Disclaimer: Despite Dick Wolf's recent penchant for character assassination, I do not own anyone or anything from the L&O universe...

AN: This was inspired by Connie's appearance on SVU. I hope you enjoy it.

Mike Cutter's morning had started out normal—phone ringing off the hook, piles of paperwork, and the routine check-ins with his ADAs. He traveled down to One Police Plaza to get a debriefing from Barba and the SVU on a sex-trafficking case, expecting another sordid tale about the scum of New York City. He had not, however, expected to see her standing there among his colleagues. He tried—honestly, he really tried—to focus on the litany of facts that Barba recited while he poured himself a cup of coffee. But, it was no use. Mike's thoughts were completely lost to the surge of sadness and longing that Connie's sudden reemergence had engendered.

How long had it been? How could two and a half years fly by so quickly?

California had been good for her. She looked amazing—more beautiful, with a mastery and acceptance of her power that nearly made her unrecognizable. He'd heard that she'd taken a job with the US Attorneys office, but he'd never allowed himself to hope that they would cross paths. Promises to keep in touch had been broken along with the pieces of his heart that he'd allowed to be exposed to human emotion. She had been his downfall. His life had become romantic boilerplate. He was that poor sap who'd finally found love, only to have it ripped away, leaving a gaping wound that had become infected with bitterness and apathy.

But against all unfavorable odds, she met his gaze as the paper rim of his coffee cup touched the bridge of his nose. She smiled a real smile that he'd only seen on a few occasions, and Time itself ceased to exist. Mike felt the ice melt away. He watched her excuse herself from a conversation with Detective Rollins and walk towards him. The pace of her footsteps mirrored his quickening pulse, and he lost all ability to think and breathe when she stopped a few inches from him. The subsequent conversation might have seemed cursory and superficial, but to Mike, it was like oxygen. It's so good to see you! How have you been? It's been too long. What are your plans for lunch? I'd love to catch up.

For the next three hours in his office, he could complete no task other than glancing at the clock. At 12:30 exactly, he tore his jacket from its resting place on his office chair, and made his way to the food cart on Centre. And then, for 60 glorious minutes, he sat with Connie on the steps that encircled the fountain at Foley Square. The air was icy and the stairs were damp, but Mike felt a warmth that had been absent from his life since the day that Connie had left. Even though her nose and cheeks had grown red from the brisk winter wind, she had braved the cold, making a joke that California had spoiled her with temperate weather.

They talked about work, reminiscing about their partnership and filling in the blanks. He followed her lead, avoiding the discussion of personal lives, except for what was essential. Connie's mother had passed, and she'd thrown herself full force into work, earning a promotion, and eventually, a gig as a federal prosecutor. There was no ring on her finger, but with her striking appearance, he couldn't imagine that she went home to an empty apartment every night, just like him. In fact, it seemed that they had nothing in common anymore. She was successful and happy, and he simply existed.

Her phone buzzed, and a sense of dread took his lungs hostage. All good things come to an end—he knew this too well. She frowned at the message, and giving him an apologetic look, Connie uttered the words he feared the most. "That was Barba. I'm sorry, I have to go."

"Of course," he simulated understanding, while his internal instinct was to throw her Blackberry into the fountain and ask her stay.

She gathered the trash from around her and stood, brushing the sleet from her black wool coat. Mike did the same, though his legs felt heavy. There was a moment of uncertainty—they both seemed to be waiting for the other to palliate the tension. Connie tucked her hair behind her ear and with a confident nod, declared, "We should do this more often. Our offices are practically next door to each other, so there's no excuse. Besides, today was the first time since I've been back that I've felt any sense of…re-acclimation."

Her nose wrinkled slightly in amusement, and she quickly added, "And I'm not talking about the weather."

Though her confession warranted a celebratory jog up and down the courthouse steps, Mike remained composed, offering only a slight smirk. Perhaps she was available. He swelled with courage, and his mind became inundated with images of the many lunch—and perhaps dinner—dates to come. Wanting nothing more than to expedite the hours between their encounters, he spurned caution in choosing his next words. "Come to dinner with me tonight."

Connie's expression darkened, and Mike immediately felt ill with regret. He had made a mistake or caused offense—how or what, he did not know. Her brow furrowed in contemplation, and it became clear that she was searching for the response that would cause the least damage. Her silence constituted the longest, most painful 30 seconds of Mike's life. She glanced at the pavement, and then back at him, sighing, "I can't. I have to be home... The sitter can't stay past 6:15 and… my husband works nights."

Her expression mirrored one who had just confessed a grave sin.

A barrage of emotion surrounded Mike, as if a raincloud had parked itself above his head. He spent a few seconds searching for justification for his anger, but he could find none. Their relationship had never moved past [platonic] colleagues, so it wouldn't have been fair to expect her to remain in solitude like him. As far as he knew, the attraction had always been a one way street. It had always been him willing to move mountains for her, while she occasionally brought him a cup of coffee. But it was the best coffee in the world. Mike cleared his throat and tried his hand at acting. He couldn't let her see that he was a mess. "Ah-... So I see that the elusive Connie Rubirosa has finally been tamed."

"It's actually the opposite," she mused. "In the mornings, I look more like a wild animal than a wife and mother. My son fights sleep, when I'd give anything for a little more shut-eye." The dialogue was veering down an awkward path, and Connie quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, why don't we head to Chinatown tomorrow for lunch? For old times' sake—my treat!"

Dodging her attempt at a friendly slug of the arm, Mike shook his head dismissively. "I have a meeting… Which reminds me—I've got a meeting with the DA in 30 minutes."

He'd never been able to lie to Connie, and seeing through his fabrication, she arched her brow. "I thought you said your afternoon was free?"

"It was sort of last minute."

"I've been trying to see him for weeks," Connie countered.

Mike became agitated by the slight accusatory nature of her tone. Couldn't she see how humiliated and miserable he was? He wanted nothing more than to escape the present, and so, he snapped, "Okay, you caught me. It completely slipped my mind—sort of like you, just now, with your family."

He immediately grimaced, horrified by what he had just said. Connie's lips grew terse, and he realized that with one sentence, he'd completely destroyed his chance at even a friendship with her. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I have to go. Take care of yourself, Connie."

He turned away and began the walk to his office, refusing to look back.