Random fun fact: The Ukrainian Academy of Arts & Sciences, located at 206 W. 100th. between Broadway and Amsterdam, was once used as SVU's "16th Precinct."

Before he could answer, a young girl appeared at their table, no more than sixteen, popping and cracking her bubblegum like a maniac, oblivious to the fact that she was in front of customers. She barely acknowledged either detective as she fumbled in her apron pocket for something. She reached in and pulled out the item—a white iPhone—and started texting right in front of them.

"Be with ya in just a sec folks," she announced, as if that statement excused her obnoxious behavior.

Nick's jaw hung open. This girl had a bigger pair of cajones than some of the perps that passed through the 1-6. He pulled his eyes away from the waitress (if you could even call her that) and looked at Olivia, who shook her head but seemed less shocked.

"AHEM!" he asserted. The girl met his glare with a scowl but continued texting, her thumbs flew across the keypad with impressive speed. "Sorry to interrupt you while you're hard at work, but my partner and I are hungry and we figured we could grab some lunch here. But since you don't seem to want our money, maybe another establishment can better serve our needs."

His statement got the reaction he wanted. She stopped texting at once and shoved the phone into her pocket and pulled out a pen and pad.

"Welcome to the Metro Diner. What can I get for ya?"

"We'll have the blue plate specials. I'll have the medium burger with fries and a coke," he said.

"And I'll have the chicken Caesar salad, dressing on the side, with a ginger ale, please."

"Sure," mumbled the waitress and made her way back to the kitchen.

"Can you believe the attitude on her?" Olivia said with some disgust. "I hope she doesn't spit in our food."

"Spit? Shit, if you only knew what kind of bodily fluids pissed off servers and cooks added to the food, you'd be lucky if it was just saliva," he said.

"Should I be alarmed that you know these things?"

"I know about them; I didn't say I took part in the festivities. I used to work as a bus boy and as a server back in Miami. And the only thing I took away from either experience is to never, ever fuck with your server. Unless you want special seasonings as a bonus."

"Gross."

"Yeah. Speaking of gross, I'd hate to have a job as a health inspector—I don't know how they can eat in a restaurant after seeing some of the shit they've witnessed. You know, maybe we should drop the subject. If we keep talking about this, we'll lose our appetite."

"Speak for yourself," she said and licked her lips, "I'm so hungry I could eat my own hand. And I may have to if she doesn't bring out our food within the next 15 minutes."

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier? We could have been here hours ago," he asked, confused.

"I didn't have the chance. We were too busy biting each others heads off, remember?" she put back at him.

She looked over and saw his sheepish expression. He grinned and she noticed things about his appearance that she hadn't before. Probably because they were sitting so close to each other, and also because the lighting was so bright. At work they were often up to their eyeballs in paperwork, too busy to steal more than a glance or two at each other. And when they were running the streets or in the box their focus was more on the perps than on each other. He was boyishly handsome, but there was no mistaking his maturity. She noticed the thin crow's feet around his eyes, how they deepened when he smiled, and the subtle flecks of sliver accumulating throughout his hair. These were the telltale signs of a man gracefully approaching forty. Observing this made her feel less weird about their age difference, and though she clocked more aging mileage than him, it was comforting to know that he was getting older, too.

He took her hand into his again and began massaging her knuckles, and she made a mental note of his tick. "About that, I'm sorry I was such a dick to you."

"Hmm. Which time?"

"You're really going to bust my balls, aren't you? I know I made things personal, and I was way out of line. Can you forgive me?

She sighed. "Yeah, as long as you can forgive me for the way I acted last night. And today. I should have never made that shrink crack. You told me that in confidence, and I threw it back in your face. I'm sorry.

Their waitress, once again ruining their moment, came back more enthusiastic than when she left. She placed their lunches and drinks in front of them and smiled. She even asked them if they needed extra napkins and condiments.

He removed his hand from hers and shoved a handful of fries into his mouth. But she eyed her meal with caution.

"What are you waiting for? I thought you said you were starving."

"I was, I mean I am. But did you see how attentive she was to us—she even smiled. You think she put something in our food?

"Nah, she probably asked the cook to do it for her," he teased, stuffing his mouth with more fries. Then he saw a look of horror cross her face. "Relax, I'm sure there's a logical explanation. Her boss probably tore her a new one. He was on the floor when she took our order."

"You think she shaped up because he threatened to fire her?"

"It makes sense. She probably needs the money. How else will she support her texting habit?"

"Good point." She looked at him and smirked. "You're a lot smarter than you look."

"I'm more than just a pretty face you know," he said, and she rolled her eyes.

"Is it me, or are teenagers today more disrespectful?" she asked.

"Yeah, I feel you on that. I couldn't believe that girl when she whipped out her cell phone like we weren't even there. Some of these kids nowadays truly don't give a fuck—and they're not trying to hide it, either."

"If I pulled a stunt like that and my mom found out, I wouldn't have to worry about my boss laying into me. I'd be too scared to go home."

He shook with laughter, "I know, right? My mom and my older sisters would've taken turns kicking my ass."

She chuckled a bit to herself. "I used to say if I had kids and they stepped out of line, my hand would keep them in check, but…" she trailed off and looked back at her food.

If she had kids, for years that was a possibility—even with a rigorous job filled with unpredictable dangers and insane hours. When she was younger, climbing the ranks was her only goal, but the idea of kids always lurked in the back of her mind. As time went on, her priorities did a 180. Ironically, the older she got, the less she needed to chase promotions because they more or less fell into her lap. But the thing that she left on the back burner, the one thing she wanted most in her life right now, seemed like it was a million miles away. And the distance grew more with each passing year.

"You still can, you know," he said.

She gave him a questioning stare and inspected her lunch for any trace "seasonings" before digging in. She really wasn't in the mood for his guessing games and hoped that he would come out and say what was on his mind.

"There's still time," he continued, never missing a beat.

His insinuation hit her like a sledgehammer. She crammed more food into her mouth and chewed on her salad...and on his words. Was her partner talking about knocking her up in the future—during their lunch? She swallowed and took a sip of her ginger ale.

"Are you offering to be my baby daddy?" she said, and her eyebrow shot up. "I thought marriage came before the baby carriage."

"I'm still married, but in my mind we're already divorced. I'm serving Maria the papers this week."

Her jaw went slack, and her eyes filled with shock and then pity. She opened her mouth, but he held up his hand to silence her.

"Liv, I appreciate your sympathy, but I don't need it. Our marriage has been dead for a long time now. I'm just driving the final nail into the coffin. Don't feel sorry for me. I've got something better on the horizon."

She stopped eating to look at him after his confession. She studied his face watching his body language and comparing them to his words. He wore a slight frown, but otherwise looked relaxed for a man contemplating divorce. Olivia anticipated what was in store for him, even if he couldn't. Dissolved marriages always left scars, no matter how long ago they died—especially when kids were involved. She saw enough broken marriages and child custody cases during her career to know that.

But the hope that burned in his eyes when he looked at her awakened her primal side; the part of her that was immune to logic. The ease with which he exposed that vulnerability unsettled her.

"I was being flip, Nick," she said, careful not to acknowledge his last statement. "We barely made it through our first date and now you're proposing kids?"

"I'm not suggesting anything at the moment. Just letting you know that you still have…options," he said and held her stare.

One look in his eyes and it was clear what those options were. She felt a weight sitting on her chest as she sized up their dynamic. The raw sexuality between them could melt a glacier—neither one could deny that—but their combined stubbornness was off the Richter scale. Not to mention her trust issues, his "damsel in distress" complex and a slew of other complications, including their jobs. They were a damn fine duo on the job, but how would they fare off the clock? And with kids? And what about Zara? And why the hell were they discussing kids when they weren't married? They hadn't even gone on a second date yet because they were putting out the fires from the first one.

But deep down she wanted to throw caution to the wind and take him up on his offer. She settled for a more realistic option: a do over of their first date.

She ate the last of her salad and wiped her mouth. "We should get going, but we should finish this conversation later…say on our second date?" she said, and his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Speaking of which I was thinking we could—" Nick started, but her phone interrupted him. "Benson. Captain? Yeah, Nick is with me. We're heading back now. See you in a few minutes."

"What did Cragen want?"

"One of the Chelsea rapist's victims stepped forward. She's ready to give her statement."

He threw down two bills and put on his coat. She started to get up but he stopped her. "Wait, don't get up."

"Why not?"

He hopped up and walked behind her. He peeled her coat off the back of her chair and held it out for her. She stood up and stuck one arm through, winked at him, then put her other arm through the other side. His hands came around to her shoulders and he gave them a squeeze. He could smell her perfume on her collar, and was tempted to lean in, but he knew how close they were to the precinct. He couldn't risk anyone seeing them—they were already pushing it when they held hands earlier.

"Let's roll, Benson."

Nick and Olivia raced towards the exit and headed out the door. As they turned the corner, they almost bumped into a pedestrian, who apparently had more important things on his mind than avoiding a collision with the NYPD.

Olivia sidestepped him to escape the impact and caught the left side of his face. She'd never seen him before, but she recognized him. The bridge of his nose. The unruly brown hair. The deep-set chestnut eyes—the familiarity kneed her in the gut.

"Hey kid, watch where you're going!" Nick growled, but softened when Olivia touched his shoulder and gave him a look. The young man looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Nick's shield, and his eyes grew wide like saucers.

"Sorry," the teenager mumbled, but he didn't break stride and made a beeline for the diner.

"Another rude teenager, what are the odds? I bet he knows our waitress," he said and started laughing. He stopped when he saw the faraway look in her eyes.

"You OK?"

"Yeah. It's just…I feel like I've seen that kid before, but I've never laid eyes on him until today."

"A lot of kids have passed through SVU's doors over the years," he countered.

"You misunderstand me. I know this kid, but I can't figure out why or how I know him, it's—" She shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck. "Forget it. We don't have time to chase my ghosts. We've got a victim to interview and a rapist to collar."

Q grabbed a table in the diner and ordered the largest coffee on the menu. He needed to focus—and fast. He almost mowed down a cop for Christ's sake! The last thing he needed was the 5-0 on his ass before shit went down.

A/N: So, who's Q? You'll find out in the next chapter. Stay tuned.