AN: Hey! I always start these off thanking the people who review, because you are the ones giving me the motivation to keep updating. So, THANK YOU!

I'm sorry to those waiting for the M-rated goodness. We're getting warmer though, I promise. If you've read any of my ff before, patience is a virtue when it comes to my snail-paced story developments. Anyway, onto the important stuff... Please read, enjoy, and review!

Hush

6. Homegrown

"If you don't get rid of those chickens, I'm throwing them into my deep fryer."

A woman got on her feet, her round eyes darting around the listless crowd. "Did you all hear that?" she cried. "Sherriff, aren't you going to do something about it? He threatened my chickens!"

Most of the horde turned to a man dressed in a tan police uniform, his arm hanging over the backrest of a voluptuous redhead's chair. "Sorry, Alice. You'll have to take this up with Animal Control."

"Animal Control?" she yelled in outrage. If she hadn't been in the presence of her pastor, she might have swung her reusable hemp tote bag at the nearest body. "No, I want you to defend their rights to freely roam my garden."

"You're out of your mind!" The man rose from his seat and pointed a finger at Alice. For the last ten minutes, he was granted the floor to complain about the noise and the smell of his neighbor's domestic fowls. "Those birds have no rights. And, frankly, your rights should be taken away for bringing those pests into our neighborhood."

"It's not against the law to raise chickens in my backyard," she argued – and she was right. According to the city's Health Code, in Article 161 concerning environmental sanitation and animals, a Suffolk County resident was well within their rights to have a chicken coop in their property. "So what if they wake you up? Go buy yourself some earplugs."

"She's right, Joseph," said a doppelganger for Santa Claus. "The county has bylaws that allow chickens – not roosters – in our yards. I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do."

The garage doors were rolled open, letting in the summer night's breeze. People sat on stackable chairs, facing a makeshift podium commandeered by a man with an uncanny resemblance to Saint Nick (the more popular one). He spoke in a low baritone that echoed through the wide, open space of the antiquated firehouse.

"Well, this has been productive so far," Amanda leaned over and whispered into Nick's ear. He was starting to recognize that sarcasm was deeply ingrained in her daily language; and he shouldn't take it too personally when she was being smart with him. To be fair, she had a point. So far, the town meeting had been nothing but residents airing their silly grievances.

Although, Nick had to admit, there was something quite charming about the frivolity of their problems. Whether they concerned poultry rights or the townies' desecration of their beaches with their offensive (lack of) swimwear, he was fairly entertained.

Amanda was reluctant to attend the town meeting from the beginning. He practically had to drag her out of the dingy dive bar frequented by the blue-collar workers who slaved away at the docks. Sensing her impatience from the tired look on her face and the incessant glances at her wristwatch, he whispered in her ear, "Just wait until after the meeting," he started. "Maybe we'll get a better chance to gauge the crowd."

"These two with the chickens – no way they're involved in criminal activity," she said. Subtly gesturing her head toward a dowdy older woman dressed in a floral smock, she continued, "Lady who wants traffic cams and stop signs installed in every street corner – not a chance. Oh, and that guy who wants the library to lower their overdue fees – he could never hurt a fly. Just look at him. A fly would land on him and he'd tip over."

Nick tried to restrain the laugh, lowering his head and running his hand over his mouth. "Guy who hates chickens threatened to deep-fry them. Who's to say he wouldn't drop an enemy into a vat of hot oil?" He spotted the microscopic upward turn of her lips and a sense of pride flowed through his veins. As much as she tried to hate the town meeting and the fact that this was his idea, she couldn't deny that his company made it all a little more bearable. Nick angled his torso toward hers and continued, "Stop sign lady wants those cameras installed because she wants to be Big Brother and trample on your civil liberties. And the scrawny guy whining about 20-cent overdue fees – he looks like a regular at the local sex club."

"Gross." She smacked his knee.

He feigned discomfort as he rubbed the phantom pain on his knee, the expression on his face contorting into a grimace. He leaned in, checking around to see if anyone else was listening. "Amanda, you can't rule anyone out."

Mrs. Abernathy's famous apple pie called out to him from the banquet spread. Stan had already hyped it up by calling it a life changing experience; then, upon arriving at the firehouse, he had heard two more people praising the pie like it was manna from heaven. Grabbing a paper plate, Nick headed in for the kill only to be foiled by a queue of women standing in his way.

"Well, you know how summer brings all the whores back to town."

He arched a brow as he listened to the three women gossip, oblivious that he was standing behind them only a few feet away. The blonde, who wore paint-splattered overalls and two pigtail braids in her hair, spoke up, "Some of those girls are here all year round though."

"Oh, Louise, I know one of the girls you're talking about," said a petite brunette. She placed a hand over her heart, lips pouting in affected sympathy. "I understand her daughter is sick, but that's not an excuse to sell her body so she can pay for the treatment."

Alarm bells resonated in his head. He slid a little closer along the length of the table so he could hear them better; their volume occasionally dipping lower in an attempt to keep the matters of their conversation a secret. Hovering over a tuna noodle casserole, he kept his eyes down and his ears open.

"If she had just gotten a normal job like the rest of us, maybe she would have qualified for health insurance. Surely, that would've covered the cost of her child's medicine."

"She wouldn't even be in this mess if she had just married the man who knocked her up," said the third friend – a tall, slim woman with cropped hair and delicate pearls adorning her ears.

"Rosie, how could she?" asked Louise. "He was having an affair."

Rosie sneered and crossed her arms over her chest. "Teaches that slut not to sleep with married men."

"Hey, sometimes it works out," challenged the brunette, tilting her head to the direction of the town sheriff. He was standing in a circle of fellow cops and firefighters, laughing and exchanging stories. "Look at Ben. He left his first wife to shack it up with his mistress. And she's been pregnant four times in the six years they've been married."

"She got lucky," Rosie said in an offhand manner. "Besides, Ben was doing the right thing. His first wife wouldn't give him children so he left her."

"Would you like a slice of pie, sweetheart?" Nick was drawn out of eavesdropping by a nurturing voice that belonged to a woman in her late seventies. The crows' feet by her eyes crinkled as she smiled, whilst holding up a knife.

"Yes please," Nick answered with a nervous smile, holding out his plate as she laid down a slice; sweet, gooey, cinnamon syrup dripping down warm diced apples. "Uh, thank you, ma'am."

He glanced sideways to see the gossip girls had stopped talking and, instead, turned their attention on him. "You're new hear," one of them pointed out. "I've never seen you before. I'm Hannah Wilson."

"Nick Santiago," he said as he accepted her extended hand. "Yeah, my wife and I – we're guests of the Huxleys." They all nodded, aware of the fact that Grace Huxley always had people over. It explained for the older woman's cheerfulness whenever she was shopping for more than two at the local market. "We actually met Stan at his gift shop earlier today, and he invited us to come check out your town meeting. It was… interesting."

"Oh, you can tell us the truth. We can handle it." Louise smiled sweetly, dimples creasing in her freckled cheeks.

"I'm sorry if you overheard that conversation," Hannah began to apologize. "It's quite rude to be talking about other people behind their backs."

"You know, it's fine. Really."

Rosie eyed him carefully. "Do you and your wife have children?"

"No," Nick answered, which he followed by clearing his throat. It felt very much like an inquisition standing under the probing gaze of three pairs of unblinking eyes. They reminded him a lot of the ladies he met at brunch that past Sunday; only the women at the firehouse were dressed more modestly, both in cost and cover. "No kids yet. But it's a definite possibility down the line."

"Well then, now's the best time to cut loose before you're tied down with kids. It just gets so much more complicate when they're involved." Rosie batted her eyes as she made a pass at the man who had just announced his relationship status.

"I don't think I understand –"

"—Everything all right with your marriage?" asked Hannah.

"Yes… Everything's fine," he replied, looking over his shoulder in search of Amanda. She was not where she said she was going to be, which, in Nick's estimation, wasn't at all unexpected but it was still annoying. "Would you excuse me, ladies? I have to go check on my wife."

"You have to stand thirty feet away from the building if you want to smoke."

Amanda flicked the ashes of her cigarette to the ground. She turned to see a man dressed in half of a firefighter's uniform, his navy shirt clinging to his broad chest, the sleeves straining against the thick muscles of his biceps. As he approached from the shadows, the streetlamp above their heads revealed the bones of his handsome face.

"I can move," she said with an aloofness that implied no urgency.

"No need," he replied as he reached into his back pocket to retrieve a cigarette. "Got a light?" She held her lighter close to the end of the stick. He pulled away and inhaled deep, before releasing a plume of smoke into the night air.

"A fireman with a smoking habit." Amanda shied away and smiled; the irony wasn't lost on her.

"Could be worse," he started, throwing her a sheepish grin. "At least I ain't a pyromaniac like my granddad."

Her brow arched as she studied the dead-serious expression on his face.

"He used to run this place," he said, gesturing to the old firehouse with his lit cigarette. "One day he got bored since there was nothing to do 'round here so he started torching houses. Made himself out to be the hero when he saved lives. Even got himself a nice shadow box memorial inside the station."

She stared at him with wide eyes. She couldn't believe that an arsonist had gotten away with being honored as a town hero. He caught the look on her face and started laughing; deep rumbles from his belly escaped like breathless gasps for air. "I was kidding."

"Oh."

"Carter Baines. And you are?"

"Amanda Marsden." She shook his hand, feeling calloused skin brush and linger against her palm. He didn't let go right away; his slate eyes penetrating her to the point she almost felt violated. She broke contact as she turned her head toward the old brick and mortar structure. "I'm assuming you work here."

"Nah, I just wear the fireproof pants and suspenders for fun," Carter joked, an impish grin plastered against the five o'clock shadow on his face. "I'm just pulling your leg, darlin'. Yeah, I work here. Third generation."

"So your granddad did work here," she said. "Family dinners must be pretty fun then."

"You could say that," he began. "My family's Irish, too, so when there's drinking involved – which, let's be honest, happens all the time – we get into shouting matches, fights, you name it. S'all in good fun though." She kept the tight smile on her face as Carter recounted one incident when the patriarchs of the Baines family placed bets on the Superbowl three years ago. It ended with his sister-in-law in the emergency room for a broken nose, because she got caught in the middle of a scuffle.

"So, Amanda, you new in town?"

"No. Not really." She watched as the embers of her waning cigarette floated and settled on the pavement. "I'm only here for the summer."

"Ah, a townie." He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his cheek, exhaling a puff of smoke that mirrored hers. "Hey, if you need someone to show you around or if you're feeling a little homesick, come hit me up."

"Thanks, but I think I can find my way around here just fine."

"Aw, come on, darlin'." The heave of his chest and the flex of his muscles only worsened the sleazy grin on his face. Initially, she thought he was cute in a meathead sort of way. But she was quickly growing tired of the terms of endearment and the way his eyes probed her body like she was standing there purely for his enjoyment. She would have never blamed a woman for what she wore when she was assaulted; but in that particular moment, she almost wished she hadn't left the house in a pair of denim cut-offs.

Carter reached out to sweep stubby fingers against her bare arm. "How about we go out tonight. Just a few drinks between two new friends."

"You know, I think I'm going to go look for my husband."

He pulled his hand back and stared at her in shock. "You're married?"

"Yeah. The ring on my finger didn't give that away?" She raised her left hand to show the thin silver band and, above it, a princess-cut diamond engagement ring. The first few days she had worn it, it felt strange having the thin strips of metal wrapping around that particular finger. But, strangely enough, she had gotten so used to it that she often forgot they were even there.

Carter whistled. "Sexy and sassy. I like it."

"It was nice meeting you, Carter." The coldness in her tone was in stark contrast to the literal meaning of her words. She dropped the remains of her cigarette stub to the ground before killing the fire with the sole of her shoe.

"Wait, baby, don't leave. We just got talking." She tried to shove past him and he attempted to grasp her arm to stop her, but another body had gotten in the way.

"Hey, babe," Nick said, draping his arm around Amanda's squared shoulders. She looked up just in time to accept the chaste kiss he pressed on her lips. Time stopped, when in reality, the kiss didn't even last a full second. And not because it was romantic or arousing, but simply because it caught her off guard. He pulled away slightly, his casual and protective embrace around her shoulders not wavering in the midst of their present company. "I've been looking all over for you. Everything all right?"

"Yeah…" she trailed off breathlessly. Swallowing hard, she cast a wary look at Carter, who had replaced his trademark sleazy grin with a disgruntled scowl. "I was actually just leaving to look for you."

Nick smiled softly down at Amanda, his warm eyes glittering with the comfort she didn't know she needed until he arrived. He turned to Carter and introduced himself. "Nick Santiago, Amanda's husband. Pleasure to meet you."

"Carter Baines." The men exchanged a firm handshake. "Pleasure's all mine, man. Anyway, I was just inviting your wife out for a drink. Of course, you're welcome to come along."

"Thanks for the invitation, but I think we're gonna call it a night," Nick said as he lowered his head to level with her gaze. "What do you say, babe?"

She faked a yawn. "Yeah, I'm sleepy."

"Bed sounds good right about now, doesn't it?"

"Mhmmm…" She burrowed her nose into the crook of his neck, inhaling that warm and spicy scent of his cologne, and ignoring whatever reaction her current position might have incited out of Carter.

"Night," Nick said as he steered Amanda back into the building. "We'll see you around," he added, although it was clear by the smug smirk on his face that he was rather insincere about that promise.

As they reached the back door to the firehouse, Carter called out, "Offer still stands for that drink. You know where to find me."

"On your way out already?" They glanced over their shoulders to see the sheriff catch up to them. He had a relaxed gait that matched his welcoming smile. "Nick and Amanda, right?" he asked and they nodded in response. "I'm Sheriff Ben Finch. Welcome to Southampton."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Amanda drawled as she shook the man's open hand.

He lifted his beer bottle and pointed the lip toward her, his brows knitting together in contemplation. "Oh, I know that accent. You from Georgia, sweetheart?"

"Uh, South Carolina, actually."

"Ha! Close enough." He laughed. "I was born and raised in Georgia, believe it or not. I moved up here when I married my first wife, and ended up staying," he shared, proving her theory that the people in this part of town were notorious oversharers as opposed to the more secretive country club lot a few miles down the road. Ben leaned in close and faked a whisper, "Don't tell the folks here, but Georgia will always be home to me."

Amanda smiled warmly, her fingers intertwining at her front. "Promise I won't tell."

"If y'all need anything or run into any problems while you're up here, give me a call." The expression on his face was cold sober as he handed a business card to Nick. No logo of the Suffolk County PD or an extension from the main police line; just his name and personal number printed in black ink. "The town police want you to have a good, safe time while you're here."

"Thank you," Nick replied, slipping the card into his wallet.

"Have a safe drive back to Cooper's beach," Ben said with a wave of his hand. "And watch out for the deer."

Nick and Amanda left the firehouse shortly after the run-in with the sheriff. It raised some red flags when, after correctly identifying Amanda's southern accent, Sheriff Ben Finch disclosed he was a native of Georgia. This gave them a lead to further investigate into his past. Perhaps, Stan was only one part of a longer equation to explain the trafficking ring's connection with the southern state.

They were less than ten feet away from the car when Amanda grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He was about to speak up and protest the abrupt manhandling when she pressed a finger to her lips. "Shhh…" Crouching behind a parked sedan, she pointed to the street corner. "Is that Stan?"

Nick squinted as he tried to focus on the three figures standing in front of the shuttered bakery. The black man in the checkered polo was, indeed, Stan; but he failed to recognize the other two towering men in black suits.

"Who are those guys? Have we seen them before?"

"No," he answered, ducking his head when one of the men briefly surveyed the seemingly empty street. He, then, pulled out an envelope from his jacket and handed it to Stan, who hastily slipped it into his back pocket. Amanda licked her lips as she watched the exchange happen before her eyes. It could've been that week's payment, but the envelope looked too flat to contain ten grand. It was likely something else.

"They look like Secret Service or something," she observed out loud.

He stifled a laugh, turning to her with an incredulous look. "You think the President of the United States is involved in this?"

"Shut up." She glared, slapping his arm with the back of her hand. Like a flash, she dropped close to the ground and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the other side of the car. "They're headed here," she said, her voice coming out in a breathless rasp. Waiting for the men to depart, the faux couple breathed a collective sigh of relief when their marks were finally out of sight.

Inside the cozy confines of the seaside cabin, she drew the curtains closed and pulled out the box of case files. Studying the profiles of the men and women they suspected were involved, none of them jumped off the page as the working girl and mother of a sick child. She expected it, because she pretty much had these files memorized front to back. So it turned out the information Nick gathered from his eavesdropping session was news to her; maybe he wasn't as useless as she had initially (and unfairly) surmised.

What stood out to her was the remark about the daughter being the product of an affair. If people knew it was an affair that led to the birth of that child, then the man responsible must have been either a resident of Southampton or a townie who came to visit in the summers. She wondered if the father knew what his former mistress resorted to doing in order to sustain their child's life.

Nick returned from outside, a towel slung around over his shoulders and sweat triangulating just below his neckline. After arriving home, he said something about hitting the gym in the Huxleys' basement. Grace told him he was welcome to use it anytime, considering her husband spent an arm and a leg on equipment he only ever used the weeks after he drafted his New Year's resolutions.

"Find anything?" he asked and she shook her head in response.

He started for the kitchen to refill his bottle of water. Amanda rose from the desk and followed him. "Hey, Nick," she called. He was drinking, and staring outside the window above the sink at a faint, flickering light amidst the darkness. It must've been someone's boat. He turned around and cocked an eyebrow, his lips still firmly pressed against the opening of the bottle. "I never got the chance to say it earlier, but thank you for cutting in when Carter was – you know…."

"Yeah, I'm sorry if I got carried away with the improvisation." He lowered his head, his already colored cheeks intensifying into a deeper shade of red. "I should've warned you I was gonna do that, or we should've discussed it first."

"Wouldn't have worked as effectively though," she said with a reassuring smile, trying to hide the fact that she wasn't taking it as coolly as she appeared. She didn't mind Nick kissing her to get Carter to back off; in fact, she was appreciative. What stunned her was Nick's apology for not asking for her permission first. It was such a small thing concerning a close-mouthed kiss on the lips; regardless, it was one small thing she thought she would never have heard from a man. It was just something she wasn't used to where she was from. And maybe it had something to do with Nick working SVU, but her intuition told her that this was just who he was even before he was hired into the unit. Amanda sighed and leaned against the counter, watching him gulp the last drops to sate his thirst. "It's the nature of the job," she began. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. And I'm kind of relieved we got it over with."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Now, it doesn't have to be weird."

He set the glass down on the sink. Turning around to face her, he bit down on his bottom lip as he tried to suppress a grin. "It could still get weird, especially if we end up invited to that party of perverts and sickos."

"For sure, you'll get invited with that positive attitude," she quipped as she laughed with him.

After a few seconds of silence, Nick sighed. "Are you nervous?"

"I am," she admitted. Of course, she was nervous. She had read about sex parties long before the case was even presented to her, and long before Kim went missing. Most of the ones reported about – the ones that seemed to skirt the line of legality – espoused the importance of safety and consent. Still, being in that environment and being part of a culture that encouraged voyeurism and polyamory made her feel uneasy. Amanda from years back would have probably been nervous about it, but she wouldn't have been as inwardly distressed. She knew this particular aspect of their assignment was potentially triggering. But Nick didn't need to know that. He needed to see her determination so he wouldn't talk her out of it or stand in her way. "I am nervous," she began, "but if it gets us one step closer to solving this case, then I'm going to do it."

"Not alone," he said as he stood in his resolve, his hands planted on his hips. "I'm coming with you."

"You'd do it?" she asked, a mixture of surprise and skepticism threaded through the thickness of her voice. Clearing her throat, she fixed her eyes on his. "You're not gonna chicken out on me?"

Nick laughed as he pushed himself off the edge of the counter and approached her. The heat and natural musk of his body intoxicated her senses, and she felt that whirling feeling deep within her belly. "Can we not bring up chickens, please?" he asked with a shake of his head.

Amanda raised her hand like a girl scout and promised.

"But yeah. I'm your partner. And you're right. The parties are the only way I can see us finding those girls," he started. "Besides, as far as I know, you don't have to participate in these sex parties if they're anything like the ones I've read about. Some people just drink and watch and hang out… Maybe I'll get lucky."

She chuckled. "That sounds like the opposite of getting lucky."

He cocked his head to the side and contorted his face into an exaggerated frown. "You know what I mean." He walked past her, wiping the towel on his brow. The warmth of his presence suddenly leaving her cold and alone in the kitchen.

She followed him upstairs, where he was pulling out clothes from the closet. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she patted the duvet with one hand while the other tucked her hair behind her ear. "Uh, Nick?"

"Yeah?" He didn't turn around, sandwiching a pair of boxer briefs between black basketball shorts and a maroon t-shirt.

"You should come sleep on the bed." She gulped after she said it, partly because it had come out of her like a speeding bullet but also because she was terrified of him saying 'no'. "You've been complaining about your back… And there are tons of windows in this place… I mean, we don't know who could be watching."

He slowly faced her and furrowed his brows. She inwardly cringed as she awaited the looming embarrassment of being rejected by a guy she didn't even want to sleep with. Just a guy she felt sorry for because he was stuck sleeping on a couch too small for him. That was it, she tried to convince herself.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yeah," she nodded once. "Besides, we've already kissed. So what's the big deal with sharing a bed?"

"That was hardly a kiss; but point taken."

"What do you mean that was hardly a kiss?" She hunched forward, staring at him in disbelief.

He laughed as he closed the closet door with his foot. He approached her, looking down at her seated on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were level with his waist, his white tank clinging to the bumps and curves of his chiseled stomach.

"That's like the same kind of kiss my abuelita used to give me up until I was eleven."

"Oh, I see." Amanda drew her legs on top of the bed and crossed them over each other. "So how would you define a real kiss then?"

"Open mouths, a little tongue action, maybe some heavy petting," he began, a smirk curling up on his lips. He started walking toward the stairs with his change of clothes in hand. As he reached the first step down, he looked over his shoulder and caught her eyes. "Who knows? Maybe you'll get lucky one of these days."

She smiled. "You wish."

It was the soothing sound of waves crashing against the rocks that gently roused her from slumber. Outside, the sun was just peeking through the horizon, soft purples and oranges smeared across the sky like watercolors. She hadn't slept so well in so long that she had very little desire to stay in bed and curl up under the covers. She felt ready to take on the day, ready to grab it by the horns. And for the first time since getting on that plane to New York, she felt like it was the perfect morning for a run.

Stirring into a more alert state of wakefulness, she instantly realized getting off the bed would be a problem when there was an arm draped around her waist.

She remembered the previous night when she told Nick he could sleep on the same bed. He had returned from his shower smelling like a mix of clean soap and the salt breeze. He had chosen to opt into wearing a t-shirt to bed this time, which she didn't ask for, but he must have assumed that's what she wanted. They awkwardly said their 'good nights' as they turned off the lamps adjacent to their sides of the bed – Nick being closer to the stairs and Amanda facing the French doors to the balcony.

They were on opposite sides with a good amount of distance between them. It was true; some people had a tendency to move around in their sleep. She just never thought, in a million years, it would be her undercover partner sleeping next to her. Waking up that morning, Amanda was still curled up on her side, facing out to the view of the Atlantic. But Nick was on his stomach, his legs kicked off the covers down to his ankles, and his arms outstretched like a starfish. His head was turned to her, his mouth agape as soft snores drifted past his lips.

Carefully turning on the other side to face him, she traced the hard planes of his face with her eyes before she closed them. Foregoing the early morning run for another day, Amanda settled into the warmth of Nick's embrace and drifted back to sleep.