him, but he doesn't like any of them because they're not Jorge."

"Who's Jorge?"

"Some guy who lives in his building," Amanda reported, standing up to follow her mom to their parked car. "He's a bike messenger and a soul cycle trainer and apparently he has really sexy calves."

"Wes is 15, and this Jorge must be in his twenties at least," Olivia reminded her.

"See, mom," Amanda groaned, raising her arms up in defeat. "This is why I don't tell you about my 60-year-old sugar daddy who works in Wall Street."

Olivia blinked hard and her jaw dropped, before she finally unlocked the car. "You have a strange sense of humor, Amanda."

Rafael tossed the folders on top of the pile before he closed the Hermes briefcase. It had been an eventful day but it looked like, for the first time all month, he would actually make it home before dusk. "Spoke too soon," he muttered to himself as the intercom buzzed.

"What is it now, Susan?" he impatiently asked his secretary.

"It's Isabella Amaro on line one."

Rafael grumbled an epithet, rolling his eyes until he could practically feel them trundling about in the back of his skull. "Put her through."

When the receiver picked up the sound from the other line, he could hear the familiar voice that, to him, was practically synonymous to the sound of nails on a chalkboard. Isabella was directing orders at whatever poor, unfortunate soul had to be her assistant of the week. Rafael gave her a few seconds to realize that she was on the line, before he got tired of hearing her badger the poor girl and spoke up. "Bella, what can I do for you?"

"Oh, Rafi," she greeted in that naturally seductive tone. "I thought that secretary of yours… Sally… no, Sarah… put me on hold. Anyway, I was wondering if you were free to have dinner tonight—"

"Eh, I'm a little swamped with work right now."

"Please," she said sardonically, stressing the vowels in the word. "You work for the city. You can spare an hour to meet with your ex-wife and your son for dinner. I have something important to tell you."

"Is he in trouble?"

"What makes you think Nicholas is in trouble?" Isabella replied defensively. "He's a good boy. I've raised him well."

"Aha, sure you have," Rafael said, rummaging through his drawers, looking for that bottle of aspirin. "Tell me again, wasn't it your housekeeper, Marta, who changed all of his diapers and took him to his first day of preschool?"

"You're one to talk," she scoffed. "When was the last time you had a conversation with your son where he didn't reply with a simple yes or no answer?"

"You sue me for full custody of our kid, who you don't even have the time for, and then you blame me for being the absent parent. That is rich, Bella."

"Look, Rafi," Isabella sighed. "I'm not going to get into this argument with you for the thousandth fucking time. But will you please show up to dinner tonight at seven at Garibaldi's. Do not be late."

The time on his Rolex read 7:27PM. Rafael tried to look pleased and content with his wine as the waiter passed by. The tuxedoed gentleman must have assumed Rafael had been stood up because he cast him an apologetic smile. His ex-wife was consistently punctual for meetings and court dates, but whenever it involved him, she just simply didn't care. He downed his glass of wine and pulled his sleeve up to check the time again, but the hour and minute hands had remained stationary.

"Rafi."

He stood up and turned around to see his ex-wife dressed in a sleek pantsuit with her Chanel purse tucked above her elbow. It had been weeks since he last saw her, but now she was sporting a dark blonde, cropped do. "You're late," he muttered as she kissed both his cheeks.

"Nicholas had soccer practice until seven," she informed him.

"But you said to meet here at seven," Rafael began to argue, but stopped when he saw his son lower his head, embarrassed to have the other patrons watch their hostile family reunion. "But you're both here now. Let's have dinner, shall we?"

When Rafael met Isabella Amaro at Harvard Law School, he was captivated by her. She was beautiful, sophisticated, brilliant – an absolute goddess in five-inch Manolo Blahniks. He pined for this unobtainable woman, who never seemed to notice him unless he was beating out her test scores or reaping more attention from their professors. He watched, as she became one of the fastest rising corporate lawyers in the city. And even though he had heard horror stories about her narcissism, and her high-strung and cutthroat personality, he was still infatuated by the idea of her.

In Isabella's mind, it was a moment of weakness and poor judgment to sleep with Rafael Barba from law school. But a one-night stand turned into a pregnancy scare that had developed into a social and moral nightmare that could only be rectified by a ring on her finger. At the time, there was nothing more vulgar and ill-bred than an Italian Catholic with a child born out of wedlock. So she manipulated the Harvard charity case into marrying her. He said he loved her, and it was sort of like doing him a favor. Two years later, their divorce was finalized.

Stranded in the middle of it all was their son, Nicholas. Fortunately, Isabella could afford a staff of nannies, housekeepers, and chauffeurs to raise her child. Considering most of the staff she'd hired were of Hispanic descent, her half-Cuban child learned to speak fluent Spanish at the same time he grasped the English language. Rafael, his mother, and his grandmother were all shocked, but rather delighted, to find out that little Nick had learned to speak their mother tongue without any effort on their part.

Surprisingly, Nick had matured into a disciplined and responsible kid, all things considered. To his parents, they thought he was maybe too reserved and rather shy. But at the end of the day, he didn't give them any more trouble than they gave each other. Nick was just there. But perhaps that sentiment stemmed from Rafael and Isabella's common detachment and lack of interest in their son's life. No one was winning any 'parent of the year' awards in this family.

"I'll just have the wine," Isabella pursed her enhanced lips at the waiter. "We can't stay too long. I have a masseuse scheduled to come to the house at 8:30."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm not," she countered, casting him a confused look. "Anyway, I have some exciting news. As you know, I have been name partner at Goldman Powell Amaro for the last six years –"

"Is this going somewhere or are you just gloating?"

Isabella stared icily at him. "Like I was saying, it's been six fulfilling years and I figured it was time for a change. And just in time, I got an offer as the top in-house lawyer for one of the biggest agencies in Hollywood – Elite Management." She paused to smirk at her ex-husband, whose eyes had widened. "So, I'm moving to LA next week."

"Next week?" Rafael repeated.

"Right, that's why we," she announced, reaching over to fix the collar of her son's shirt, "wanted to talk to you about Nicholas moving in with you."

"Wait, what?"

"Don't sound too excited," Isabella said sarcastically. "He wants to stay in the city and finish school here with his friends, but in order to stay here, he needs to live with an adult." She laid her palms out in front of her ex.

"Me?" Rafael asked, turning to his son, "you want to live with me?"

Nick exhaled deeply and ran his hands through his hair. "Well, I wouldn't say 'want', but it's not like I have much of a choice."

"So?" Isabella asked, tilting her head to the side as she awaited his response.

"Uh…"

"You know what, dad," Nick said, throwing his napkin on the table. "Forget it. I should've known you'd never agree to this."

"No, no, no… Nick, I want you to stay," He rushed out, his forehead creasing as he pondered the new arrangement. Nick hadn't lived with him since he was two, and even then Rafael barely knew how to interact with a toddler. And he hadn't had a roommate since college, so this new development was a little bewildering. "You're welcome to live with me. It's your house, too."

"Really?" Nick asked in surprise. His eyes lit up and his mouth curled into a smile that highlighted his dimples. It was baffling how two people who despised each other so much could create such a precious child.

Isabella clapped her hands together as she beamed from ear to ear. "Well, glad that's now settled."

Rafael straightened in his seat and raised the glass to his lips. Of course he was thrilled to have his son live with him, but he would be lying if he didn't admit he was scared shitless. On paper, he had been a father for the last sixteen years. And while he had shown up for birthdays and graduations and helped out with the occasional science project, he just didn't know what day-to-day life was like with a teenager. He glanced across the table to see Nick texting on his phone, and smiling at whatever message he just received. Rafael took deep breaths through his nose to calm himself; he pressed two fingers to his temple as he felt a migraine coming on.

What the fuck did he just get himself into?