AN: I just want to say thank you to the lovely people who spared a few seconds to review this fic. Also, thank you to those who added this to their favorites and followed; please don't be shy to let me know what you think. Another quick note: this chapter will feature Maria; however, her character will be nothing like it was on the show. I just want you to picture a younger Laura Benanti when you're reading the scenes.

Read, enjoy, and review.

Save Room

2. Cool Kids

Rows of boxes ran along the walls of Nick's bedroom. His door was ajar so he could hear his mother talking to her real estate agent on the phone, telling her to email the listings of her future bachelorette pad. "I want modern not clinical, but no midcentury – I fucking hate anything that reminds me of the seventies."

Nick transferred the contents of his bookshelves into the moving boxes. He taped them up and scrawled 'books' on the side, before he repeated the process.

Packing was methodical work that didn't require much thought, so it allowed his mind to wander back to their earlier dinner conversation. His mom made the announcement that she was moving to California, and she sandbagged his dad into agreeing to let Nick move in with him. That was his mom. She lived according to her schedule and her own rules; there was no arguing with her – not when she was paid seven figures a year to close corporate mergers and buyouts.

Not that his dad was a pushover. He was a well-respected Assistant District Attorney in Manhattan, and in the courtroom he had proven to be more than capable of winning even the toughest cases. But when it came to their marriage, his dad just stood back and let his ex-wife railroad him, forcing him into making decisions he clearly didn't want to make. Like saying 'yes' to his 16-year-old kid moving in, for instance.

But it was the only way Nick could stay in the city and finish high school with his friends. He didn't want to go to Los Angeles and be the new kid; he never did like change very much.

Nick sat on his heels as he pulled out a handful of CDs from the shelf. He didn't even listen to most of these bands anymore; anything that he listened to was stored digitally on either his computer or his iPod. He chucked them into a box labeled 'donate' and threw the rest of the CDs in without bothering to check if there were a few special enough to keep.

There was a knock on the door.

His head snapped up to see his girlfriend smiling at him from the doorway. "Hey," he said, pushing himself off the floor. "Here to help out?"

Maria wrapped her arms around his waist. "Mhmmm… I'm so happy you're staying."

"Me too."

"So you're living with your dad now, huh?" Maria pulled away slightly to study his expression. She knew Nick wasn't close to his dad, and whenever she asked him questions about the mysterious Mr. Barba, he was always cagey. "Where does he live again?"

"Greenwich Village," Nick replied. "You can't just take the elevator up to see me anymore, but at least it's better than flying out to LA."

Maria giggled softly and pressed a kiss on his cheek. "There are cute restaurants in The Village," she said, her eyes sparkling as she shrugged her shoulders.

"Yeah, we could try them out," Nick said, walking back to the boxes to resume packing.

Instead of helping, Maria laid back on his bed and watched him pack as she asked him questions about his mom's new job. Nick wasn't really sure about the specifics of the job but he knew his mom was going to be an in-house lawyer for a Hollywood agency, which meant she would get to rub elbows with celebrities.

"That is so cool." Maria stared lazily up at the ceiling as she kicked off her shoes and inched up on his bed. "Maybe I can come with you when you go down there for the holidays. Do you think she'll introduce us to someone famous?"

He shrugged.

"Hey, babe."

"Yeah?"

Maria turned over on her side to face him and rested her head on hand. "So, I heard your mom talking on the phone and she said she's going to the Hamptons this weekend for some launch party. And I was thinking, since you're moving out and we've had so many good memories in this place; maybe we should throw a party."

Nick looked over his shoulder and checked to see if Maria was being serious. "I don't know…"

"Come on," she said. "It'll be intimate. Just us and some friends from school."

He ran his tongue along his bottom lip as he pondered the idea. "Ten people max."

She nodded. "Got it."

Turning back to the boxes, he picked up a little league baseball trophy and debated whether it should go into the 'donate' box or the 'miscellaneous' box. He wasn't very sentimental. And while he had a good memory of scoring the game-winning run, he also remembered how neither of his parents was cheering for him on the bleachers. So when the game was over and the rest of his teammates ran to their parents, he kicked the dirt around on home plate until his coach asked him if anyone was coming to pick him up.

The trophy went into the 'donate' box.

"Is your mom still dating that writer?" Maria asked.

"I thought you came over to help me pack." Nick avoided the question. He didn't mind so much when Maria gossiped about other people; he just figured that's what girls did. But, he did mind when she was suddenly interested in his mom's personal life – particularly her sex life. And it shouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why this topic was off-limits.

She tossed a baseball into the 'donate' box. "There," she said.

Nick narrowed his eyes at her before he fished out the baseball. "This is a Derek Jeter foul ball."

Maria feigned surprise as she opened her mouth and widened her eyes. "Didn't think you were so sentimental."

"I'm not," he shot back defensively.

"So, is your mom still dating that writer for NBC or not?" She asked, failing to heed his silent warning not to talk about his mother. "Because I heard he's gay."

"I don't know," he replied exasperatedly. "She's got a revolving door of guys she fucks on the regular. I don't keep track."

She exhaled deeply and blinked hard. "Wow."

Nick shook his head and sighed before he returned back to the methodical process of packing his life into boxes. He was sorting through his video games when he felt his girlfriend's arms wrap around him from behind. She rested her chin on his shoulder as she tried to take the CD case away from his hands.

"Come on, let's go to bed."

"I haven't finished packing."

"You don't have to move until next Friday…" Her breath tickled his ear and he had to lower his head and turn away so she wouldn't win out the battle. "Besides, you can pay people to do this for you."

"I don't like people touching my stuff."

"Paranoid much?"

"No," he said firmly, taking the video games back and setting them inside the box. "I just want things done right."

"You know what else you can do right?" She whispered into his ear, tugging at his earlobe with her teeth. She ran her fingers down his biceps and squeezed his tensed muscles. With a sharp intake of air, Nick closed his eyes before he relaxed into her touch. "That's right, baby." Maria smiled seductively, tossing her hair over her exposed shoulder.

So much for willpower.

The elevator dinged to announce he had arrived at his chosen floor. The doors opened and he stepped into the hallway, immediately feeling fidgety amongst the uniformed officers and detectives in their two for $14 Van Heusen shirts and tacky ties. He turned towards the bullpen to find some familiar faces drawn towards a corkboard. In the center of the board was Jocelyn Paley's picture, with lines around it pointing to pictures of her rapist, her ex-boyfriend, and her English professor.

"Good morning, counselor," Olivia greeted, pivoting in her seat to smile up at the ADA.

"Morning," he said with a close-mouthed smile.

They talked about the case moving forward. Cragen sent Fin and Munch to Maryland to talk to the professor and the ex-boyfriend. Benson and Stabler were to stay in the city and keep an eye out for any new leads.

Upon meeting the rest of the squad, Rafael felt at ease with almost everyone. Captain Cragen was a true professional, just like Olivia. And while Fin and Munch were not the type of people he usually kept in close company, he valued their warm welcome and their input on the case. He wasn't too sure about Elliot, who appeared to judge him the moment he walked into the room. As a man who dressed confidently and without any reservations, Rafael was accustomed to the stares and the assumptions.

Most of the time, he brushed it off but there was something about Elliot's appraisal of him that made him feel insecure. It didn't sit well with him. However, Rafael knew how to fake confidence and so he relied on that and hoped his delivery would be convincing enough. He tilted his chin up as he told the unit, that under no circumstances were they going to win this case unless they had evidence to prove that Jocelyn did not want to be humiliated and sodomized. The squad collectively agreed.

He closed his briefcase and was about to head out when he saw an officer escort a teenage male into holding. The kid couldn't have been older than 17.

"What's he in for?"

Olivia followed Rafael's gaze. "Oh, him? He was on his way to school this morning when he exposed himself to a group of female tourists taking pictures in at the park."

He continued to watch the scene unfold. The teenager tried to resist while in his restraints, and two officers had to push him up against the wall to tell him to calm down. "Those girls were lyin'! I was just adjusting my junk," the teenager tried to explain; but neither officer was hearing it.

"Something wrong?" Olivia asked, cocking her head to the side to block Rafael's view.

"Oh, it's nothing," he said, shaking the scene out of his consciousness. But she kept her eyes curiously on him like this was an interrogation and she expected him to give her an answer. "I…" he began. And he didn't know what it was that compelled him to tell her; maybe it was her eyes or maybe it was the way Stabler was glaring at him from his desk. "My ex-wife dropped a bomb on me last night. She received a job offer in LA, and in order for my son to finish school in the city, he has to move in with me."

"Has to?"

"Well," Rafael sighed, "when you repeat it to me like that, it sounds awful."

"What's the problem?"

"I haven't lived with the kid since he was two. And even then, I barely got to see him because I was too busy with work," he admitted, casting his eyes away from Olivia when he saw that flicker of judgment. "I know… I know… I'm a terrible father. It's not an excuse, but when my wife sued me for full custody, it became too difficult to make an effort to form a relationship with my son. Looking back, I should have tried harder."

"It's not too late, counselor," she said. "You have that chance now."

He sighed deeply. "But I have no idea what to do. A 16-year-old kid living with me?" His eyes widened as the realization dawned on him again. "Should I be terrified that he'll do something like that?" Rafael gestured his hand over to the teenage suspect.

"No, of course not. I'm sure your son is a good kid," Olivia assured him. "Just talk to him, get to know him, and see what sort of ground rules he had to live under while he was living with his mom. Then adjust accordingly."

"That's the problem; his mom has never set any rules for him." he replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. She looked back at him sympathetically, knowing exactly what he was describing. With her job, she'd met every kind of parent; and for every helicopter parent there were those who set absolutely no boundaries for their children. Olivia watched as Rafael's face had gone from hopelessness to optimism. "Nick sets the rules for himself and, you know what, he's managed to do well on his own. You're right, detective. He's a good kid and I shouldn't be worried."

"You'll be fine, counselor," Olivia said, smiling at him. "And if you need anything like help or advice… call me anytime."

"Mom, that's salt."

Olivia's eyes widened as she eyed the measuring cup that was brimming with what she thought was sugar. She took a pinch and pressed it against her tongue and, sure enough, Amanda was right.

"See," her daughter indicated at the ceramic jars on the counter. "That's what you get for putting all our baking ingredients in these ridiculous containers. Just keep them in the bag they came in like normal people."

"But look at them," Olivia said, gesturing at her finds from the big Pottery Barn sale last summer. She never pictured herself to be the type of person who cared about these things with her hectic career and all. But ever since that mess in Atlanta and ever since Amanda moved in with her, Olivia wanted to make their apartment feel like home. What started out as a project to redecorate her former office into Amanda's bedroom turned into a slight obsession with interior design. Her partner gave her a hard time about it when he caught her perusing catalogs for the perfect lamp and marking the pages with post-its. He teasingly said motherhood was bringing out her feminine side. And she may have crinkled her nose and squinted her eyes, but she didn't think that was such a bad thing.

"Maybe if we labeled them with a Sharpie…"

"Don't you dare," Olivia raised her voice and held a finger up.

Amanda smirked before she walked around the counter so she could be a better assistant baker. Her mom clearly needed the help. She softened the butter with the spatula while Olivia returned the salt in its container and replaced it with sugar.

With the cupcakes in the oven and their fingers crossed in anticipation, both girls turned their attention to the frosting.

"Can't we just use the Betty Crocker stuff that comes in the jar?" Amanda asked.

"What's the point of making cupcakes from scratch if we're just going to use store-bought frosting?"

Her daughter shrugged her shoulders before she pulled out her cell phone to read a new message. "Wes and Claire are coming up."

"Did they hear about the cupcakes?" Olivia smiled. She was so happy that Amanda had quickly made friends in her new school. Although the three of them had an odd sense of humor and they all couldn't be more different, they were good kids and they made her daughter happy. "They're welcome to test it out."

"I'm sure they'd love that," Amanda replied. "Oh, shoot! Claire can't have them… the eggs."

"Right…" Olivia said, snapping her fingers. "The vegan thing. How long has this been going on?"

"Two weeks," Amanda answered. "It would've been two months if she hadn't had that Shake Shack burger in a moment of weakness."

"You mean, when they cancelled her favorite show?"

"It was a big deal for her, mom." Amanda placed her hand over her chest and shook her head morosely. "She ran a tumblr dedicated to that show."

Olivia sighed as she stirred the blue food coloring into the confectioner's sugar. "I still don't understand how she found the time for that blog when she had school, debate, and whatever hunger strike or movement was keeping her occupied for the week."

"Have you met Claire?" Amanda asked rhetorically. "Girl doesn't sleep until the chickens can graze in open pastures. She'll be wired and awake for a while."

When her friends arrived, the apartment was full of life. Olivia loved having them over because it gave her so much joy to see her teenager have the life she deserved. While Olivia didn't understand what they were talking about half the time, their antics and strange conversations still made her laugh, which was a nice break from the dreary nature of her work.

Wes leaned over the counter to try to stick his finger in the icing. Amanda shoved his hand away and glared at him. "My mom will cut your finger off."

"She's right," Olivia said, throwing a warning look from over her shoulder. The cupcakes were almost done but they had to be cooled for 15 minutes until she could frost and decorate them. No one ever warned her that baking would require so much patience.

"Hey," Claire said, her brows wagging as she turned to Amanda. "Can I see your homecoming dress?"

Amanda beamed. "Sure!" she said, taking Claire's hand and running off to her bedroom.

"I wanna see too!" Wes said, hopping off the stool to follow his friends.

"Don't you think it should be a surprise?" Olivia asked Wes. "You are her date."

Wes chuckled and shook his head. "It's not like we're getting married. Besides, I gotta see what shade of blue this dress is in so I can complement it with my pocket square."

When Wes entered the room, Claire was helping Amanda zip up the back of her dress. It was in a rich blue that was somewhere in the spectrum between cobalt and navy. The soft, silk chiffon fell just above her knees and the thin straps framed her delicate collarbone. Even with her hair done up in a messy bun, she looked exquisite.

"You almost had me thinking I was straight," Wes said from the doorway. "Almost."

"Amanda!" Claire squealed, gesturing with her hand to turn around. Amanda did a hesitant twirl before she jokingly curtsied. "The dress is perfect!"

"Really?" Amanda asked dubiously, twisting her mouth.

"She's right," Wes answered, walking into the room and sitting on the foot of the bed beside Claire. "You look like Taylor Swift's petite, but more attractive little sister."

Amanda made a face at him before she looked at herself in the mirror. When she tried on the dress at Barney's and emerged out of the dressing room, her mom had said the same thing. Well, not the exact same thing; but the message was the same – she looked great in the little off-the-rack number. And it was on sale, too.

"Ladies, clear your plans for tonight because I got the hook up."

Claire and Amanda exchanged a confused look.

"I know this guy who's friends with this guy who's dating this girl who goes to St. Francis Prep," Wes explained, drawing an imaginary web of their relationships. "Anyway, he said there's a big house party at Tribeca tonight. I'm talkin' spoiled brats with free rein on mommy and daddy's liquor cabinet. Not to mention, the Catholic school boys – Mmmm…"

Claire and Amanda laughed. "You planning on corrupting anyone?" Claire raised an eyebrow.

"Me? Corrupt a choirboy?" He placed his hand over his heart and pretended to be offended. "Those guys are so repressed; you put them in this type of situation and their inner devil comes out. Trust me, they'll be the ones on their knees—"

"Okay, okay, stop!" Amanda raised her hand and glared at him. "My mom's outside. She could hear you."

"So, are you guys in?"

Amanda and Claire exchanged a look and smiled.

The three friends craned their necks and stared up at the luxury high-rise.

"So this is how the one percent lives?" Claire observed.

"Do we just walk in?" Amanda asked, turning to Wes. "We don't know anybody here."

"No, you don't know anybody here," Wes replied, looking Amanda in the eye. "I know a guy who knows a –"

"Yeah, we got it," both girls declared in unison.

"Come on, there's gonna be like a hundred people inside," Wes said, leading the way into the building and smiling confidently at the doorman who let them through. "We'll blend in."

The party was like nothing else these kids had ever been to. The walls were reverberating as the music blasted through the speakers. People were pressed up against each other, some getting a little too close for comfort. Drinks were being passed around, and no one cared about whose red plastic cup belonged to whom.

Amanda shared a smile with Claire as they coursed their way inside the penthouse. It was probably six times the size of her and her mom's apartment, and the place still had a second level. The wide open space allowed for them to scope out the scene and observe the madness going on around them.

They split up, with Wes immediately casting his fishing line on a tall blond, Claire heading towards the DJ to see what mix he was playing, and Amanda advancing towards the source of alcohol.

For the most part, Amanda considered herself to be a good kid. She stayed out of any sort of trouble that would add stress to her mother's life, but she was still a teenager. There were still things she wouldn't share with Olivia. She also had issues she hadn't addressed even though she was encouraged to go see her therapist every Tuesday after school. Besides all the biological changes that happened with adolescence, a rough childhood had the potential of catalyzing certain forms of teenage rebellion.

Sometimes, Amanda just wanted to create these moments to remind herself that she escaped Georgia and she was now finally free.

She lowered her head and dodged a glance directed at her as she made her way through the mass of people. Amanda was already on her fourth drink, and she had even made conversation with a few kids from St. Francis. They seemed pretty cool and not as stuck-up as she initially suspected. But when they started asking about her accent, that was when she excused herself from their cute, little icebreaker.

"Oh my god!" Someone tugged at her arm and spun her around. Amanda whipped around to see Claire, who was now sporting neon yellow paint across her cheeks. "These people are wild!" She exclaimed, pointing to the kitchen where kids their age were doing body shots off of each other.

"I know right? Why haven't we been crashing St. Francis parties before?" Amanda laughed with her friend. "Where's Wes? I could give him a big fat kiss for taking us here."

"I don't know," Claire leaned into her ear and screamed it over the loud electronic dance music. "Last I saw him, he was talking to this beefcake – broad shoulders, square jaw, dumb as rocks. You know, totally the type of guy he likes to corrupt."

"Speaking of 'types', there's one that fits yours over at two o'clock," Amanda said, cocking her head to that direction. Her friend tried to turn around, but she stopped her by grabbing both arms. "No, don't look. He's looking this way… Just be cool, Claire. Deep breaths. You can do this."

"I can do this."

"Now, walk over there and ask him if those glasses are prescription or if he's just being a hipster."

"You are so mean," Claire snapped back, lightly punching her on the shoulder. "What about you? No one here your type?"

"Here?" Amanda scoffed. "Not a chance."

The entire night was out of control. Nick remembered specifically telling Maria that she could invite ten people maximum, and looking around, he was positive there were close to two-hundred people in his house.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew he needed to be responsible, but he couldn't just kick all these people out. They were his friends from school – well, most of them anyway. He was pretty sure had never seen that black guy, who was making out with his soccer teammate. There was no way he could show up to school on Monday and be known as the killjoy who stopped the party. So he decided to just hang back, drink, and watch out for anyone breaking anything.

Nick fell off balance as his drunken girlfriend flailed and threw herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned on him for support, while she wobbled on her five-inch heels. She smiled up at him with her lidded eyes and her cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He held her by the waist and pushed her back slightly, veering his head away because he didn't want to have to look at her.

"Baby, let's dance," she slurred.

"No," he replied firmly. "Maria, you've had too much to drink."

"No," she countered, getting on her tiptoes to kiss him, instead catching the corner of his mouth. "You haven't had enough to drink. Why don't you loosen up?"

Nick ignored her as he watched more people come in through the door. He groaned in frustration and licked his lips. "How many people did you invite to this thing?"

"I invited our friends," she said, looking up to appear thoughtful. "And then I told them they could invite other people…"

"For fuck's sake."

"I'm sorry… I'm so, so, so sorry…" She leaned against him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Nick was getting smirks from his friends who must've assumed he was getting laid tonight. "I swear I didn't know it would get this," she hiccupped, "out of hand."

"Okay, okay, you're getting sloppy," he said, taking her hand and leading her to the stairs. "Let's go to my room."

"Oh," she said as her eyes lit up. "That's good, because I'm also in the mood."

Nick ignored her and led her upstairs to his bedroom. He laid her down and set a bottle of water on the nightstand. She still tried to pull him into bed and make out with him, but he resisted her advances. For one thing, he was angry with her; and he also didn't want to take advantage of her while she was in this state – girlfriend or not. With a smile still plastered on her face, Maria began to close her eyes and drift off to sleep. He sighed and leaned down to press a kiss on top of her head, before he turned off the lights and headed back down to the party.

As he sprinted down the stairs, something caught his eye. There was a broken vase on the floor and a few people had filled beer into his mom's wine glasses. But he couldn't care less. He squinted to see a flash of blonde hair and a smile that stopped him right in his tracks. He'd never seen her before, certainly not at school; otherwise he wouldn't have been staring at her. And she wouldn't have diverted her attention from the person she was speaking with, and glanced up to meet his eyes.

Who was she?