Author's Note: Here's a new one!
A Different Light
Fall 2011
"What are you doing on this side of town?"
Caught off guard, Olivia Benson is slightly startled but manages to hide it—in her opinion—with a look of indifference on her face.
"It's the weekend, I'm just killing some time," she answers nonchalantly.
This is the first time he's ever seen her outside of their work realm. It seems to him that it's the only territory in which she exists. She's always immersed in her work, she never really talks about her personal life or her family and she seems lonely. In the few short months that he's known her he feels like he's really just met her. There's not much that he knows because she never reveals too much. Getting her to open up would probably be like trying to open up a jar that's been sealed tight for hundreds of years . . . Atleast that's his guess. He can't say that he's ever really tried.
But—seeing her now, not at work, in regular clothes, kind of care-free; there's something about it that he likes. He feels an attraction—mutual maybe?—and it's so palpable that he can taste it.
". . ."
"Nick?"
"I . . . Uh, it's just weird seeing you outside the office."
She shrugs again, averting her gaze back to the display of pastries in front of her. "I heard this place was pretty good."
"It is. You should try the lemon bars; they're pretty amazing."
"I was leaning more toward that fudge brownie right there," she responds pointing to an especially chocolaty looking brownie.
Nick chuckles. "A brownie? You're telling me you came all the way over here—to the most famous pastry shop in New York—for a fudge brownie? Are you kidding me?"
She smiles. For the first time since he's known her; she smiles—and it reaches her eyes. "I like brownies."
"You can get a brownie from any local grocery store. You don't come here for a brownie; you come here for lemon bars and cakes."
"I can't say that I'm a huge lemon lover."
"Then try the raspberry bar; it's just as good. Really, I love 'em."
Olivia takes a moment to look at the pastry her partner points out to her. She has to admit; it does look pretty good.
"Okay. I'll try it. I'm ready to order now," she tells the young, freckly faced kid standing behind the glass display. "I'll have a raspberry bar and a bottle of water, please."
The kid punches some buttons on the register, than tells her the total. She hands him her credit card which he slides like a pro—she can definitely tell that he's bored. After a few moments, he hands her back her card with a small pink box and her water.
"Thank you."
"No prob—"
"Ahem!" comes a loud grumble from behind the teenaged boy.
The boy sighs and gives her a forced smile. "Have a nice day and come again soon!"
Olivia bites back a snort of laughter and turns on her heel. "I'll see you Monday, Nick."
"O . . . Wait! Are you busy or in a hurry or something?"
Liv shakes her head. ". . . No."
"I was, uh, gonna grab something to eat; probably a sandwich down the street. Would you like to join me?"
"Uh . . . Yea, sure."
He can tell she's not really for it, but not entirely against it, so he takes that as a plus.
"Okay. Let me just grab a few lemon bars."
She nods and sits down at a table to wait for him.
It's not exactly the day she planned, but it's decidedly much better, which is a surprise considering who she's spent most of her day with. Not to say that Nick Amaro is a bad guy, but he's definitely not a guy she ever thought she'd be having lunch outside of work with.
After leaving the pastry shop, Nick led her to a little sandwich place a few blocks down that was reminiscent of a hole in the wall. It wasn't a place she'd ever likely frequent given it's shabby outside appearance—she'd seen worse (busted innumerable perps in worse) but she'd never thought to eat at a place like that. Nick must've sensed her uncertainty because he smiled at her and assured her that it wasn't as bad as it seemed—which was the understatement of the year. Walking in you'd think you'd been hoodwinked because the place was absolutely pristine. With its shiny, wood floors and dark wood round tables, it reminded her of the coffee shop her mother used to go to down the street from where they lived. It smelled of a mix between fresh-baked bread and oatmeal cookies. She was caught off guard when the elderly, African American man behind the counter shouted Nick's name like he was his long lost son. Nick beamed and embraced the man and introduced him to Olivia.
"Who's this," he asked waggling his eyebrows up and down.
To which Nick replied, his smile still a mile wide, "This is my partner, Detective Olivia Benson."
After the introductions, Nick ordered a turkey sandwich on honey oat bread 'all the way' and, with her permission, ordered Olivia the same and took them to go.
It's hard for her to believe that that was about 3 ½ hours ago and that she really lost track of time. They've been sitting in the same spot at a park immersed in conversation; they're lunch long gone and forgotten. They've talked about everything from high school to their slightly troubled youth—and discovered that they are not as different as they previously thought. They've laughed at eachother's corny jokes and funny stories of their younger days and the only thing Olivia hasn't mentioned is the fact that she's a product of rape.
It bothers her that it doesn't bother her to share all of this information with him. In the months that he's been her partner she knows how hard he's tried to get her to trust him and now, after only a few hours of just talking it's unsettling to her that she trusts him more than she probably should—already.
"You okay, Olivia?"
"Yea, I'm fine . . . I should probably get going."
"Yea, okay."
Olivia gathers her things and stands.
Nick looks after her as she walks over to the trashcan to throw away the remnants of their lunch. Her hair is blowing in the wind and he catches himself thinking about running his fingers through the dark strands. Woah there, Amaro; she's your partner—AT WORK!
"I had a good time," she says as he stands.
"Yea, me too. Maybe we should do it again sometime," he retorts before he can stop himself.
And he mentally slaps himself on the head repeating 'she's your partner, she's your partner!'
". . . As friends," Nick spits out.
'I'm an idiot!'
Olivia chooses to ignore the last part. "Yea, we should."
"Yea."
"See you Monday?"
He nods. "Monday."
As he watches her walk away he realizes—with much trepidation—that 'she's your partner, she's your partner' has become his new mantra.
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
I may or may not continue this one. I think it's so cute—and yes, I'm tooting my own horn! TOOT, TOOT, TOOT!