Author's Note: My sincerest apologies for the long wait for this update. Real life hit me pretty hard as of late so I haven't been in the right mindset for writing. Still, I hope you enjoy this and if you do, please take the time to review! It makes me happier than I can say and certainly gives me a motivational boost to continue! This chapter is fairly mild with no disturbing stuff, but some dog-kid interaction and Brian's questionable decision-making.

You like to think you are reasonably good with kids. After all, you had plenty of kids in your extended family to practice on before they became teenagers who pursued their own interests. Cousins would practically make you babysit in the hope of raising some sort of paternal instinct in you. Kids tend to like you, and you've been held up during a case more than once because you decided to retrieve and "bandage" a traumatised child's favourite stuffed animal from a crime scene, or made a young witness more comfortable by letting them interview you first. But small children can be tricky – you can never quite seem to make out what they're trying to tell you as their parents wisely nod and repeat whatever gibberish comes out of their mouths. And somehow, this is a different situation, one where you are acutely aware of your own words and actions, and that makes them less natural. You are watching yourself from the outside, and you want to be extra smart, extra careful, friendly but distant enough for a stranger. You feel as if you are play acting, as if any misstep would prove to Liv that…that what? That you're a bad influence who should not be around her son? That you do not think it's great that she's a mother? That she made the right call?

It's a tense situation either way, this first official meeting, and this is all in your head so far; you haven't even gotten to the part where you actually meet her to go to the park yet. That's tomorrow. (You have probably built it all up in your head because she had to cancel the last two weekends after work got in the way once again. Some things never change.) Now all you need to do is to not lose your mind until then, and trust in the fact that Olivia will be there and will probably call the shots, anyway, as she always does. Or used to do. This isn't you, completely losing your chill and going through the eventualities.

"Toy hide-and-seek" Tom reads out from somewhere behind your shoulder before you can close your browser window. "Sounds shady."

"You're shady, creeping up on people like that." In hindsight, you probably just closed that window a little too fast, giving your esteemed brother in blue the wrong idea. You could have come up with a ton of explanations as to why you were googling "activities for two-year-olds" at work, none of which needed to involve hanging out with your ex and her kid.

"What a comeback. I don't know what to say." He drops into the chair behind the desk opposite yours, stopping just short of putting his feet up on the table. "Relax, it's Friday afternoon and no calls yet. You and Benji coming to agility tomorrow?"

"Not this weekend, I'm busy."

"Oh, sure. Playing toy hide-and-seek."

You cringe inwardly at how he makes that sound. "None of your business."

"Wow, someone's touchy. Anyway, if I were you, Cassidy, I'd straighten up that desk. Keenan wants to see you."

Brian is completely in command of the situation, and it's an immense relief. You weren't sure how this first meeting would go, whether he would be awkward around a small child or whether Noah would decide to be cranky and do that charming, new little thing where he throws his sippy cup across the room. You purposely decided to meet Brian outside -inviting him over to your apartment felt too weird, given the history there- then realised that this was a terrible idea, as Noah is big on making you be fashionably late. Getting him dressed this morning was enough of a struggle for you to give in and let him exercise his newfound fashion sense (suspenders, a yellow sweatshirt and a red strawberry winter hat that's too small, it is). By the time you turned up at the park, Brian was visibly freezing his ass off even as he assured you with a forced smile that it was "totally fine", since he had only just arrived himself. The moment evoked a pang of familiarity, because this wasn't your newfound "friendliness" speaking or the two years that have turned you into polite strangers in a way that thirteen years hadn't. This was your life together towards the end, delays and assurances that one day, things would get better, "it's fine" and poorly concealed frustrations never to be voiced. You don't want that.

All the same, you apologised profusely, but Brian dismissed you with a wave of his hand and focused all his attention on the kid currently watching the dog from a safe distance while clinging to one of your legs. Despite his extensive daycare experience, Noah isn't exactly a go-getter when it comes to new people or things, and tends to be excessively jealous of anyone getting too close to mommy on his day with her. Right now, however, his skepticism isn't aimed at the strange man so much as it is at the wolf-sized animal sitting in front of him, cocking its head.

Brian has made the dog perform a bunch of tricks, including but not limited to: saluting, rolling over and peek-a-boo. It's the latter that finally breaks Noah's resolve, throwing him into a fit of giggles as Benji lifts his paw from his eyes. It's an undeniably adorable spectacle, which his owner finishes up by high fiving him like a proud parent.

"Trust you to teach that dog a bunch of silly tricks" you remark with a smile on your face that won't be held back.

"Silly?! I can't help it if he's extremely smart. Gotta keep him occupied."

"Oh, sure." Even you can't help noticing that this huge animal pretty much has the most beautiful brown eyes you have ever seen, gentle and observant. Between his unquestioning loyalty and the adorable tricks, you could almost understand Brian's obvious devotion to his partner.

"Platz, Benji." The dog obeys instantly, shrinking towards the ground. "Do you want to pet him, Noah? Here." He keeps one hand on the collar while reaching out for your son with the other.

Noah, to your own surprise, takes his hand and approaches Benji warily. With some help, he finally reaches out to touch the long, light brown fur, gently patting the dog's side, then immediately withdrawing his hand and glancing up at Brian with a cheeky grin on his face before repeating the action.

"Soft, huh?"

"Soft" he repeats, stretching out his arm again.

"Aw, look, he's wagging his tail…that means he's happy. He likes you!"

"He's just like Cooper" you point out reassuringly, "only bigger."

"Where's Cooper?" your son demands to know.

"At home with Lucy."

"Want Cooper. Cooper-Lucy."

"They're at home" you remind him patiently. "You'll see Lucy tomorrow." As usual, you brush off the pang of guilt you feel when your two-year-old asks for his babysitter when his mother is standing right beside him, telling yourself that it doesn't mean you are neglecting him. You shouldn't mind these things.

Brian jumps to the rescue. "Hey, Noah, look, I brought a ball. How about we play some fetch with Benji, huh? We just have to find a good place…"

Noah is only half fooled by this distraction, about to start whining again, but you simply pick him up and sit him down in the cart you brought between a bunch of his toys, a blanket, snacks and all the things that have basically grown attached to outings like an extra limb ever since you became a mother.

Brian watches this with an expression of unquestionable amusement, very obviously struggling to hold back.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No, what?"

"Um, a wooden hand cart? Really?"

"I left the stroller at home today. Why?"

"Nothing, it's just…very hipster mom of you."

"So you still live at the old apartment, huh?" You throw the question in casually when there's a natural pause as Noah runs off to "explore" some bushes with Benji.

"Yeah. Can't afford to move." It's a distracted answer she gives you as her eyes never leave her son, who is pretty terrible at hiding. Even so, the game seems to be unnerving her. If you had to guess, you'd say he didn't get to play hide and seek a whole lot.

"There were cheaper, bigger places when we looked."

"Further outside the city. Far away from daycare and work…it's too complicated with my schedule."

"Oh, you have an actual schedule now? That's a change from just running out at all hours of the night."

She ignores the teasing in your words as she nervously watches Benji bouncing around like he does when he knows he's off duty and can be just a regular dog, rather than a detective in dog disguise. "I'm in charge, I don't get to have a schedule."

"And how's that working out for you?"

"Office politics sure don't get any easier. Noah?!"

The kid doesn't respond, too engrossed in whatever it is he is doing, but his bright hat is clearly visible through the branches.

"So…I'm guessing the apartment didn't suddenly grow an extra room. Where does the kid sleep?"

"In the living room."

"Sounds uncomfortable."

"You have a better suggestion?"

"You should move."

"Thanks, I hadn't thought of that- Noah, don't go in too far!"

"He's fine" you try (and fail) to reassure her. "Benji will keep an eye out for him."

"Benji doesn't know what to keep an eye out for."

"He's not gonna let a stranger near him, and he'll come get me if there's a medical emergency. So unless there's some other unknown danger lurking in those bushes-"

"Don't joke about that" she rebukes you and wow, motherhood sure has changed her and not changed her at the same time.

You feel like you are some sort of strange, alternative version of yourselves, who do this all the time – going to parks, playing, a kid and a dog in tow. It's new and weird, and yet the bickering is familiar. The setting is familiar.

"What?" she asks tensely when she catches you looking at her.

You can't hold back the smirk that starts somewhere in your cheekbones. "Nothing."

The thing you had forgotten about Brian was that he is really just a big kid himself. The realisation hits you as you watch him pulling a squealing Noah around in the hand cart, running around like crazy and making some sort of car, plane or rocket noise as Benji keeps fake chasing them, nipping at his owner but always missing him. You don't quite understand what is going on and keep expecting your son to fall out and hurt himself, but your two-year-old apparently comprehends and loves this game, as he won't allow Brian to stop. You watch in passive amusement as the more adult of the two gives in time and time again and keeps going, and wonder just how long he is going to keep this up. Not that you are about to complain – it's rather unusual and pleasant to have a break sitting on a bench by yourself, enjoying the sun while also being with Noah. His excitement is everything to you today as you see him be just an unafraid kid. It's so contagious and wonderfully innocent and as you watch him contently, you are suddenly –momentarily- certain that you are doing an all right job as a parent, and he will be okay. This thought alone fills you with a kind of satisfaction you haven't felt in a long time. He is okay. This means that, by extension, you are okay, as your fate has become entirely tied up in his well-being.

Brian lets go of the cart for a moment, putting his hands on his thighs and leaning forward dramatically. "I'm too old for this!"

You shield your eyes from the bit of sun you are getting. "That's what I say about ten times a day!"

"Seriously, how-"

"Bwian, Bwian!" Noah rocks back and forth, trying to make the cart move on its own as he does not appreciate sharing attention.

"Easy there, buddy. Hey, how about I sit in the cart and you pull me for a bit?"

Your son simply stares up at him aghast, not quite grasping the joke. "Faster!"

"No, it's your turn, you get out here and pull…and I'll sit in here and sleep." He lifts Noah out of the cart and pretends to climb in himself, clowning around and failing to make his leg fit to the kid's delight. This act continues for a while, until they both grow tired of it and Brian gives up, strolling over to your bench as Noah starts pulling the cart around and trying to catch up with Benji.

"You escaped?" You smile at him as he sprawls out on the bench beside you, letting his arms hang behind the back.

"Barely. Let's enjoy it while it lasts."

"Oh, sure. Let's pretend you only played along for the kid."

"Hey, I could be lying in bed right now with a cup of coffee reading a newspaper."

"A magazine, more likely. And I don't remember the last time I did that." You honestly don't. It sounds like such a far off world to you now, something that happened in a different era.

His smug expression fades as he turns serious, watching Noah trying to tell some sort of story to Benji that only he understands. "That's gotta be hard."

"What?"

"You know, the…single mom thing" he says in the same tone he would assume when talking about menstruation.

Way to state the obvious. "Yeah. It is."

"How do you…I mean…with your job and all…?"

"Priorities, I guess. They shift. But something always gives. You're never going to be good enough in either area."

"Who is, though?"

"Yeah, and I mean…I have a good sitter who's amazingly flexible."

"It's still impressive."

"It's pretty standard these days, I'd say." Something about his excessive admiration, about the intense way he is looking at you right now, feels like an uncomfortable tightness, as if you are trapped under some sort of "good mom" magnifying glass and he is turning you into something you are not.

"Not without the support system. Remember my cousin Meghan? She basically raised the boys by herself, but she had my mom helping her a ton, and her mom, and-"

"How nice for her."

"Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Don't, it's fine. I'm good, Noah and I are good."

"I just…" He pauses, removing his hat to run one hand through his sweaty hair. "What I was trying to say is, I think you're amazing."

"Brian-"

"And wow, you still suck at taking a compliment."

"Well. Thank you." He still doesn't get it. You don't want his admiration, to be either on some kind of pedestal to be revered or in distress and to be saved. You just want things to be normal, even though you're not sure what "normal" means right now.

Most of all, you don't want him to feel obliged. To think that just because you've been in a bit of a bad situation, or because you've had a couple of talks about real things with him, or because he gets it like no one else would, or because you've drunk dialed him, he has to keep in touch and rekindle some sort of weird, half-ass "friendship" with you. You've never been friends. You don't need to start proving to him that you're fine now, and he certainly shouldn't have to start some sort of "look at me, I'm a real adult" quest with you. You have nothing to prove to each other. You have nothing left to give to each other. The only glue holding you together right now is sheer familiarity, the relief of not having to explain to him why you are a certain way. He already knows. This makes things easy, and it also makes it impossible to move forward all at once. You have grown too comfortable with the craziness, and you are too keen to prove to him that you are not that person anymore. You are well. You (almost) were at one point.

All the same, he doesn't look at you like you are crazy. He just listens. He talks. He doesn't ask questions. He plays with Noah. He does that thing where he lets out a short, throaty laugh at his own jokes like he can't believe the amount of wit in them. He sits beside you on this bench, and you catch yourself thinking that you never want this day to end.

You see her. She thinks you don't, that you hold on to some sort of idealised memory or fantasy of what might have been, but you don't. You see her in all her changes and all her old habits, and most of all, you know that there is always a limit to how much you can disclose with her, how much you can say before it crosses the elusive line.

"So you think they're gonna go through with the sex trafficking charges against Big H?"

The question catches you off guard as you have been walking side by side in silence with you pulling the hand cart, a sleepy Noah in tow. "What happened to 'I don't want to know'?"

"I do want to know."

"Honestly, I'm not sure. It's out of our hands."

"I hate that."

"Me too. But it's not looking too good, because they're thinking of Malena as an accessory now."

"Why would she be an accessory?"

"Well…"

"Why?"

"She helped Big H recruit, back in Belarus. Got him more girls, convinced them to come with her, that sort of thing. Turns out he wasn't just starting out after all."

"I thought she's only been in this country a few months."

"Nah, she's been here before, then went back for a while, then returned to the States a second time."

"What? How long has she been in this business?"

"Um, about five years or so." Olivia, on the other hand, has been in this business far too long to be surprised by this, you would think. Few victims are ever as forthcoming as one would like, and she must be way too used to these types of revelations to be shocked.

Predictably, she doesn't bat an eye. "So she's a pro, basically. She was wrapped up in the trafficking along with him."

"No, it's not like that, you don't know what these guys are like. If she was with him for years, he had her under his complete control."

"So much so she helped him entrap girls back home in the same situation?"

"Malena was just a girl herself five years ago. She was terrified and these guys have connections. He was threatening her family, her father, and what was she supposed to do? She couldn't just run away once she was back home, that's naïve; no, she was working off her debt and-"

"How long have you known this?"

You don't know what to answer, keeping your eyes trained firmly on the ground in front of you. Years of undercover work have not helped you prepare for this moment, which was inevitable from the start.

"Brian?!"

"A while."

"Did you know when you brought me the case?"

"Yes."

Her mouth is open as she stares at you, about to yell, then throwing one glance at her son, who is dozing on a pile of stuff in what looks like an uncomfortable position as Benji keeps watch over him. "How did you know?"

"Because I met Malena five years ago while working UC."

"You lied to me."

"I didn't, I just didn't tell you the whole story."

"Well, that's convenient. I can't believe- you of all people!"

"Oh, like you always tell me the full story?"

She is eerily quiet in her rage. "That's not the same thing at all, and you know it."

"Look, I'm not exactly supposed to talk about the Ganzel investigation."

"Malena told me she'd been in the country five months! Instead, I find out she's helped him traffic more girls from abroad!"

"I didn't know all of that!"

"Bullshit!"

"I swear, I couldn't tell you everything, but I'm being straight with you now: I met Malena once, five years ago when she was basically a lost kid. I have no idea what happened in between beyond what she told me."

"And you just remember a random working girl –not one you actually worked with, as far as I know-"

"What-"

"-who you met a couple of times five years ago? Really?"

"Well…yeah."

"Fin was right."

"Right about what?"

"You."

"What the hell? What did he say?" You thought you and him were cool, if not since he slipped you all that extra info during you-know-what that Munch figured you were too fragile for, then at the very least since you had a little man-to-man heart-to-heart at Munch's farewell party. Fin is the last person you would have expected any badmouthing from. You have mad respect for the man. Or so you thought.

"Forget it, I've gotta get Noah home."

"You want a ride?"

"No!" She simply takes the hand cart from you without another word and does her best to walk away, making it abundantly clear that you are not to follow her.

It's not until you realise that you might not see her again that it dawns on you that you fucked up. Big time.