He's still got me thinking, this morning. Could I be a mother? Do I really want to be? Or was the longing I felt, seeing my friends with their babies just envy? Envy because they had the unconditional love of an innocent child. Someone who'd love them, no matter what.

Becoming a mother would change my career in a lot of ways. If I got pregnant and I started to show, Cragen would have me riding a desk, instantly. I've seen women on the force have kids and get so wrapped up in things that they quit. They don't think that they can manage kids and a job.

I don't even know if I'd be capable of being a mother. I didn't have a normal childhood. I can't think back on things my mother did, when it comes to parenting, because she usually wasn't there. Or when she was there, the things she did aren't things I want to think about. Never mind do to another child.

I had one pregnancy scare, in college. I spent the longest two minutes of my life locked in the bathroom, praying that the test I'd brought at the corner drugstore wasn't positive. I didn't want to be a mother at eighteen or nineteen.

Now. I'm thinking about becoming a mother. What kind of changes it would make. Could I bring up a normal, healthy child, with my history and my job?

I don't think the job would be the problem. Elliot's raised four great kids, while working in the squad. But he doesn't have the history that I do. I'm not so worried about the genes anymore. People - shrinks, friends, bosses and partners - have been insisting for years that if genes had anything to do with how a person behaved, I wouldn't be who I am. And I think they've convinced me.

But there's always another worry. The medical history. I have no idea what I'm passing on by the way of diseases. And I don't want to be responsible for hurting my own child. If I got pregnant, without knowing half of my medical history, some people would accuse me of putting a child at risk.

I'm not exactly young, either. I'm not gonna lie to myself. The older a woman is when she gets pregnant, the more risks there are to the baby.

I really don't know what I want to do. I've thought about having kids - what woman hasn't? - but when I was thinking about becoming a mother, I was usually single or in a relationship that was going nowhere. I wanted stability for my kids, if I ever had any.

Now I'm with a guy who's already a father and obviously knows what he's doing. The kind of man that I would have liked to father my kids, a few years ago. And I can't make up my mind. Do I want to take the risk?

I have a goddaughter, though. A beautiful, intelligent girl, who's the daughter of my best friends. I've become her second mother, over the years. Her mother is as close to a sister as I'll ever get. We fight like sisters, occasionally, and sometimes, I think her family forgets that I'm not related to them.

I know I'd be scared to death. I've seen too many things. There are too many threats to a child. Especially in this cesspool of a city.

If I do decide to have a kid, I know the first instinct I'll have is to move. Pack up and move out of the city. Somewhere safe. Like some little town upstate, where the crime rate is basically nothing.

I was born here. I walked a beat for years. I know what happens here. And why the hell would I ever want to expose another kid to it? Kids are observant as hell. They notice things that their parents don't even think they notice. And no matter how much you try to hide from them, they'll eventually pick it up.

I don't want to be an overprotective mother, who doesn't let her kids do anything. I don't think it works.

I didn't meet my grandparents until I was a teenager, because my mother wasn't on great terms with them. But when I finally met them, my grandmother tried to protect me. Hover over me and shelter me.

I wasn't used to that and it made me angry. I was used to being able to do whatever I wanted, with no one worrying. I wasn't used to being hovered over. I know I don't want to be the hovering mother hen, who tries to shelter her kids, because that doesn't seem to work. But what else could I be?

I don't know what else I could do, with what I see. I'd feel like I had to protect my kid. With the kinds of things I've seen over the years, I'd be scared to leave a child alone with someone else. I know I'd be the paranoid mother.

I have a goddaughter. I was in the waiting room, as the doctors delivered her by a C-section. I peeked in, when they put her in the nursery. I was there for her birthday parties, as a child.

Now, she's a teenager. She's thinking about college. Her future. She calls me now and then, to talk about things. I took her to her first concert, a couple of years ago, for her birthday. I've watched her grow up. It's good enough for me, that her parents allowed me into her life. I'm happy with that.

Something hits the back of my hand, jarring me out of my thoughts. I look down, seeing the pen there. I look up at Elliot. "What?"

"Something interesting on the wall?" He questions, amused.

"I was thinking," I snap back, annoyed.

"You can think later. I've only been trying to talk to you for the last five minutes," he replies.

"What?" I push my hair back off my forehead.

"You remember Andrews?"

"Yeah," I nod, thinking about the perp he mentioned. Thomas Andrews. Son of a bitch raped three women, down on the Lower East Side, all living within three blocks of each other. The judge released him on bail, and he jumped it. He didn't show up for the first day of his trial and the judge issued a bench warrant. That was a month ago. "They found him?"

"Yeah. A couple of uniforms pulled him over on a busted taillight - they ran his license, but they didn't hear about the warrant until after he was gone."

I roll my eyes. Uniforms can pull off some stupid things sometimes. "How'd they find him?"

"Address on the license. They're sitting on the apartment, waiting for us."

."Liv?" Elliot glances at me, as we head out to the car, to go catch this son of a bitch.

"Hm?" I push my hair out of my face and adjust my scarf. "What?"

"Did you think about what we talked about last night?" He questions.

"Yeah. I did," I reply. "Been thinking about it all morning. But the thing is, El - I'm not young anymore. No sense in lying to myself. I don't know if I'd have the energy to run around after a kid all day. And there'd be more risk in me getting pregnant now." I sigh. I knew he was going to bring this up, but I still didn't like having to tell him.

"You wouldn't be alone," he murmurs, gently rubbing a hand along my back. It's a small gesture, but it's discreet. I still like things that way.

"Yeah, I know. But I don't know if I could be the kind of mother that I'd want to be. I don't know if I'd be able to let them go and grow up, with the kind of crap that we see. And I have a goddaughter," I tell him, huddled deep inside my jacket.

"You mean Amy? Dana and Chris's kid?" He questions, bringing up my best friend from childhood, Dana Libretti and her husband, Chris. He's met them. We've had dinner with them a few times, as a couple.

"Yeah. She's a great kid. When my friends were having their kids, I wanted to be a mother, myself. I think about now and it was probably just envy. They had someone who'd love them, no matter what, and I was alone," I reply.

I sigh, rubbing my eyes, seeing the look on his face, after I finish that sentence. "El, I"- I don't want to disappoint him. Maybe he really wanted to be a father to my child.

"Hey. Like you said - I've got four of 'em. I was just telling you that if you wanted to have kids, I'd be open to it," he leans in and kisses the top of my head, lightly, reaching around me to open the car door for me.

I slide into the passenger seat, sighing. I never thought about having this discussion with a man. I never thought I'd have to. I didn't think things would get this serious.

It doesn't take us long to arrive outside the guy's apartment. The guys who pulled him over on a traffic stop have already called for backup. There are a few squad cars parked nearby, but far enough away so they won't make anyone suspicious.

There's a group of uniforms waiting for us, along with ESU, in the alley next to the building.

"We good to go?" Elliot questions, of one the ESU guys.

"Yeah. Say when," The man replies, nodding.

"Okay. Let's go and be quiet. This guy's a runner. We don't wanna tip him off," my partner warns. He's senior. I let him call the shots.

I remember when we arrested him the first time. He ran on us. Made us chase him across the roofs, until we cornered him.

The building is a hellhole. The paint's peeling off the walls and the stairs don't even look safe.

We approach the guy's door. It looks weak. It would only take a kick to bring it down. It's painted green, but the paint is peeling off rapidly. There's a couple of stickers on it that read 2A.

Instead of knocking, like we normally would, we just move to the side and let the guy with the battering ram do the work. The door falls and we move in, quickly.

Shouts of 'clear!' echo around the dirty, dingy, cheap apartment. Why do they always seem to live in dumps like this?

I feel a cold blast of air against my right side. I turn my head, seeing the open window. I catch Elliot's sleeve in my fingers, to get his attention. Who in their right mind would go out and leave a window wide open, in this city?

I lean out, seeing that the window leads to the fire escape. Son of a bitch! I crawl out the small window, onto the metal landing in front of it. Something catches my eye.

He's a few feet below the window. I know it's him. The cheap winter coat, the pale face with the dark eyes of a criminal - he's got a long rap sheet. He thought he could hide down there, until we gave up looking. When he sees me, he takes off running down the metal steps. I hate it when they run. Don't they know that we're eventually gonna get them, anyway?

He didn't get that much of a head start. I've been chasing people down fire escapes for years. My feet strike the metal, hard, and the air I'm sucking into my lungs is icy cold. I can hear Elliot behind me, making his way down.

The sick, sadistic son of a bitch jumps the last few feet to the ground and I do the same. He's gone, by the time I hit the pavement. Where the hell did he go? I keep my gun at my side, warily, looking around the narrow alley. He couldn't have gotten far.

I hear a shot, suddenly, coming from my right. I dive down, but too late. I can already feel the pain ripping through my body from a point on my right side.

"Liv!" Elliot's voice echoes off the brick walls, as he runs toward me. The pain's too much. I can't even breathe.

I hear him kneel beside me. I feel him gently shift me from my stomach, onto my back. "Jesus, " he whispers, his hands finding that spot on my side. He presses on it, with a hand and I try to get a breath.

He's saying something that I can't make out. He's not talking to me.

"Liv," he leans down to speak into my ear, quietly. "Help's on the way."

I nod. I'd talk, but I can't get the sound out. My vision blurs and fades into grey. I blink, and his face comes into focus again. "You gotta stay with me," he murmurs, pressing on the gaping bullet hole in my side. I can see it there. The blood trail on the pavement.

He takes my hand in his, his big hand easily covering mine. "You're gonna be fine," he reassures. "You gotta stay with me, Liv. Stay with me."

I can hear sirens, in the distance. It's an ambulance. Not a police siren. I know the difference. My vision fades again, this time, into black.