She gets home that night, and begins working on clearing the path of destruction, in her apartment. She's making her bed, with freshly laundered linens, when there is a knock at the door. She spreads the comforter over the surface of the bed, and leaves the bedroom, through the open door. She makes her way through the living room, past the couch, towards the door. She looks out the peephole. She stares, in silence, and confusion, for a moment. She unlocks the door, and pulls it open. She stands in the doorway, unwilling to let him in.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, sharply.
"We need to talk," he informs her.
"There is nothing to talk about," she argues.
"Can I come in?" he questions.
"Absolutely not," she disagrees.
"Olivia, I don't think you want me standing in the hallway, to have this conversation. I only need five minutes, just let me in," Nick begs.
"I'll give you two," she concedes. She steps back, and allows him into the apartment. She closes the door, behind him. She allows him two steps, into the apartment. She feels a sense of anxiety, realizing that it is where they had been standing, the night before. She folds her arms across her chest.
"Look, I know that you don't like talking, to me, or to anyone."
"What makes you think that I want to talk to you now?"
"I don't."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I want to talk."
"If you have something to say, then say it," she insists.
"I want talk about what happened last night."
"I don't."
"I know that it was not a good choice."
She shakes her head, in anger, at him, but mostly herself, for crossing a professional boundary, "Nick, you don't get it. I don't want to talk about it, ever."
"That would be awkward. We have to work together, every day," he reminds her.
"What is there to talk about?"
"How did that happen?"
"We both had too much to drink."
"I know that. I guess I just don't understand why it happened."
"I don't know," she shrugs.
"What about the guy that you are seeing?"
"What about him?"
"What does this mean?" he quizzes.
"For what?"
"What does this mean, for us?"
"Us?" she points to herself, and them him, "Nick there is no us. We are not partners. You made it very clear that you didn't want to be my partner. We made a mistake, but that does not mean we are an us. Ok?"
"So what did last night mean?"
"It didn't mean anything."
"I don't believe you," he argues.
"It didn't mean anything to me," she adds.
"Really?"
"Nick, you're a nice guy. You're a good cop. Last night, I was guilty of poor judgment. I crossed a line. I am sorry if that led you to believe that there is something going on between us. There isn't. There never will be. What happened last night, is never going to happen again. I don't want to talk about it, anymore."
"I didn't know that you were in the habit of having one night stands."
"I'm not."
"So, what was last night?"
"A mistake."
"How do you know that?"
"Nick, you are my co-worker."
"That isn't the point," Nick reminds her.
"And you're my friend. I don't want to make this into something that it's not. We both had too much to drink last night. We let ourselves go too far."
"You're not answering my question. How do you know that it was a mistake?"
"You're too young for me. We work together. It would never work out."
"You don't know that," he disagrees.
"Why are you bringing this up? Do you have some sort of feelings, that I need to know about?"
"Do you?"
"I have been a cop for a long time, I don't have feelings, anymore," she says coldly.
"That isn't true."
"I don't have feelings for you. Do you have feelings for me?"
"I don't know," he admits, "I am attracted to you."
"Direct your attraction somewhere else, this isn't going to happen. You're going through a tough time, right now, and you're confused."
"I am not confused."
"Nick, go home."
"So what's his name?"
"Whose?"
"This mystery man."
"It doesn't matter."
"Is he the one? Last night, you didn't seem so sure."
She pushes past him, and opens the door. She gives him a shove, towards the exit. She points, to the hallway, "You need to leave."
He steps into the hallway, and she slams the door, in his face. He shakes his head, as he hears the door lock. He starts towards the elevator.
"That went well," he mutters, to himself.
She pours herself a glass of wine, and flips on the TV. She plops down, on the couch. She sits the glass of wine on the coffee table.
"What are you doing?" she asks herself, reaching for the glass. Before it reaches her mouth, her phone rings. She slides it out of her pocket. She presses it against her ear.
"Benson. Oh, it's you. Yeah. Ok, I'll meet you there," she hangs up the phone. She puts it back in her pocket, and heads to the bathroom, for a shower. She heads into the bathroom, and stops at the mirror. She looks at herself in the mirror.
"Are you trying to prove him wrong, now?" she wonders, as she grips the counter-top.