Nick couldn't remember the last time he felt this uncomfortable. It was a disconcerting sensation. After all, it wasn't as if he had a particularly comfortable job; no one could ever claim that handling live vics was a cushy pursuit. But usually there was something to mitigate the discomfort: a badge, a plan, a sense of righteousness. Hell, when all else failed, there was usually a door he could escape through. Now, he just felt stuck.

He had managed to stay away for a solid two days. He didn't know what else to do: he was a detective but not her detective; he was her partner on the job, but Alex was her partner; he was friendly but not really her friend. Nevertheless, he felt responsible, and when he saw the envelope on Cragen's desk with Olivia's name on it, he had offered to deliver it. And he had ended up here, struggling to at least appear relaxed, balancing a glass of water on his knee, half avoiding eye contact with a woman he barely knew while he waited awkwardly to see a woman he had only just discovered he barely knew. It was complicated. It was uncomfortable.

"You've got a great vie…"

"You have a daughter, rig…"

Abandoning his lame start, Nick latched onto the subject of his daughter with relief. It was safe, it was neutral, and politeness dictated that he could burn some time talking about it. Even though he knew he was practically babbling, he didn't bother to stop. He could almost see some of the tension leave Alex's body. It was obvious that she was equally eager to avoid discussing the one thing they had in common: Olivia. Nick could almost have thanked her for the smile plastered on her face as he described Zara's dance recital. After the frenetic search and the stressful aftermath, talking and thinking about something that didn't involve rape and torture was a desperately needed reprieve.

For the first time since he arrived, Nick stopped kicking himself. It had been stupid, really. He had driven over to the hotel without even thinking. It wasn't until he had squeezed the Crown Vic into a spot two blocks down that he had thought to call, and then, he had had to call via the front desk; he only had Olivia's cell number, and her phone was long gone. One difficult, minute-long conversation later, Nick had found himself handing his key card to the elevator attendant and asking for the twenty-second floor. Olivia was talking to someone, Alex had said, but he should come up anyway; Olivia would like to see him.

Nick paused for a sip of water, his mouth dry after recounting how Zara had insisted on carrying the flowers he had bought her after her performance everywhere, even sleeping with them. Over the rim of the glass, he saw that Alex's frozen smile had melted into something more authentic and suddenly felt unsure, guilty. He had been on the verge of chuckling while his partner was in the bedroom with a shrink, recounting her terrible ordeal. The sip turned into a long drink, and the rapport that had been growing between he and Alex frosted back over. He was panicking; he couldn't think of anything more to say. At last, he lowered the glass and ashamedly turned his gaze toward the window.

A doorknob turned somewhere deeper in the suite, and Nick shot to his feet, absurdly grateful not only for the distraction but also for the fact that he had drained almost half the glass and thus avoided slopping water down his leg. Hurriedly, he groped for the envelope he had set on an end table, trading it for his water glass. He was suddenly faced with actually seeing his partner as a walking, talking vic, and he needed a purpose, a reason for being there, a crutch. He had to consciously relax his fist to keep from crumping the paper in his hand.

"I will, Dr. Lindstrom, I'll…"

Olivia's voice was quiet, but it trailed off into silence as she slowly emerged from the hall and caught sight of the extra set of eyes upon her. Her jaw moved, as if she had more to say, but then she pressed her lips together. The tall, thin man who had been following her quickly took in the visitor and Olivia's reaction, and he took two steps to stand in his patient's line of sight.

"Call me when you need to, Olivia. I mean it, anytime."

He waited until Olivia nodded before taking his leave, briefly nodding to Alex and gently eyeing Nick on his way out. The click of the door closing behind him seemed to dislodge Olivia from her tense stillness. She resumed her path into the sitting room, pausing several feet from her partner.

Nick stuck his arm out, thrusting the envelope towards her with a little more force than he meant to. He had never been so thankful for his tan skin; it was the only thing hiding the flush he felt burning his face from her studying, cautious gaze. He had seen her vulnerable and helpless, and he knew that how he reacted now would define the rest of their relationship. He kept his face carefully neutral as she worked the envelope open and tilted the keys into her palm.

"They're for your apartment," he blurted. "Fin busted… It's not a crimesc…. It's a mess, but you can…"

She slipped the keys back into the envelope and set it down.

"Thanks, Nick."

He was scrambling, struggling for a way to erase his false starts and say something that Olivia didn't already know or could guess. He gestured jerkily toward the door.

"I can drive you. I mean, if you want. Tomorrow or… whenever," he said lamely.

Olivia finally looked him in the eye instead of studying his face. For a second, Nick recognized the sharp, familiar strength of his partner's glance before her shoulders fell a little and she broke the gaze. She nodded slightly.

"Okay."

She suddenly seemed to fold a little bit. Alex had held out her hand, palm up, several moments before, and Olivia finally acknowledged her gesture, touching her fingertips to her wife's palm and letting her hand be enfolded. She walked gingerly around the arm of the sofa to take a seat by Alex, not bothering to hide her limp or maintain the draining eye contact with her partner. Nick watched with an odd sense of fascination. Since he had met her, he had always imagined Olivia as single, fiercely independent, maybe a little lonely but too proud to admit it, maybe unable to overcome some past trauma he didn't fully understand. The woman in front of him was not what he had imagined. At least, she wasn't exactly what he had imagined. He realized that he had never really imagined her as someone who might be loved or someone whose apartment was a home rather than just a place to sleep or someone who might need him less than he needed her. As he watched, Alex lifted her hand and pressed a brief, chaste kiss to Olivia's knuckle. If possible, he felt his flush deepen, and he looked away, sitting back down across from the two women. He retrieved the water glass and turned it around in his hands, finally acknowledging that he had never imagined his partner as exactly what she really was: strong despite her vulnerability, secure despite her old wounds, gentle despite her fierceness, a woman.

Author's Note: Thanks for continuing to read! This one won't leave me alone. I can't help thinking that Nick is in a hella awkward position right now in Season 15: his partner, who he saw all messed up and PTSD'd, is now his boss? That's pretty weird, yo. I thought he needed some attention. Hope you're enjoying. Happy belated Valentine's Day (unless you're in Georgia, in which case, as I hear it, Valentine's Day has been rescheduled for this Tuesday)!