Author's Note: I have been thinking about this one-shot for a while now and started writing it some time ago, but after seeing the finale, I sat down again and it just flowed. Also combined it with a little second person Olivia experimentation, although that's usually not my style and a total rip-off idea from lucyspencer. So enjoy this one little scene between Olivia and Nick, set between the trial and the final scene of the finale. And, if you love me, please review. Or, you know, if you hate me, that's cool, too. Just review either way.

Things We Share

You have been thinking about this for a while on and off again, mulling it over in your mind. It is an inevitable topic to bring up eventually, but there never seemed to be the right time for it. Between the adoption paperwork and making career decisions, not to mention the paralysing fear that gripped you when it looked like Johnny D could walk and take your little boy away, between Barba pressing you to keep quiet and Nick getting himself shot, there wasn't exactly a lot of time for heart to heart conversations. So you kept putting this on the back burner for quieter times. It wasn't until way after, when you found yourself sitting in a hospital waiting room once IAB finally let you go, that all the loose ends jumped out at you. Sitting in that room was far too familiar, bringing up all sorts of memories, and although you knew at this point that Nick's injuries weren't life-threatening, the shock of nearly losing your partner of four years ran deep. Your friend.

It was in this waiting room that the word "family" came to mind. At the end of this long day, it all became a blur in your head, and the thoughts just keep circling around how you could have lost Noah to Johnny D, and how Nick could have died, but Nick shot Johnny D, how Nick was family and Noah was everything, and what if you had gotten shot in that courtroom? You tried to explain some of this to Lucy when she cornered you when you finally made it home, asking you about what happened, but there were no words you could have used without dissolving into a blubbering mess, and so she simply made you a cup of tea before heading home. (And you owe her the biggest bonus ever when this whole thing is over.)

All this is in the past now as you sit in Nick's messy living room, which he profusely apologises for while, at the same time, insisting that he doesn't need any help. He just got out of hospital a few days ago, but he is fine, honestly, and "managing" despite being basically unable to move around. You remind him that you know that "messy" is his true, outside work personality from past experience, and you share a moment of fond remembrance over his dirty socks under your couch. It is the moment that finally breaks the ice between you two as you can't stop looking at his injuries, reassuring him that you will do whatever it takes to help him come back just as soon as he can, while simultaneously reminding him to take his time to recover.

"Guess I should get shot more often" he jokes as you take an empty cereal bowl from the coffee table and put it into his dishwasher.

You smile at him over your shoulder despite the cringeworthy words. "Don't you dare. I forbid it."

"Copy that, Sarge."

The uncertainty of the future remains unacknowledged between you. He doesn't know when, or if, he will be fit for duty again. Not yet. You don't know when, or if, you will even be allowed to let him back to SVU again, but you will fight for him this time in a way you couldn't with the Sergeant's exam. You won't tell him to just accept it. Nick will not go under again, not on your watch.

You return to the living room, looking around for anything else you could possibly do for him. You know he has people coming over to help, that Amanda, Fin and even Carisi have been checking up on him, but still, you feel like you should be doing something more useful. Vacuum? You start to fold a blanket that has been lying on the floor in a heap next to where you suspect he has been crashing on the couch.

"Liv, c'mon, just sit down. You're making me nervous."

"Right. Okay." You take the armchair that stands at an angle, as he has his leg up on the sofa beside him. "How's the pain?"

"The same as it was ten minutes ago" he replies with a tone in between annoyance and quiet amusement. "I'll be all right."

"Yeah. You will be. One day at a time." You know he's trying to put on a brave face in front of you. You are the queen of brave faces. But he must be terrified for his future, and you wish you could fix it all for him, not just his knee, but the past two years, make it all go away. If things hadn't gotten so screwed up after everything, maybe you could have done more for him. Maybe he could be taking that Sergeant's exam right now. If you hadn't disclosed Johnny D's paternity, none of this would have happened. Too many "what ifs". It's been a long ride for the two of you.

He is wringing his hands, and you wonder if it's to distract him from the pain. "At least Johnny D's out of the picture."

"He is. Thanks to you." You can barely say the last words, as it feels wrong to talk that way. And yet the only thing you could feel when you found out he was dead was pure relief.

"I know. Fin congratulated me on it the second I saw him."

"Of course he did."

"No one's gonna take your son away now."

A flash of anxiety turns your stomach, as it always does at these words. You can't believe it yet. You can't let yourself believe it yet, not before it's official. Because if one more thing goes wrong now, you don't know how you'll make it. "I hope so. We'll know in a few days."

"Kids, huh? They change you." He stares off into the distance.

"They really do." You pause to find the words for what has been a long time coming. "Hey, Nick?"

"Hm?"

"I need to ask you something."

When you don't elaborate, he snaps out of his reverie, giving you his full attention. "Okay."

"As a friend, not as…" You don't want to say "your boss", since it would feel weird to bring that up right now.

"Got it." You love how he can simply acknowledge that and still, a crease forms on his forehead. You weren't going to make a big deal out of this. Well. So much for that.

"I've been thinking, with the adoption process and everything and…the fact is, Noah doesn't have a lot of people in his life who have been there consistently. Besides Lucy, and she's-"

"Liv, you know if you ever need anything-"

"I know. I know." You hold up your hand to signal to him to let you finish. Of course you know. "That's why I'm saying this. And I won't pressure you into anything, but the thing is, I need to plan for all eventualities. I can't just leave it up to chance."

The look of confusion on his face tells you he still has no clue where this is going. You wish he were just a little quicker today. You really don't want to have to say the words. "What?"

You take a deep breath. There is no reason to be nervous. "If something were to happen to me, I'd like to make sure that Noah wouldn't have to go through all that uncertainty again."

He is immediately afflicted with deep-seated, serious suspicion that propels him into a line of inquiry. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm fine, I'm just speaking hypothetically."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I'm not planning on kicking the bucket anytime soon, I just need to make sure that Noah's safe."

It's at "kicking the bucket" that his expression changes as if you have just punched him, and God no, now there is that second of awkwardness between you as you are reminded not only of the shooting but of…that…and that's precisely what you wanted to avoid. It's not a flashback, but a visual memory of the moment he walked into that house, telling you in an even voice that you survived, letting you know that you were going to walk out of there now with him, breaking it down into tiny steps for you. And for a moment, you are sure he remembers the very same thing. Luckily, being Nick, he catches himself quickly. "Jesus, Liv, of course we wouldn't let your son go back into the foster care system, no way. But nothing's gonna happen to you." The last sentence sounds almost like a threat to the universe.

"Hopefully not" you agree to appease him, "but you never know, and with everything that's happened…I have to make arrangements, just in case. The thing is, you're a parent and you know Noah and…" There are a million other things you don't say, that you can't tell him. About how he's been there for you, how he waited at the hospital with you and Noah more than once. How he's been there the past four years. How you would trust him with your life. All this hangs between you unsaid like a thick fog, as he stoically acknowledges your words with a nod while you try to keep yourself from tearing up. "You can take your time to think about this, of course, and you don't have to say yes. I don't want to add to everything you're going through right now. But would you consider taking care of Noah if anything ever-"

"Of course. Yes." He doesn't need to think about it. He just gives you your answer, like you knew he would, because he could never refuse you something like that.

"Don't just say yes because you feel like you have to. Take some time to think about it."

"I don't have to. I want to. I promise."

Your throat feels constricted as you choke out a "thank you". This is everything, and he knows it. Noah is safe either way, provided the adoption goes through. Your baby is safe, and he will grow up loved.

Nick keeps his eyes focused on your shoulder uncomfortably and reaches out to pat your arm in a substitute hug sort of gesture. It's the best he can do from where he's sitting. "Can we stop talking about this now?"

You smile at his obvious embarrassment and pull yourself together. "Sure."

"You realise this means Noah could grow up a Lakers fan, right? If he spends any time around Zara…"

"Don't make me reconsider."

It's not the reality you envision for the future, the one where you are all old and bickering about grown kids, legal squabbles and the good old days, but it's certainly a reality you could live with for Noah. It all comes down to what you were thinking in that waiting room, what you have been realising not only over the past few weeks, but the past two years, really – that families come in different forms. Your version of it might not look like anyone else's, and it may not be permanent, but if you can be that obnoxious mom dropping her grown son off at college, if you can have drinks at the bar together long after you have all retired, if you can watch Carisi grow into a lawyer and live to see Barba in casual clothes, it's a pretty good version. If any of these things are a possibility at all, you are lucky. The fact that you can at least envision them gives you hope. And somehow, you know that you'll be okay.