AN: As usual, thanks so much for the continued interest. More to be revealed toward the end of the week. :) Feedback/suggestions always welcome!


Amanda allowed Nick to take her out to dinner.

He had put her on the spot. Nick returned to SVU like the prodigal son, everyone eager to hear about his job in California and to complain to him about what had and hadn't changed in New York City. With an audience, he had hovered over Amanda's desk and suggested dinner; she felt like everybody's eyes were burning holes in her as they waited for her reply. Accepting and declining both felt like different kinds of awkward to Amanda, but ultimately she agreed to go because a part of her wanted to. Nick still made her pulse race, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

They met at a Midtown Italian restaurant which was just a little too dark and cozy for her comfort. Even when they were sleeping together, they didn't date. It was all physical, a warm body to curl up next to when everything else was going to hell - no white table cloth necessary. In an attempt to be more open, Amanda tried not to read too much into the location. They both liked lasagna - it really wasn't that big of a deal.

The meal was delicious and the conversation smooth. Amanda got a sick kind of rush from the edge of arrogance in Nick's voice as he talked about his work on the west coast; she had always been attracted to power, or at least the implication of it. Over a year ago, Amanda had followed his ego straight to bed. To Nick, she had been everything that his ex-wife Maria wasn't: impulsive, passionate, fueled by her demons. It had been an explosive combination. She thought that the dust had settled with time and distance, but over dinner she found herself hoping that even if their separate worlds had changed, maybe Nick would see something new in her that he could appreciate.

A half-eaten square of tiramisu eventually sat in the center of the table, each of them occasionally dipping into it with their fork for a bite.

"So, you've told me all about work, about Kim and Jesse... how've you been doing?" Nick asked her.

Amanda shrugged her shoulders with a little smile and tucked a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear. "I told you, things are good. I'm good."

"You look tired."

She quirked an eyebrow, her fork paused in mid-air. "I have a one and a half year old, work sixty hours a week and run five miles a day, Nick. That tends to happen."

"You sure...?" he trailed off, eyeing her like a concerned parent assesses a suspicious teenager.

Amanda understood what he was implying by the look on his face. It was his look. The one that never failed to remind her that he was the savior, she was the one in desperate need of saving. She set her fork down to rest on the edge of the plate, suddenly no longer interested in dessert. "Are you asking about my gambling?"

"I just wanna be sure you're okay."

She moved so her back was pressed up against the cushion of the booth, like she was trying to create as much space between them as possible. "Amazing," she murmured, shaking her head in disbelief and crossing her arms over her chest. "After all this time, you're still checkin' up on me. Are you capable of doing anything else?"

"I know how stress can trig-"

"I am not stressed. I've been feeling pretty damn good. A lot has changed since you left, you know!" she exclaimed truthfully. She pulled in a breath as she stared at him across the table. Her eyes narrowed and her expression shifted from hurt to almost victorious as something in her head clicked: Nick tethered her to everything she disliked about herself. It would always be that way, because he needed her wounded. He would never be interested in the present version of Amanda - only the broken woman he had left behind. She lowered her voice, her tone tinged with amused astonishment, "you hate that, don't you? You'd prefer me miserable."

"Oh, c'mon, Amanda, I-"

"That's why you wanted to have dinner, huh? Make sure I'm still as fucked up as you left me?" She grabbed her purse so she could fish around inside for her wallet. Standing up, she tossed a wad of cash on the table - there was no way she was letting him pay. She didn't want to owe him anything anymore. Not a single thing. "Just so you're aware, there's a lot more to me than my mistakes. Shame you'll never get to figure that out for yourself."

She burst out of the front doors of the restaurant into the humid evening air. With Nick, she would always be a prisoner of her past. Without him, she was free.


Smiling, Amanda ran. She darted through throngs of natives and tourists alike as they enjoyed the summer evening, her extensive experience with the New York City grid system making it easy for her to know exactly where she was going. She felt lighter than usual, like whatever she had been carrying around she had abandoned in the seat across from Nick.

He was exactly where he told her he would be that night: Bravest sports bar on 2nd Ave, between 38th street and the Queens Midtown tunnel. Of course he was, because Sonny Carisi was honest and genuine and real. From the doorway, Amanda spotted him sitting at the bar across the room. He had a beer in his hand, his body relaxed against the back of the stool he was perched on, laughing about something with his friends between glances at the television mounted on the wall. For a moment she considered fleeing, using the energy that had propelled her there to escape before he ever caught sight of her...

"Sonny!" she called breathlessly, waving her hand in an attempt to get his attention. She moved through the crowd murmuring little apologies to anybody in her path, "hey... oops, sorry...'scuse me..."

"Hey!" Amanda maneuvered her petite frame in between bar stools to be at Carisi's side, unconcerned with the person next to him who she had her back to. There wasn't much space, but Amanda held her ground. Carisi gawked at her, bewildered to the point of speechlessness. "I just had dinner with Nick and it was awful," Amanda explained, short of breath from her sprint and her excitement. "I just had to tell you because I had to thank you."

He eyed her with an even deeper look of confusion. His gaze wandered around the bar, like he was trying to assess whether or not this was real life, then settled back on Amanda. "Thank me? For a crappy dinner with Amaro...?"

"No! No," she laughed, as if he was the crazy one for not understanding her reasoning. "For all those times you've reminded me that things can change and that I'm good and deserving and..." Her chest was visibly rising and falling and her heart beat quickening despite the fact that she had stopped running. Words had never been her strong suit, but in that moment it was a special challenge for Amanda to verbalize what was making her pulse pound.

Rising up on her toes, she closed the small space between their bodies, rested a hand against Sonny Carisi's cheek and kissed him. It was as if her tongue knew that it couldn't possibly produce any words that would express anything in a more effective way than this. He tasted like beer but the alcohol couldn't mask the warm familiarity that Amanda craved. She was oblivious to his friends watching with wide-eyed puzzlement or to the televised baseball game blaring stats that she once would have killed to bet on. He didn't attempt to push her way or ask questions; he met her mouth like he had been waiting for it.

"I gotta get home... Jesse..." she finally murmured against his lips. "Have fun with your friends." She pulled away slowly to blink his face into focus, wearing a small, impish smile. Her hand drifted from his face, lingered on his bicep as she gradually slid away from the bar to make her exit. With fingertips still barely grazing his forearm, she offered, "come over later, if you want."

Amanda turned and disappeared into the crowd without another word, her palm pressed tight over her mouth as if she wanted to keep her grin all to herself.