A/N: So I started this when the crossover first aired and just finished it. Can you say fail? I can. And yes, I know I have a whole hell of a lot to update. I recently lost all my writing mojo and I'm trying my hardest to get it back. Honestly, I'm not even sure I'm satisfied with this. lol.

Anyways, this is Benson/Voight or Benoight. I'm an SVU diehard and rather new to Chicago PD, so I hope this is somewhat faithful to Voight. I picked up a vibe between them, so I went with it. Not my EO, but I wish they'd get it on. lol. Also, for the sake of fiction, lets pretend abnormally warm days in Chicago in November exist. Haha. Oh and peep the slight hint of Rollaro at the end. ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own SVU or Chicago PD.

Hope you enjoy!

Please review or run the risk of driving me bananas.

Between Chicago and Manhattan

Chicago and New York City aren't the much different, Olivia decides as she settles into the barstool across from her current companion/somewhat city guide, Sergeant Voight. She'd only been to Chicago twice before; once was in the early 80s to accompany her mother to a conference at the University of Chicago, and the last (most recent) time had been to retrieve old case files.

Neither time had she gotten to see much of the city, and consequently this time is pretty much the same. The thought alone causes her to smile.

With a rueful laugh, she speaks, glancing up at Voight through her lashes. "I wish I would've gotten to see more of your city. It's beautiful."

Voight smirks; eyes crinkling and Olivia can see the stress of the last week and a half etched into his face. Ever since the case had landed on her doorstep, and then had ping ponged back to Chicago, she's felt the same way.

"Even when it isn't." Voight agrees, holding up his beer bottle. The necks of their bottles clink together and Olivia brings hers to her lips, taking a long sip from it before setting it down.

"This is my third time to Chicago, yet I've still never seen the city," she laughs softly, more so to herself. "300 miles, 2 ½ hours in air, and all I saw were your precinct, my hotel room, and here." Absent mindedly she begins to pick at the label of the bottle, peeling it back just a bit before taking `another swig.

"Well, night's young. Let Chicago's finest show you around?" He offers, leaning back in his seat and stretching his legs out until his oxfords run into her booted feet. "Come on, Benson, or is Chicago too much for you?"

"Oh, I can handle it." Her perfectly plucked eyebrow raise in a challenging gesture, she takes another sip of beer and kicks a boot against his intruding foot. "Can it handle me?"

"Let's see what you got then Manhatan."

/

Chicago isn't as bright at night as Manhattan, but it's almost just as alive. And it's one hell of a sight.

She's sitting on the lawn of the Jay Pritzker Pavilion next to Voight, long legs stretched out in front of her sipping on a lukewarm tea. Above her rests a steel structure that crisscrosses back and forth, lights dangling from it. The sounds of the Grant Park Orchestra doing their best rendition of Ella Fitzgerald waifs from the bandshell fifty or so feet down the lawn in front of her.

For an early November evening, it's surprisingly warm, a whopping 64 degrees, and Olivia's enjoying herself. The case is closed; Lindsay has her brother back; Henry's home, and a few more degenerates are off the street. In cases like these, loses are plenty, but she always finds time to remind herself that the wins are worth more; they have to be. Like she's always told Nick: write your wins in concrete, loses in sand.

"So, a Jazz concert in the park? Didn't really take you for a park kinda guy. I thought you'd have me holed up in some dive, knocking back shots and shooting pool."

He shrugs; a smile tugs at his lips. "Molly's is the closest I get to a dive these days. Besides, you can never go wrong with Jazz."

The comment takes her by surprise just a bit and she realizes just how many preconceived notions she'd created in her head based upon his interrogation outburst. He'd been rough, unforgiving, and more than willing to talk with his hands; to get the job done by putting his fist through someone's face. Somehow she'd reconciled that man as a shot and beer, whiskey on the tongue, and Jim Morrison on the radio guy. Not a smooth jazz park sitting guy.

"I'm more of a Prince, Guns n Roses kinda girl myself."

Hank shakes his head in apparent disapproval. "We gotta get you outta the 80s, Benson. It was a shit decade all around, come on."

"As opposed to the what, the 40s? I do listen to a little of everything, y'know." Olivia insists with a smile, thinking of her music collection back home. "My favorite song to work out to is even by Shakira." She adds, fondly recalling the time Kathleen Stabler had insisted she listen to something that wasn't from the 20th century and had promptly downloaded Billboard's top 100 onto her iPod.

Voight shakes his head, chuckling to himself.

Olivia's brows furrow in bemusement, searching for the joke she's apparently missed.

"I'm sorry, I'm just picturing you dancing it out to that one song by her. Something about hips...I'm going to have to ask Lindsay what it's called later, but I'd pay good money to see that."

"Why, you think I can't dance or something?" She asks, slightly affronted. She might not have been the best dancer, but she was from by far the worst; that dubious honor went to ex-NYPD and good friend John Munch.

"No, I think it'd be interesting to watch though. I said I'd pay good money to see it." He chuckles, low and deep, knocking his own outstretched legs against one of hers.

"Anyone ever tell you you're a bit of an ass?" She asks, eyebrows quirking as she tries to hide her own amusement.

"All the time." He responds with a shrug, bringing the glass bottle in hand to his lips and sipping from it. The music hits a peak and they both go quiet.

A comfortable silence falls between them and they just sit, above them the last traces of orange disappear, and the dark sets in. Lights spring on, and the hustle and bustle of life, people attempting to enjoy the last of the fleeting warmth, buzzes in her ears. She turns to see Hank mouthing the words to Cry Me A River and smiles.

They've fallen into this natural rhythm in just under two weeks, and it's taken her by surprise. Not since he who must not be named has she so instantaneously felt connected to someone. Regardless of the fact that she'd almost had to arrest him.

"So," his gruff bravado starts, breaking through her thoughts. "I've seen some shit in my lifetime."

Olivia laughs, head lolling back at his choice of phrasing. "Yeah? I think most cops have, especially inner city cops..." She partially jokes, knowing that there's validity to her words.

Voight grins, tilting his head to the side, brown eyes watching her. "Look at that, she laughs sweet music. And her smile actually stretches across her face."

It's the second time that day that he's made such a comment so perilously close to being categorized as flirting, and admittedly, Olivia loves it. The harmless, innocent back and forth banter sparks something inside her. Since her split with Brian months ago, taking in Noah, and the faint sporadic times Lewis still found his way into her psyche, the opposite sex really hadn't crossed her mind much.

"Well, like you, I've seen some shit in my lifetime, so sometimes it's hard to smile wide and laugh without inhibition..."

He nods solemnly, knowingly. "Yeah, that's what I was wondering. How do you still smile? After shit like this...this case. I know the normal tenure of an SVU cop is what, a year? Maybe two? You've been at it for 16, now that takes some serious brass. How do you do it?"

It's a question she's been asked a thousand times before and each time she's at a lost for an explanation that fully encompasses her reasoning.

Reasons she doesn't usually share in mixed company, but there's something about Voight, something about his voice and his demeanor, the familiarity that leads her to speak without hesitation.

"Uh, when I became a cop back way back in the Stone Age, I had this unit in mind. I volunteered for it, actually. Wanted to protect women like my..." It's a deep breathe in for Olivia who can't believe she's saying this aloud to a virtual stranger, "my mother. Um, she was raped and, well she had me."

She chances a glance Voight, searching his eyes for the familiar pity always cast her way after the confession of her origins, but the pity isn't there. Instead she finds a hint of empathy, as if he's had an epiphany about her and he nods understandingly, hand working along his jaw.

"But over the years I've had my moments where I've thought about walking away. Days where the bad is so damn bad that I think there'll never be light again. I - uh - almost did walk away last year. Had my papers ready to go and everything, but it didn't help. When the days get too hard, though, I think of Maria Recinos, Ashley Tyler, Vicki Sayers - survivors who managed to find joy after the pain...and I remember that the loses are outweighed by the victories. One of my greatest victories is my son. And I want this world to be a better place for him."

"I knew you were a bleeding heart, Benson, with all that project and minimize bullshit."

His statement garners a roll of Olivia's coffee flecked eyes along with a knowing smirk.

"And so are you. Erin told me what you did for her. You could have just let her rot; let her be just another street kid, but you didn't."

"I couldn't. I know I'm a grad-A bastard, but she got to those hazel eyes, that and me tough as nails attitude got to me. Chicago will eat you alive if you let it, and I wasn't going to let it eat her alive."

"See, bleeding heart."

"Yeah, if you say so. How about I take you for some real pizza? Not that paper thin foldable shit you New Yorkers insist on classifying as food."

Olivia glances down at her watch; the time rings in at a whopping 10PM, her flight's at 6AM.

"What, you got somewhere else to be, Cinderella? Giordano's isn't even a mile away. Come on."

/

"This isn't pizza, this is a cake filled with tomato sauce." Olivia insists as she pokes at the at least three inch thick triangle of baked dough, caked in cheese with sauce slathered all over it. "I don't think I've ever seen this much cheese in my life..."

"Ain't it beautiful?" Voight asks, picking up the piece of pizza and watching as the cheese pools languidly onto his plate. He bites into the oversized pie.

"If a heart attack is your idea of a nightcap, sure…" she says casting her eyes sideways, with a shrug, nose crinkling at the size of the piece in front of her before poking it again.

"Playing with your food, really? Come on, take a bite." He implores, beckoning to her he finishes chewing. Sauce hangs from his lips and he grins. "Scared you might be pizza ruined?"

Olivia rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she stares at the plate in front of her. Pizza's never really been her thing, even back home in New York. The concoction might have been appeasing to some, but she much preferred a bowl of pasta with pesto and freshly grated Parmesan, salad on the side. Grease, a gratuitous amount of cheese, and processed meat, not so much; Elliot used to tease her to no end for her picky-er eating than the rest of the squad.

"Come on, Benson…" Voight's voice eggs her on and she give him her best 'i'm-an-adult-don't-tell-me-what-to-do' evil eye, but finds herself conceding, nonetheless.

The slice is heavy in her hands and she curses herself for wearing a white blouse as she attempts not to make a mess she'll later regret. Melted cheese, paired with a faint taste of rosemary, tomato sauce, and a tad bit of heat from hot pepper flakes explodes in her mouth and she swears she's just tasted a piece of heaven.

It's an involuntary moan that escapes her lips as she swears her taste buds are singing.

"Fuck, it's good."

Voight laughs, leaning back in his chair and throwing her a Cheshire cat grin. "Told you so."

"I feel like I'm cheating on my city here…" She confides, unable to put the slice down. She knows that her recompense for eating this much of a good thing later will be the stomachache from hell, but can't help herself. Bite after bite she eats, pizza sauce unknowingly ending up on the tip of her nose and even her cheek.

"You got a bit…" Voight waves a hand, gesturing to her face.

Mouth full, a mumbled huh rolls from Olivia's lips.

"On your…" He tries again, but all Olivia can do is furrow her brows in confusion and Voight laughs, leaning across the table with a napkin in hand, he wipes the sauce from her cheek.

The gesture catches Olivia off guard and she pulls back, setting the rest of the slice down and taking the napkin from him. She can feel a redness creep into her cheeks, an unintended response to his actions and ducks her head to stop from blushing. Yeah, he's flirting with her, and she feels like a damn teenage girl all over again.

She glances up at him from underneath her dark lashes to find him staring at her, head tilted and smiling. Playfully she tosses the napkin at him. "You can clean me up, but you can't do the same for yourself? If I didn't known better, I think you were flirting with me, Sergeant Voight."

She grabs another napkin from the dispenser and dabs at her own face, making certain all traces of her New York betrayal are gone.

He gives her a non-committal shrug, knocking a knee against hers under the table. A smile stretches across his face, causing his eyes to crinkle.

/

It's not that long of a walk back to the hotel and surprisingly enough it's still warm. Not the good old 64 it was earlier, but still twenty or so degrees above freezing.

They bump into each other along the way like to teens on their first date.

Chatter is easy between them and Olivia notices how they just about walk in sync; Voight's strides are just a tad longer.

Olivia tells him about Noah, sharing pictures off of her phone as he shares stories about a young Lindsay.

When they reach the Chicago Marriot Voight stops just outside the spinning doors.

"Have a good night, Benson. Pick up the phone when you get back Manhattan, call me some time." He tells her, and turns to walk away.

A dull, nagging feeling tug at the pit of her stomach and she watches as he takes a few steps in the opposite direction. The swishing of the rotating glass beckons her in, but she can't help feel a slight disappointment as he heads down the street. This isn't exactly how she pictured them parting tonight. Not that she pictured much in regards to their relationship.

But they had been flirting back and forth all night, too. Or is she just so far removed from the dating game than she'd originally imagined it.

As if she's thinking aloud, Voight turns around, walking on his heels. "You ever gonna go in or is the view too good to pass up?"

It's now or never she decides. "Walk me up?"

"I can do that."

/

Between her index and thumb fingers, her card key dangles, nerves gnawing at her gut.

Behind her Voight's footfalls are heavy and she wages and internal war.

What the hell are you doing? You can't do this. Yes. Yes. You can. You used to do this all the time. Do you even think he's interested in you? Well he did flirt with you the entire night. Maybe you were being delusional. No, he was definitely hitting on you. And it's been so damn long. How many packs of batteries have you been through? Come on, you're not in love with the guy. The only guy you're in love with right now has two teeth, a cowlick, and gums everything to death. Its just sex...that's it. Shut up.

They come to a halt in front of her hotel room.

Voight clears his throat and her internal battle is cut short as he leans against the doorjamb. His scarred fingers reach out and brush back the hair that falls across her face.

It's a gentle gesture, not one she quite expected to come from someone like Voight with his baritone, gruff voice, and hard eyes.

"Good night, Liv." He whispers and she nods, smiling as she slips the keycard into the slot.

"I'm not a one night stand kinda girl." Olivia blurts out, keycard partially in its slot. The words even come as a surprise to her and she bites her bottom lip, silently chastising herself for the outburst. "At least not any more, I mean not that I expected...I mean. I don't know what I mean. I - uh."

"You're cute when you turn red and get tongue tied…" Voight jokes; his fingers brush along the apples of her cheeks. "But I never thought you were. Besides, you couldn't handle me."

She knows he's giving her an out and once again he does the unexpected. This time he leans in, kissing her lightly on the cheek. He turns to walk off, and Olivia watches him go, a soft smile resting on her lips.

She's always believed that she doesn't have a type, but at that moment, as he threatens to disappear from her eye line, she knows she does: Tall, brooding, and handsome. She also knows that it's been a while since she's felt a tug, a connection with someone almost instantaneously, especially someone who reminded her so heavily of an infamous old partner.

Screw it; she's going to throw caution to the wind.

Olivia yells for him. "Hey Voight -Hank."

"Yeah?" He calls, turning back around.

"It's not really a one night stand if we grab breakfast in the morning..."

"Sure about that Cinderella? Your flight is at 6AM. That means-"

"Bagels count as breakfast…." She cuts him off, shoulder pressed to the door, giving him the most coquettish glance she can muster, bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

But apparently it's all the convincing Voight needs. He's on her then, mouth pressed against hers. The kiss is different; coarse and jagged, like him, but what she'd expected at the same time. Not that she's been thinking about him all night or anything. Just only after he'd wiped pizza sauce from her lips.

Blindly she fumbles with her card-key, slipping into the slot as they both fall through the hotel door. They bump into each other as they shut the door and Olivia laughs.

She kicks off her boots in the process, losing a few inches in height and her stocking clad feet hit the ground. Voight's lips are on her neck, reaching for her pulse point; her hands are yanking on his belt when two things hit her simultaneously.

For the last two years she's had sex with the same man - one that knew all of her quirks and faults; saw all of her scars - and thanks to Lewis she had a lot. And she hasn't had sex in about a year. Taking care of Noah on a twenty-four seven basis left no room for dalliances. Not that she was looking either.

Voight's hands trail up her sides and brush against her exposed flesh, where her shirt's ridden up from their haste. She shudders, biting her lip as her hands still on his chest and she pushes back just a bit. Voight's mouth stops roving and he pulls back.

"You okay there, beautiful?" He asks, brows crinkling together.

Olivia ducks her head, a sheepish smile spreading across her features. Her cheeks flush red and she can't believe that she's getting ready to be so candid with someone she's knows so little. "Yeah, it's just...it's been a while."

He ducks his head, mirroring her sheepishness. "Yeah, for uh - me too."

"Really? A charmer like you?" She teases lightly, feeling his hand on her right side roaming lightly. She freezes knowing if he keeps going, he'll run into a key imprint and ask questions - one's she's not willing to answer right now.

Squirming out of his hold, she makes her way to the bed and throws herself down. Humorless laughter leaves her lips as she runs a hand through her dark tresses, a nervous tick.

"Hey, Ben- Olivia...something wrong?"

"Aside from the part where I should be screwing you silly, but instead I'm sitting here worried about the look on your face when find some of my scars - nope everything's fine." Her sarcasm is apparent.

Voight staggers a bit by the door, eyes searching the room as he takes the laboured steps to the bed. He plops down next to her, resting his elbows on his knees.

Olivia crosses her legs, sighing as she leans back on her palms. Her eyes fall on the overnight bag she'd pulled together in a hurry, and she considers calling it a night; climbing into her oversized NYPD tee and ratty pajama pants and tucking in until her flight.

"I'm gonna show you something." His gruff bravado breaks into her thoughts and she looks up to find him unbuttoning his button down.

"Stripping to get me in the mood, huh?" She teases again though her curiosity gets the better of her; she leans forward, watching him.

Chuckling, more so to himself, Voight grins. Slowly he un-tucks his shirt from his trousers and tosses it onto the bed. He grabs the hem of his cotton tee and pulls it up.

On his chest sits a scar that runs diagonally across his torso, above his belly button. The flesh is raised, ugly, and pink - Olivia can tell it's an old wound, probably from a knife.

"Knife fight, I was undercover and - if you can't tell - I'm a hot head. Got into it with some wannabe gangsters. One pulled out the biggest fucking knife I've ever seen. Slashed me across the stomach before I even knew what was going down. Thought I was gonna bleed out on the ground."

"Jesus -"

"And this one," he interrupts, turning so that she can see another rigid mark that runs up his side.

"Another knife?"

He chuckles again, shaking his head. "Nah, this one happened when I was 18. Went to a Led Zepplin concert with my buddy. We took some - well some of everything - and thought it'd be a good idea to drag race. Long story short, I was thrown through the windshield of my friend's GTO. When the ambulance came I was in the second chorus of A Whole Lotta Love. You should've seen my face when the pain kicked in and the drugs wore off."

Olivia knows what he's doing and it makes her smile, putting her somewhat at ease and she laughs at his teenage antics. She thinks back to her own teenage misfortunes and the scar that rests above her right eye. "I got drunk with a girlfriend on my sixteenth birthday and was trying to sneak back into her bedroom. I accidentally opened her bedroom window with my face."

Now it's Voight's turn to laugh and he does, his shirt falling back into place as his shoulders shake. "I never pictured you as a drunk at sixteen sneaking out girl. My guess would've been goody two-shoes to the core." He sits back down next to her, grabbing his discarded button up and slipping it on.

"For the most part I was, but I said what the hell...and look where it got me." She smiles ruefully, stopping him as he goes to re-button his shirt. Her hands close over his and she forces her eyes up to his.

In the warm lamplight she notices his dimples and the way frown lines frame his face. In his own rugged way, he's handsome. By no means is he her exact type and this isn't some springboard into a love at first fight relationship. What it is: two consenting adults who like each other. Two adults who have seen the worst in the world and for some reason find themselves smiling still.

"Don't…" she whispers, stopping his moving hands. "Look, my scars, these scars," she gestures to her stomach, "don't have some cutesy or tough story behind them. It wasn't a knife fight, broken window, or a windshield. And while I'm not ready to share the story behind them just yet, I'm not going to let their presence stop me from doing something I really want to do either…"

"Something you really want to do, huh?" Voight asks, a teasing quality to his voice as he leans forward and pushes a flyaway piece of hair from her face.

"Leave it to a man to hook on to that sentence." Olivia rolls her eyes in good humor, shaking her head.

"Like I said, grade-A bastard. But whatever you're up for, I'm up for too. Just wanted to make sure you knew that we all got scars, Benson. It's just about how we chose to see em."

The words sink into her psyche and she nods knowingly, reveling in their veracity. Her scars weren't going anywhere, they'd never fade and she could either hide them for the rest of her life, or own them.

"Anyone ever tell you, you talk too much?"

"Not really. Well Erin sometimes but -"

"Shut up and get over here you bleeding heart." Olivia whispers, leaning in to kiss him again. Together they fall back into bed. Any lingering awkwardness fades away as clothes are shed, sheets rumpled, and two friends find comfort in each other.

/

It's 4:30AM and she needs a tall cup of coffee and at least ten more hours asleep.

The morning had come far too quickly for her liking. Voight had left about an hour or so ago, kissing her forehead as he went; bashfully thanking her for an interesting night.

Now she groggily paddles about the hotel room, collecting her discarded clothes and shoving it into her carry-on. There's a welcomed stinging sensation between her legs as she bends down to collect her jeans and she smiles to herself.

She's all packed, ready to go, and in the process of calling Cesaria, Nick's mother, to check on Noah when there's a knock on her hotel door. Checking her watch, her brows knit together as she wonders whom it could be. She takes the few steps to the door and glances through the peephole. A large smile spreads across her face as she comes face to face with Voight. In hand he carries a cup-holder complete with two cups of what she hopes is coffee and a small bag from Einstein's bagels.

"Breakfast?" He offers as Olivia flings the door open, a smirk on her face at the sight of him.

"I thought you'd left…"

"For bagels, coffee, and my truck. Remember, breakfast means it's not a one night stand." He winks. "Besides, I can drive you and your people to the airport…"

Her people? As in Nick, someone who could read her better than she liked to admit and this wasn't something she's quite ready to divulge just yet.

"Uhm… I-" Her phone rings, catching them both off guard. It's Nick. "Hey, oh uhm. No. It's okay. You and Rollins go ahead. I'll catch my own cab. Yes, I'm fine, Nick. Just have a few more things to get done. Alright. Bye."

"Guess it's just us…" Voight smirks, shrugging his shoulders as he fully steps into the room, kicking the door closed behind him.

"I've got about thirty minutes before I have to be to the airport…." Olivia says, a devious grin passing over her face.

/

Somehow she has to get this stupid grin off of her face. It's been plastered there ever since Voight had knocked on her door, she'd side-stepped Nick, and they'd promptly fallen into bed one last time.

In the driver's seat Voight's grin matches hers and he teasingly rests his right hand on her left knee as they pull into the airport.

She almost can't believe the night she'd had.

"Well, Chicago's been good to me…" Olivia grins, the double meaning of her words cause Voight to laugh, his fingers squeezing her knee.

"Uh...I'm glad the windy city could put a uh smile on that pretty face…."

"Yeah, me too." She agrees, unbuckling her seatbelt. A piece of hair falls across her face, slipping from her ponytail, and she pushes it back, trying her best to tuck it behind her ear, but failing.

"Look, Bens - Olivia, you take care of yourself and that little boy. If you ever need anything, let me know; New York's just a flight away." His hand drops from her knee.

A genuine, warm smile crosses her face and she remembers the first time she'd called the police grape vine in pursuit of information on one Hank Voight. The number of times someone had called him a son of a bitch and a stone cold bastard didn't go missed. She'd just known that butting heads with him was to be the norm. Yet here he was: Mr. Sweet and somewhat suave, a golden retrieve under that hard bulldog exterior.

"Same to you, too, Hank. I mean it. Next time you're in New York, don't be afraid to look for me either. You've got the number."

"And until then, you've got skype." He shoots back, winking.

She undoes her belt, leaning over to grab her carry-on that rests on the floor between her legs. Once the leather strip is between her fingers she throws caution to the wind, again, and kisses him. A chaste sweet kiss, a tender goodbye for now between friends that leaves him smirking.

"See you later, Manhattan."

"Bye, Chicago." And with that she heads into the airport, a purposeful sway in her hips as she goes.

/

Inside she finds Nick, hands on his hips, smirk on his face, and eyes appraising as she walks in. Rollins is at the nearest kiosk, printing tickets.

"Mornin'…" Olivia mumbles, her lips still glistening with Voight's kiss. She starts to comb through her purse in pursuit of her wallet and boarding pass.

"Morning huh? How good of a morning?" His tone is joking though there's a slight accusatory hint to it. Olivia shoots him a sideways glance before going back to sort through her bag.

"Just morning, that's it…" She says, ignoring the light edge to his voice and continues to search for her treasure, bypassing her clean pajamas and discarded clothes from yesterday.

"Mhm. So, I uh stopped by your room last night. Wanted to see if you wanted to grab a bite to eat."

Her frustration grows as she finds everything but her wallet. Barely listening to her sometimes partner always friend, Olivia nods. "Uh huh."

"You were coming down the hall with Voight..."

Her head snaps up and she almost drops her bag, but catches it at the last minute.

Shit. Here comes the third degree.

"Nick..." It's a warning to drop the subject before he even gets going, but she knows Nick; she knows her pseudo-little brother. He's not going to drop this just yet.

"What, I didn't say anything. But I guess I don't have to wonder why you didn't share a cab with me and Rollins, that's all."

He and Rollings? Well, two could play that game.

"While we're on the subject of you and Rollins..." Olivia raises a brow pointedly, eyes glancing around for her petite blonde detective.

Nick ducks his head, dimples on full display as he tries not to smile. "Ah, but we're not on the subject though. We're talking about how Voight walked out of your room at 2AM in a robe..."

She was going to kill him. "Were you spying on me? Wait, what were you doing at 2AM - or rather who?"

Nick's jaw locks and he straightens up. His brown eyes meet Olivia's and he prepares to open his mouth, but is cut off as a Southern accent interrupts the squabbling siblings.

"Y'all ready? I mean Chicago's been fun..."

"Fun huh?" Olivia teases, head tilting towards Nick, who promptly turns away.

"I bet it was fun for you too, Liv." He shoots back, turning around. "What'd you do after getting back from Molly's? I didn't see you come back..."

Between them stands a confused Amanda. "Am I missing something here?"

"Besides Nick being nosey; nah, not really. Come on, let's go home." Olivia finishes, fingers finally grasping on the much-sought out wallet and she pulls it out in triumphant.

Together they set off towards check-in.