She takes him to Melon's. It's a place where he will feel comfortable, she hopes-long wooden bar, sticky tabletops, burgers, a jukebox, and bartenders who don't give a damn who you are.

He takes off his jacket and slings it on the coatrack near the door, then loosens his tie and rolls up his sleeves with a sigh of relief. She follows suit, shrugging out of her suit jacket, revealing her sleeveless white silk blouse. She runs her fingers through her hair so that the auburn locks fall loose about her face, and she echoes his sigh.

'That's better,' he says, grinning at her. 'Feels like work is finally over.'

She laughs, feeling loose and relaxed and for once not disconcerted and off-balance from his presence. After the stress and dramatic revelations of the afternoon, the evening suddenly has that first-day-of-vacation feeling, the heavy burden of Julie Atkinson's recovered memories lifted aways as though they never witnessed it.

'What can I get ya?' the bartender asks, slapping down two cocktail napkins.

'A Guinness,' Logan says. 'Liz?'

It's the first time he says her name and she blushes involuntarily and furiously. 'A G&T, please.'

He gives her his trademark lopsided grin, then repeats her order the bartender. Almost immediately their drinks arrive and she raises her cocktail to him.

'Happy birthday… Mike,' she says, looking straight into his eyes, which soften.

'Thank you,' he replies, and touches her glass with his. He takes a deep swallow of his stout and then leans back in his chair with a sigh of contentment.

'So tell me,' he says, 'how does a lady like you know a place like this? Never would've pegged you for someone who frequented my sort of bar.'

'Well, there's a lot you don't know about me,' she says almost flirtatiously, flushing as the gin hits her, creating a spreading warmth in her stomach. 'I grew up around the corner-in the apartment where I live now. I used to come here with my parents on weekends and then when I was in high school and college my friends and I would grab burgers here in the early hours after long nights at Dorrian's.'

He laughs. 'Somehow I can't picture you out late at a bar, Doc, even if it was Dorrian's. Tell me more about your wild and misspent youth-did you take shots and dance on tables?'

She takes another sip of her G&T and he leans forward, his knees brushing against hers for a moment. It's easy, for a moment, to forget who he is-her patient, her colleague-and just enjoy the company of a very attractive man. She sets down her drink deliberately, looks into his dark, dark eyes, and says, 'well-a lady never reveals her secrets.'

His face falls and she giggles, taking another swig of her drink.

'Can I get you another one?' he asks, but does not wait for her response, signalling the bartender for another drink. He orders a whiskey for himself and when their drinks come this time he holds his glass up to her. 'To misspent youths,' he says.

'Come now, Detective, surely you're not in your dotage yet.'

'Not quite yet,' he admits, flashing her a grin. 'Plenty of life in this old dog still.'

She feels a rush of annoyance with his predictable slide back into character, frustrated that she's forgotten herself so much as to enjoy his company, to even flirt with him a little. But before she can say anything the bartender is back again, taking their orders for dinner, and when she turns back to him he's smiling at her gently.

'So have you always lived in the city, then?' he asks, a fresh drink in front of both of them.

She mentally shrugs off her annoyance; he has proven, after all, that he can conduct a relatively normal conversation without openly making passes at her. 'We always had an apartment here but we lived most of the time in Rowayton. I always loved the city, though, and was happy when my parents decided to relocate here full-time when I started high school.' She looks at him as she finishes her brief explanation and sees the blank, uncomprehending look in his eyes that often appears when she uses technical jargon on a case. Looking back at her words she realizes consciously, for the first time, the stark difference in their upbringings. She always knew she was lucky-she went to the best schools, traveled, had loving parents, never had to worry about money-but here in front of her is a man for whom her life is as utterly foreign to him as his is to her. She's never had to face that realization before with anyone. With her patients, she always maintained an appropriate distance; when she started working with the 27th Precinct her entire experience was so strange to her that everyday divides such as these never occurred to her.

'Excuse me for a moment,' she says, standing up abruptly. 'I'm just going to use the bathroom.'

She doesn't wait for a response but flees to the women's room in the back of the restaurant. Standing at the sink, she runs cold water over her wrists in a desperate attempt to relax herself. She is embarrassed, desperately so, and she can't quite figure out why. She didn't mean to be that person, the snobby Upper East Side shrink he obviously thinks she is. She is not that person; he is wrong about her if he thinks that, but then perhaps she is wrong about him, too. They each present an appearance to the world but perhaps-just perhaps-that was all it was. After all, in their sessions she's caught glimpses of the man he could be beneath the surface… a hurt, emotionally scarred man, a loyal and compassionate man, a man who could be a friend-a man who deserved more from her than her sneering.

She takes a deep breath and walks out of the bathroom, though she stops at the corner of the bar before she returns to her seat. He's sitting there, joking and laughing with a man and woman sitting next to them at the bar. Their food is in front of him but he hasn't yet started to eat; he is simply enjoying the evening. He looks up suddenly, sees her, and smiles; she finds herself returning his smile, drawn to him, his vitality, as she always has been. When she comes back, he stands up to pull out her chair, his hand brushing her back for just a moment longer than necessary as she takes her seat.

'Liz, this is Joe and Renee. Joe and I were in the same class at the Academy.'

'It's a pleasure to meet you,' she says, shaking their hands.

'Can't believe we found ol' Mikey here at this bar!' Joe exclaimed. 'Haven't seen him in years and then, just like that, here he is. Let's see, last time I saw you…' he trails off, looking at Mike, then laughs. 'Oh, yes, last time I saw you you got an assignment to the Mounted Division for mouthin' off at the Sergeant.'

'Oh, Lord,' Mike says, covering his eyes with his hand. 'You better get me another drink if you're going to embarrass me like this!'

She looks over at Mike and is surprised to see that he's flushed red. He quirks a grin at her and shrugs his shoulders before accepting another drink from Joe. 'I didn't know you were in the Mounted Division,' she says, quietly amused, as Joe takes a sip of his beer.

'Wasn't in it for long!' Joe laughs. 'Third day on assignment, Mikey doesn't tighten the girth, slides off the horse in the middle of patrol!'

'Yeah, well, at least I didn't fly head-first over my horse when yours decided to stop and investigate a pretzel on the ground,' Mike rejoins.

'They've always been like this,' Renee leans over to confide in Liz. 'Always trying to embarrass each other.'

'Hey, now, Renee-someone's gotta put him in his place!' Joe says with a roar of laughter. Renee rolls her eyes at Liz with a smile, and she feels suddenly uncomfortable herself. She knows they think that she and Mike are dating but she doesn't know how to dissuade them of their mistaken impression. Before she has to come up with a way to explain that they are not actually together, the man taking table assignments hollers their name.

'That's us-don't let it go too long next time, hey, Mikey?' Joe says, clapping him on the back, 'Nice to meet you, Liz-keep Mike in line!'

'Nice to meet you,' she replies, ignoring Joe's comment and the feel of Mike's eyes on her.

He picks up his burger and takes a bite, watching her closely. She looks away and takes a bite of her own burger, looking anywhere but at him.

'Sorry about that,' he says carefully. 'Joe never did learn how to keep his mouth shut.'

She is relieved he does not apologize for their mistaken impression. Looking over at him, she grins, saying, 'I wouldn't have missed hearing about your brief career in the Mounted Division for anything.'

'Don't go mentioning that to Phil, now-he'll never let me live it down!'

She says, 'Well, I suppose I won't.'

'You suppose?' he drawls, raising an eyebrow.

'Well, I won't if you'll get me another drink.'

He laughs. 'Deal.'

Too many drinks later she finds herself staring into his eyes, another nearly-empty G&T in her hand as her knees brush against his. Dinner is long over but here they are, still. She hasn't done this in so long… lost track of time, whiled away the hours with a beautifully attractive man… If he wasn't her patient, her colleague, she could indulge in something, get him out of her system. If they'd met here, at a bar, she would have let him buy her a drink, kiss her in the street, walk her home… with everything that implied. Well, she's let him buy her a drink already… She couldn't have a relationship with him, even if she wanted one, but she was physically and viscerally attracted to him, and this was a problem.

'I suppose we ought to be going,' she forces herself to say, albeit with much reluctance. 'It must be late.'

He takes her hand in his and looks at the watch, then laughs. 'I think I've had too much to drink to read this upside down,' he admits, though he doesn't release her hand. She fights back a shiver as she peers down at the watch face, the numbers swimming slightly as she tries to focus in the dim light.

'It's 12:30,' she says with a jolt of surprise. 'I should be going.'

'I'll walk you home,' he says, his hand resting on her knee for a moment as he rises from his seat. He is a bit unsteady as he fumbles for his wallet, rejecting her offers to settle the bill with better grace this time. When she gets up she finds herself weak-kneed and reaches out for him. He takes her arm and tucks it comfortably beneath his; she leans into him, grateful for his warm, solid support.

'Thank you,' she calls over her shoulder to the bartender as Mike gently propels her to the exit.

'I haven't done that in years,' she giggles, feeling the effects of the gin far more strongly as they step out into the hot city night. 'I'd forgotten how much fun it is.'

'Sometimes you just need a night like this,' he agrees, nodding with mock seriousness. 'Now, where's your apartment?'

'Seventy-Sixth and Park,' she says.

'Very nice,' he says, starting to walk up Third Avenue. 'Much nicer address than mine.'

'I like it,' she admits. 'Used to belong to my parents, but it's mine now. They gave it to me when I finished college. Not convenient for the precinct, though.'

He laughs. 'An apartment! When I left home my parents gave me a new set of sheets for a bed I couldn't afford. Took me three months to save up for a mattress and boxspring.'

'Oh Mike,' she says, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

'Don't worry-I was highly motivated to save up enough money,' he laughs, and for once she too laughs at his innuendo.

'Well, here we are,' she says, stopping outside the side door of her building. She's reluctant to walk through the lobby at this time of night, intoxicated as she is. She leans against the wall as she scrabbles through her purse for her keys.

'Can I walk you to your door?' he asks, suddenly so close to her. She looks up at him-he is so tall, she thinks-and nods.

She feels his presence at her back as they wait for the elevator; when she presses the button for the eighth floor he is even closer, his breath against her neck. Maybe it's the gin, or the scent of him-cedar and leather and just the faintest hint of whiskey-but her knees go weak. She wants him; it's as though he flicked a switch, turned her on.

'Mike-' she says, turning to face him, but the door opens before she can say anything more. HIs hand, now on her hip, urges her forward, and when they reach her door she struggles to fit the keys in the lock.

'Let me,' he says, taking the keys out of her hand. He is still standing behind her, one hand sliding around her waist, pulling her against him as he unlocks the door.

'Mike-' she says again, pulling free from his embrace and turning to look up at him.

'If I kiss you, will you regret it in the morning?' he asks, resting one hand against the doorjamb.

Her eyes drop to his lips, imagining what a kiss from him would feel like… her mouth goes suddenly dry. 'I won't regret it,' she replies, 'but shouldn't I ask you that question? I can't imagine I'm your usual type.'

He reaches up to cup her cheek in his hand, his thumb running along her lower lip. She closes her eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

'No, you're not,' he whispers. 'You're much, much better.'

She steps backwards into her apartment and he follows her, closing the door gently behind him. He is barely a step away from her and she can feel the heat from his body.

'I've wanted you from the minute I saw you,' he continues, closing the gap between them, wrapping his arms around her waist, 'across the squad room in the precinct, even before Max… and then afterwards, looking at you, watching you during our sessions… Jesus, Liz, you could drive a man crazy.'

She looks up at him, utterly captivated by his voice, his dark eyes looking down at her. She doesn't believe in the powers of hypnosis but surely she is hypnotized now… she cannot look away.

She wraps her arms around his neck. Take what you want and pay for it, says God, she thinks crazily, giddily… recklessly. And-heaven help her-she wants him.

She wakes up at five in the morning exhausted, hot, and with a pounding headache. His arm is around her waist, warm and heavy, but she slips out of bed without disturbing him to pad silently, still undressed, through the hallway to her kitchen. It is cooler than her bedroom, and she opens the fridge to let some cold air escape as she pours herself a glass of water.

Despite her bold claims to the contrary last night she is hit only now with the enormity of her actions. She slept with a patient. It didn't particularly matter that he wasn't a patient on his own accord, he was still a patient and she had a responsibility to him, to help him, not to take advantage of him. So many psychiatrists had fantasies about their patients, but she never thought that would be her, she never thought that if it was she'd act on it.

She covers her eyes with her hands in a vain attempt to block out the thoughts running through her head. What would she do? Of course she had to end their doctor-patient relationship, but what would happen next? Presumably they were both adult enough to behave professionally around each other at the precinct. Hopefully that would be that, and they could move on as though nothing like this had happened.

But it had happened; oh, it had happened, and she wanted it to happen again.

'Liz?'

She jumps as he says her name, startled by his sudden appearance. Her face flames as she realizes she hadn't bothered to grab her robe before she walked into the kitchen, and she jumps behind the fridge door before she thinks. He laughs gently and her face flushes in embarrassment.

'I was just getting some water,' she explains lamely, holding up the glass in her hand. 'Would you like any?'

'Thanks,' he replies. 'I can get it-where are the glasses?'

She points mutely to the cabinet above the sink and he reaches up get a glass, filling it from the sink. She watches him, noting his muscular legs and back, the surprising grace in his movements. He, at least, put on his boxers to venture into the kitchen-plaid, of course-and thus has the advantage over her.

He finishes his glass of water and refills it, then turns to look at her. 'You all right?'

Now or never, she thinks, I must be sensible. She takes a deep breath, looking away from him. 'Look, Logan-what we did-it was wrong.' He doesn't respond right away and she chances a glance at him.

He quirks an eyebrow at her. 'Wrong? Tell me, Doc, what about that was wrong?'

'That's just it-I'm your doctor, your psychiatrist. We can't do this.'

He shrugs. 'Of course we can. You're not the only shrink on the department payroll. Transfer my case. Problem solved.'

'The conflict of interest is already there-'

'Why? Because you were my shrink or because we work together?'

'Both, but especially because we work together. Logan-'

He's getting angry now. 'And why is it "Logan" all of a sudden?' he asks, slamming the glass down on the counter. 'C'mon, Liz, be honest-you're regretting sleeping with me, regretting getting involved with someone like me-after all, there is a huge gap between your Park Avenue life and mine-Yorkville is what, twenty blocks away? and it's a completely different world. So yeah, I can see why you wouldn't want to waste time on me.'

'That's rich,' she spits, angry herself. 'Are you just turning this around on me so you can swan off and not feel guilty for having a one-night stand with a colleague? You're the one who runs through swathes of women, Detective.' She can hear the jealousy in her voice and she feels ridiculous, standing here naked in her kitchen, engaged in an argument with a man who made her pulse race, her knees weak, for whom all the traditional rules of attraction applied...

She takes a deep breath and tries to speak calmly. 'Look, we work together. We had a good meal and great sex… and we can leave it at that, can't we? No strings. I'll transfer your case first thing Monday and we can just go on being colleagues.'

'I don't want that. I told you I wanted you from the minute I saw you,' he says, stepping closer to her, his voice softening.

'It's a common phenomena-it's called transference. When a patient becomes attracted to his psychiatrist…' she says, voice shaking slightly as she thinks what, exactly, she's done. Her career! Her years of study, of helping people, potentially gone after this… and for what? A man more interested in filling his little black book than a relationship, someone who she would never bring home to meet her parents, a detective she works with, someone she's not even sure she wants to be with...

'The first time I saw you,' he interrupts her. 'Before you were my psychiatrist. Before I knew who you were. Don't give me the mumbo-jumbo, Liz. If you want this to be it, tell me straight. No matter the differences between us, I deserve that-we deserve that.'

'You can't tell me that you want a relationship,' she scoffs weakly.

'You haven't told me you want anything either. But I don't just want this. I'd like to see where this goes.'

He takes the glass out of her hand, sets it down deliberately on the counter, then closes the refrigerator door. He looks her straight in the eyes and says, 'Jesus, Liz-I might not have a Ph.D. but you can't think I'd be stupid enough to let you get away.'

She feels herself weakening but she won't give up, give in, without a fight-not to him. She won't be another woman who melts at his feet with a little application of his famous charisma. 'Ah, here's the famous Irish charm. Tell me, Detective, what age were you when you kissed the Blarney Stone?' she sneers gently.

He takes her in his arms and laughs; she can feel the vibrations all through her body. The storm has passed, she thinks, and she rests her head against his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart.

'Well, I have to tell you-I'm not interested in kissing the Blarney Stone right about now,' he tells her, and she can hear the smile in his voice. 'Just you. Come back to bed. It's too early to be awake.'