I hole myself up in my office and try to lose myself in my paperwork, but for once, it doesn't work. Olivia's crestfallen face floats through my mind, over and over, those huge, sad eyes begging me to come back. I know that if I act like I don't care, she won't push me, and maybe I'm exploiting that. Or maybe I just have to be brave and tell her how I feel, how I really feel about her.

It'll be the hardest thing I've ever done, maybe even harder than breaking up with her so many years ago. To accept who I am, who I have been, who I might be. To accept what I've done and what I might do. To accept that every path comes with pain, but I must choose one and follow it notwithstanding.

My heart is pounding when I walk into the precinct a few hours later. It's just Olivia and I there; the guys are out at a crime scene and the captain ordered Olivia to stay behind. It's been a hard day for her, and I feel even worse when I realize that I probably just added to her burden. She asked me to come with her this morning because she wanted comfort, company, not because she wanted more conflict. But that's all I bring, and I feel terrible about it.

I take a deep breath and walk up to her desk. "Olivia," I say, and her head snaps up, but she relaxes a bit when she realizes it's just me.

"Yeah?"

I clear my throat. "Do you want to come out for dinner with me?" I've never done this before, and I know I sound awkward, but I'm trying to put some confidence behind my words.

Olivia sighs. "I don't understand, Alex. This morning you're running away from me and now you're asking me out for dinner? I thought you didn't want this kind of relationship."

"I changed my mind." I realize the moment the words are out of my mouth how childish they sound, as if I'm reverting back to my teenage self.

"I want you to be straight with me," she says. "What is it that you want?"

I take a deep breath. "Let's start with dinner."

She studies me carefully, looking for sincerity, or lack thereof. Finally, she nods. "Fine. I'll pick you up in an hour," she says briskly.

I smile in spite of myself. "Am I putting you out?"

She smiles back. "I thought you would appreciate the chivalry."

"I do."

She cocks her head. "You never had someone to do that for you before?"

I bite my lip and shake my head, not ready to discuss this right now. Not here in the squad room, at least.

"Well, you do now," says Olivia, regarding me fondly, and my heart soars.

I go back to my apartment, wondering how my invitation to her has really turned out the other way around. Apparently, she's driving, and choosing our destination, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to wear. It's been years since I've done this – longer, even.

I finally settle on dress pants and a nice blouse. Olivia probably won't care anyway; she doesn't base her opinions on appearances.

Finally, the doorbell rings, and I feel like a lovesick teenager again, anxiously awaiting my first date. I remember.

It was a good one, actually, considering what came after. I got myself all dressed up and she arrived a fashionable five minutes late. She picked me up in her Lexus, and took me out to a fancy restaurant that I'd never been to before. She told me how beautiful I looked and held my hand while we waited for dinner.

Of course, I was naïve. I recognize the signs now – how she ordered my dinner for me, even though I told her I didn't like anything spicy, how she insisted on accompanying me to the washroom. I'd thought it was sweet at the time, but really it was just controlling.

I push the thought from my mind and answer the door, trying to calm my racing heart. Sure enough, Olivia's standing in the hallway, looking as beautiful as ever, perfectly at ease. I try to do the same, at least on the outside.

She gives me a smile. "Ready?"

I nod, and lock up the apartment before following her to her car and climbing into the passenger seat. "Are you going to tell me where we're going?" I ask.

She quirks an eyebrow in amusement. "No."

"Well, I was the one who asked you out, so really I should know."

She waves a dismissive hand. "I asked you out."

"We asked each other out."

"I asked you out first."

I smile in spite of myself. "Are we eight years old?"

She sticks her tongue out at me, and I laugh. This is so easy, easier than I expected, to fall back into the rhythm of our light banter.

"Liv," I whine, giving her my best pout, and she chuckles.

"Is Alex Cabot actually whining?"

I grin. "Don't tell anyone."

Olivia takes my hand and gives it a light squeeze. "I wouldn't dream of it."

And I wonder if we're even talking about the same thing anymore.

She notices the change in the atmosphere and gives me a sidelong glance. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

With this? Of course I am. How can she even think otherwise? I nod.

"Okay," she says. Still, she doesn't let go of my hand, and I don't pull away.

We reach the restaurant a few minutes later – an upscale Italian place that I'm sure is far out of Olivia's comfort zone; she's clearly tried to choose a place she thinks I'll like. I don't comment on that, though; all I say as we sit down at a table near the window is, "This is nice."

She smiles. "I'm happy if you are."

That ignites something inside me, a feeling I thought I'd never have again, and it takes me a moment to realize: Oh, so this is what happy feels like. I'd forgotten.

She holds out my chair for me, which makes me smile; no one's ever done that for me before. This is fine. She isn't making me kneel for her, or doing anything to make me uncomfortable. We're just sitting and talking, like two normal, equal people who have nothing to be ashamed of.

Unfortunately, that statement is only half right.

Our waitress comes over and introduces herself. "Can I get you anything to drink?" she asks.

Olivia looks at me, but I don't say anything. I'm not sure what she wants me to say.

"Can we get the wine list?" she asks, and the waitress nods.

"Of course."

I cross my arms over my chest and lower my eyes. This is going to be a disaster. Why did I think it was a good idea? I haven't been on a date in years, and I don't know what I'm not supposed to say, what I'm not supposed to do, what will reflect badly on Olivia.

I flinch when I feel a gentle hand on mine. "You okay?"

I nod, just as the waitress comes back with the wine list. Olivia asks me what I want, but I just shrug. "What do you want?"

She smiles. "You know, I have a feeling that you know wine better than I do."

"What makes you think that?"

She smirks. "I plead the fifth, but I'm pretty sure I'm right."

I shrug. "Whatever you want is fine." I don't know what she wants me to say.

She sighs. "Okay." She orders us a bottle of Merlot.

We sit in silence for a few moments, but it isn't awkward. With Olivia, silence is just as comfortable as when we're talking. Being close to her somehow makes me feel safe. I know that she'll never hurt me.

But what if she knew who I really am, what I really did, what I let someone else do to me? She'd see me differently then, as someone weak, undeserving of her. And she'd be right.

Olivia puts her hand on mine again. "Are you sure you're okay, Alex? We don't have to do this."

I shake my head. "I want to. I just . . ." I trail off. I just what? I'm just scared? I'm just nervous? I'm just uncertain?

No. Alex Cabot is none of those things. I can't say that.

"Talk to me, Alex. Tell me what's wrong. Tell me how I can help you."

No. This isn't going to turn into an extract-information-from-poor-little-Alex date. This isn't going to turn into a pity date. I can't tell her.

I bite my lower lip and blink back the tears in my eyes. She seems genuinely concerned, like she really cares, like she really wants to make things better for me. But she can't. No one can.

She sees the tears and in an instant, she's beside me, wrapping an arm around me. "Sweetie, please, just tell me what I can do. I don't like seeing you upset."

And that's all it takes for my tears to spill over. That soothing touch, that gentle voice, and I'm gone. I cry like I haven't cried in years, not even noticing, much less than caring, that I'm in the middle of a busy restaurant. If it had registered, I probably would have been mortified, because I'm definitely not one for public – or really any – displays of emotion, but right now I'm too far gone to care.

And Olivia's by my side, rubbing my back in comforting circles and not even chastising me for my hysterics, just reassuring me with her presence. "It's okay," she murmurs, even though I know she doesn't understand. "You're okay, Alex. I'm here." She takes one of my hands and gives it a squeeze. "Let's go back to my place, all right?"

I'm too overwhelmed to object, and I let her lead me out of there. She keeps a protective arm around me and her other hand on the small of my back, guiding me, reassuring me that I'm safe.

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