Disclaimer: Not mine, sadly.

A/n: One shot, folks.

"How'd your date go?"

She didn't respond, but he knew it wasn't because she was working. She'd been looking at the same page for the past ten minutes.

"Work came up, huh?" He kept his head down, though his eyes flicked up to her. "Liv?"

"It was fine," she said.

But he knew it wasn't. And he knew better than to ask what went wrong. Outright, at least. "You know, the resident King of Divorce is sitting next to you."

"I'm trying to work, Munch." Her voice was tired.

He straightened in his chair. He asked softly, "They why have you been looking at the same page for nearly fifteen minutes?"

"Munch, I don't need this right now. I have to finish this report."

"Okay. Whatever you say." He held up his hands in defeat, though in truth he was merely biding his time.

She looked up at him. "I'm serious."

"I said okay." He bent back down over his work, but five minutes later when he chanced briefly looking up, she was staring past him to the coffee table. "Liv, are you sure you're okay?"

She kept staring at the mugs hanging from the banister. "Fine."

Putting his hands on the side of his desk, he pushed himself next to her, rolling across the gap between their desks. He looked at her eyes. "Hey, c'mon, it couldn't have been that bad," he tried softly.

She snorted. "Define bad."

"Well, did you show up to dinner with a bottle of wine and wind up drinking it by yourself?"

"Half that."

"You only drank half the bottle? Hmm. Last time that happened to me, I drank the whole bottle, then sat down at the bar."

She didn't smile. "Elliot showed up."

"That's not that bad. Unless, of course, he opened his mouth and said something."

"He had a date."

"Well, that's new to the grapevine. Surprised I went the whole day without hearing about it."

"He sat down with us. We all started talking about something or other... you know how it is. You know your partner so well that you're finishing sentences for each other. Giles didn't like that, and neither did Elliot's date."

"So they left?" His tone was soft again, no hint of joking to be found.

"I excused myself to go to the bathroom and Giles followed me." John found himself tensing, even though he knew that she was more than able to protect herself. Even off duty, in a dress. "Started asking what the hell was going on between me and Elliot. Turned into a yelling match outside the bathroom. So Elliot came over, his date in tow, and when Giles saw him, he punched Elliot." So that's what that bruise on his face had been about. "Elliot swung back. Took three guys to pull 'em apart. We got kicked out of the restaurant, but Elliot and Giles... the owner called the cops. We showed them our badges, and Elliot decided not to press charges."

He went through it all again in his head as she fiddled with a pencil. That's why they had been at each other's throats today, he thought. He ruined her date. And really, why hadn't he heard about this at all? If there was one thing cops knew how to do, it was gossip. And this was certainly worthy of it. Geez... "Liv, maybe this Giles fellow just wasn't cut out for dating a cop. I mean, he obviously doesn't know what it's like to have a partner that turns into a third arm. And one that isn't even awkward most of the time." His small attempt at humor went unnoticed by her.

"I'm just so sick and tired of dating and dating and never finding anyone just because of this godforsaken job."

"The Job's not that bad of a lady, I've found. You sleep with her every night; there's no chance of her picking up and leaving unless you screw up and even then she visits quite often. She cooks for you, doesn't clean, but what woman does it all? Let's you hang out with your buddies, and sometimes even kicks out the bad guys in your squad." I shrugged. "Over time, you come into a love-hate relationship, just like every marriage."

"That's for you, John. Guys who've got a few years before they retire and the Job is the only thing they've got left."

He chose not to take offence to that, instead, he said, "And tell me one thing you would be happy doing, if not being a detective? A cop?" He knew he had her by the way she kind of shrugged and didn't answer him. "Liv, it's okay. You, you've got time. Can't be more than twenty-eight or so. Beautiful, hell, drop dead gorgeous. Damned smart. Sometimes I wonder where Fin and Elliot went to school. Where I went to school. And you've got a gun to boot. Anyone messes with you, stick that in their face and they can't come back later with a lawsuit because then you just hold up that shiny gold shield. Me... that's a whole different story. Old, gray hair, ugly as a donkey's ass. I might as well be a statue in the park; they all look like that. Now, c'mon, either smile and get back to work or go home and go to sleep. Watch a movie or something."

She shook her head slowly and gestured her hand toward the paper in front of her. "I have to finish this."

"There's always tomorrow. You need the rest. I'll cover, scout's honor." He held up his hand.

She sighed. "You're stubborn, you know that?"

He grinned. "My mother used to say that, too. One of my more endearing qualities, I believe."

A small, half-smile became evident as she rolled her eyes. "One condition then."

"What's that?"

"I get to take you out to dinner."

"Aw, no. I can't."

"Because you've got a date?" She snorted. She took his hand in hers. "You really want to know why I want to treat you to dinner? To thank you."

"For what?"

She shrugged. "For being Munch. Now, I can't take anyone else for that honor."

He sighed. "Fine. Fine." But he, too, was smiling. "Let's blow this popsicle joint."