Amaro's palms were sweaty. He wished he could wipe them on his jacket, but between the vest and the adrenaline, he knew the relief would be short-lived. Instead, he glanced sideways at Fin, took a deep breath, and tightened his grip on his Glock. Any second now, the cabin would be surrounded, and they'd get the signal to move. It couldn't come quick enough for Amaro; now that they were so close, every second seemed to stretch into ten.
And then the wait was over and there was a crash and another one and shouting and heat and chaos and the stench. Amaro coughed and squinted against the acrid air. Despite his best efforts to not think about it, the reek was simply too strong, and he involuntarily categorized the horrifying scents in his mind: burnt meat, ammonia, urine, old garbage. His stomach clenched. He heard the uni wheeze and Fin hiss "meth" behind him, and with renewed focus, he pressed his lips together, powering through and keeping his gun level. The cabin was tiny. All they had to do was take the bastard down and get Benson out, and then, he'd be able to breathe fresh air again.
He stalked gingerly through the living room, stepping over a litter of broken knickknacks and crumpled aluminum cans. A second's worth of eye contact let the second team know that they were to take the kitchen and that the front of the house, though trashed, was clear. Amaro felt a thrill of intense worry. All the evidence said that Lewis had brought her here, but that didn't mean he couldn't have already taken her somewhere else. If that bastard had slipped through their fingers once again, Nick … well, Nick didn't know what he'd do.
Almost simultaneously, two urgent voices called out: one from the kitchen, the other from outside. Amaro froze in midstep, but his indecision only lasted a beat. With a nod to Fin, Nick jammed his gun back into his holster and jogged back the way they had come. Bursting back into the fresh, cool air, he quickly spotted a uni waving him around the house and towards the driveway. He picked up the pace and saw the garage door open like a great, dark maw. His heart fell, but he felt a twinge of grim satisfaction; at least they'd found her, even if they'd now have to face the consequences.
Slowing to a walk as he approached the door, Amaro quickly took in the scene. The garage was small, only large enough for a single car, if it hadn't been half full of dusty and battered cardboard boxes. Like the inside of the house, the floor was covered with debris and the air reeked. However, the stench in the garage was different: less ad hoc meth kitchen, more human pain and fear. Towards the back, in the shadows, he spotted a cot and Rollins crouched by its side. By Benson's side. He recognized the dark hair splayed out over the pale cot pad and the limp hand Amanda was carefully setting down. As he neared the gut-wrenching scene, Rollins whipped around, hissing, "I told you to back o…" Their eyes met for a moment, and some of the snarl left her expression. She resumed working to free Olivia's other wrist. "Too many damn yahoos," she grumbled quietly. "Gimme your coat."
Nick didn't hesitate, stripping off the jacket and handing it over. Amanda draped it over the exposed woman, and Amaro looked away. He didn't want to look; they were partners, and she deserved whatever was left of her privacy and dignity. However, as he knelt to work on the rope binding her ankles to the cot, he couldn't help but catch a glimpse here and there. She looked pretty rough, with bruises on her arms and legs and clumps of hair matted down with blood. Now that he was close to her, he could smell the strong mildewy stench of the cot mixed with blood and cold sweat. He attacked the knots, struggling to balance urgency with the calm, controlled movements dictated by his training. Olivia might be a cop, but she was not Amaro's first vic.
Next to him, Amanda managed to free Benson's other hand, and as she lowered it to the older woman's waist, Amaro was sure he heard the unmistakable sound of a groan. Heart in his throat, he glanced at Olivia's turned-away face and then touched Amanda's shoulder, attracting her attention. She looked at him, her face a calm mask. Amaro mouthed, "Awake?" Amanda only nodded once before returning her attention to the woman on the cot, leaving Nick alone with his thoughts and his suddenly uncertain hands.
xxxXXXxxx
With one arm around her shoulders and the other hand clasped in hers, Amaro very slowly escorted his partner out of her dark prison and into the waning sunlight. He cursed the bus and the traffic that had delayed it and his partner's dignity and pride for making her endure this slow shuffle. The news that the paramedics were now only a few minutes away, speeding down the highway toward the coast, was of little comfort. Until they arrived, the choices available to Amaro and his partner were stay in the garage or sit in a squad car. So, Amaro had waited, eyes averted, for Amanda to cover Olivia as best she could with a blanket and his jacket, before gently offering her his support.
It took everything he had to keep the tenseness out of his body; victims were skittish and always sensed discomfort in the people around them. He cringed inwardly at the thought, hating that this nightmare was happening. Consciously, he relaxed his posture and shot stern looks at anyone nearby, warning them to keep their prying eyes to themselves. Only Cragen escaped Amaro's glares, as the somber, older man opened the door of the nearest car and held out his hand in case Olivia needed it.
While Cragen knelt near his detective, Amaro glanced around, spotting Rollins speaking quietly with one of the CSU techs and Fin emerging from around the back of the house, followed by a couple of unhappy unis carrying a black body bag. He felt torn: on the one hand, he felt as if working the crime scene of his partner's rape was his duty; on the other, he dreaded returning to that horrific scene. So, he ducked his head and stood protectively near the open car door, hoping that standing guard would be an acceptable compromise.
Cragen stood and squeezed Amaro's stiff shoulder, meeting his eyes with an expression that he hoped was more reassuring than grim. Nick showed a lot of promise. He was smart, and he had the right combination of fierce dedication, the ability to be gentle, and an iron stomach. However, he was nearing that magic two-year mark, and Cragen had the strong feeling that this would be the deathblow to Amaro's ability to handle working with SVU.
"Stay with her, Nick. Fin and Rollins have got it handled." He paused, glancing over Nick's shoulder at the organized chaos surrounding the ugly little cabin and then back at Olivia, sitting silently with her head hanging low. "Fin found the son of a bitch in the kitchen," he said softly. "Stiff as a board. Looks like his cook exploded. I guess his good karma finally caught up with him." After a tense pause, Cragen took a deep, fortifying breath, nodded at his detective, and moved to join the rest of his squad. He made it only a few steps, however, before fishing his phone out of his pocket and squinting at the screen in the slanting rays from the rapidly setting sun. He took two steps back towards the car, and a hint of an unhappy smile twisted his lips. "Amaro," he called. "Tell her that Alex is on a plane home."
xxxXXXxxx
Despite the tiredness that made his eyes burn and his back ache, Amaro felt unable to sit still. He fidgeted anxiously in his seat, hunching over his cup and then stretching his back. He grumbled inwardly about the damnable plastic chair, about the nostril-tickling smell of antiseptic and old lasagna, about the bitter, watery coffee burning his throat. He mused on how every hospital cafeteria was the same and how he loathed them all equally. It was petty, but it was better than thinking about… about what he didn't want to think about. This was supposed to be his break; Cragen was taking the first shift sitting outside the door of Olivia's hospital room, and Fin had already taken his leave to grab some dinner and rest before returning in the morning. He had encouraged Nick and Amanda to do the same, but Nick was reluctant to go back to his empty apartment. Maria and Zara hadn't been gone long enough for him to stop expecting to hear their voices when he came home from work. Besides, he doubted he'd be able to sleep anyway, not after the day they'd had.
Taking a long drink out of the paper cup, Amaro resisted the urge to grimace. It was hardly coffee, but it was hot and it was better than nothing. He glanced at Amanda across the table and grimly noted that she was having the same trouble sitting still. She too had ignored Fin's encouragement to go home; Amaro didn't know much about his colleague's home life, but he had never seen a picture of family on her desk or heard her mention anyone but her wayward sister. He thought she must live alone, and tonight was no night to be alone.
He thumped his cup down a little harder than he intended, and Amanda returned his glance with a combination of resigned irritation and pained exhaustion. She shifted in her seat and wrapped both hands around her own cup. Amaro could see the muscles in her jaw twitch and felt his own jaw tighten in sympathy. He suddenly had the urge to say something to break the tension, but the only thoughts that popped into his head were the exact thoughts he very much wanted to avoid discussing: Why Benson? What had she endured? How would she recover? His phone buzzed on his belt, and glad of the distraction, he jumped to pop it from its holster. It was a text from Maria's phone, Zara wishing him a good night, like she did almost every night. Nick responded immediately, adding in a couple of extra Xs and Os for good measure. He looked down at the phone for a long moment and then back up at Amanda, finally remembering something he'd wanted to ask Amanda all evening. She and Olivia seemed close at times; she might know better than Nick.
"Hey," he said, "you know anything about an Alex?"
Amanda merely lifted her eyebrows and shook her head slightly. Nick frowned a little and shifted yet again in his seat.
"Yeah, something Cragen said. Told me to tell Liv 'Alex is on a plane'. She never mentioned anything, about a boyfriend maybe?"
"Not an Alex," Rollins said slowly. "What about that brother? What was his name again?"
"Simon, and he's local." Nick leaned back and downed the dregs of his now tepid coffee. "I think I gotta get outta here. Want a lift?"
Amanda too took a last sip and tossed her cup into a nearby garbage can. "Yeah."
xxxXXXxxx
Rubbing her sore eyes, Amanda stuffed the form she had been working on back into its manila folder and stuffed the folder into the bag near her chair. She checked her watch: 1 hour since the last time IAB had harassed her about Manhattan SVU's involvement in the hunt for Lewis, 1 day since they had opened the cottage's garage door to find their missing detective, 1 week since she had heard those tourists shouting. Amanda felt like she hadn't slept at all in that week. And, as evidenced by the bulging bag of unfinished paperwork by her feet, she hadn't gotten much work done in that time either. Standing, she beckoned to the bored-looking uni pacing up and down the sterile, white hall.
"I'm taking a walk," she said seriously. "No one without a badge or a hospital ID card gets in until I get back, got it?" He nodded, and she pointed to the bag. "Keep an eye on this too. Lose it and you'll be in evidence management so fast you won't remember what a squad car looks like." He nodded again, and Amanda was satisfied. This wasn't the first walk she had taken or the first threat she had issued since relieving Fin at lunch, and judging from the poor boy's earnest nodding, he had gotten the message.
She stuffed her hands in her pockets and stretched her shoulders and back as she walked. The weather looked pretty clear and warm; a couple of laps around the block would do her some good. As she passed the nurses' desk, she half lifted her hand to wave to the nurse on duty before noticing that the normally cheerful woman was engaged in a hissed argument with a tall blonde who was shoving a well-worn, unfolded document across the desk. Cop instincts piqued, Amanda changed her course and approached the tense pair. As she came nearer, she caught some of the stranger's furious whispering: "… understand me? Call her captain, call Massachusetts, call whoever you have to. I want to see my…"
Squaring her shoulders, Amanda leaned in, inserting herself between the defensive nurse and the fierce stranger. "'Scuse me," she began calmly, as the tall woman shifted her intense, blue-eyed glare away from the nurse and firmly onto Amanda. The detective smiled a little, hoping to take the edge off the situation, and not so subtly drew attention to the gold badge on her belt. "Can I help you?"
Upon glimpsing the badge, the stranger's posture and attitude changed; suddenly, the woman looked like a cat about to eat the canary, and Amanda had the uncomfortable feeling that she was the canary.
"Maybe. Can you tell me what room Detective Benson is in?"
Amanda bristled. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but unless you're here in a legal or medical capacity, I'll have to ask you to leave. Can you show me some ID?" The stranger grinned, and Amanda narrowed her eyes dangerously. If this was some journalist's scam to get a photo of the panty police rape victim… well, Amanda wasn't above dragging this woman out of the hospital by her long, blonde hair.
"You must be Rollins," the tall woman said quietly, peering over her glasses and giving Amanda an overt once over. "She said you were tough." Once again, she unfolded the sheet of paper she'd been holding out to the nurse and handed it to Amanda. "I assume that this will be sufficient identification. If you look at the bottom of the page, you'll see that I'm her wife. May I see her now?"
Amanda scanned the page, taking in the frayed edges and deep creases. "You're Alex?" she asked, her voice carrying more than a note of skepticism. She gestured at the document in her hand. "You carry a marriage license everywhere?"
The grin vanished from Alex's face, and she plucked the paper from Amanda's hands, carefully folding it and slipping it back into her wallet. "My wife works in a dangerous profession. This is not the first time I've been denied the right to see her on the basis of my word alone. If you were me, you'd carry it around too. Now, I've come all the way from Kinshasa, I'm very tired, and if I need to drag Cragen in here so that I can see my wife, I'd like to know sooner rather than later. What's it going to be?"
Amanda considered her story for a moment. Nick had mentioned that an Alex was on a plane, and this woman carried a suitcase and a marriage license and had the rumpled, exhausted appearance characteristic of air passengers. "Alright, I'll take you in. But…"
Alex cut her off. "But you'll be watching me and checking my story. Fine, fine, I wouldn't expect anything less. Let's go." She hefted her suitcase in her hand, looking at Amanda with a look of such earnest anxiety that in that moment, Amanda couldn't help but believe her.
The uni rose to his feet as they approached, and Amanda stopped and turned to Alex. "Leave your bag and jacket with Officer Samuels. I'll see if she wants to see you."
Alex bit her lip in obvious frustration but complied, handing over her small suitcase as Amanda pushed open the door. Although the late afternoon sunlight was still bright, the hospital room was fairly dim and quiet. However, the light filtering in from the partially covered window was bright enough for Amanda to see that Olivia was awake, a fact for which Amanda was, to be honest, quite grateful.
"Hey," she said softly. She paused, but Olivia didn't react. "There's a woman here to see you, says her name is Alex. She's…" Amanda trailed off. The name had snapped Olivia out of her still silence, and she finally met Amanda's eyes. Amanda glanced sideways at the tensely waiting blonde behind the open door and back to the woman in the bed. "Do you wanna see her?" Olivia nodded, and Amanda opened the door a little wider, inviting Alex to come in.
In an instant, Amanda was forgotten. Alex rushed to Olivia's side, and Olivia held out her hands to her wife. Suddenly uncomfortable in the presence of such an intimate reunion, Amanda silently excused herself. The reaction she had just witnessed was not uncertain or fearful, and Amanda no longer doubted that Alex was who she said she was or that Olivia would be safe with her. Her earlier need for a pick-me-up now satisfied, Amanda sat back down in her customary chair and unzipped her waiting bag of paperwork. Fishing out the next file needing her attention, she paused for a moment and, almost as an afterthought, pulled out her cell. She picked the captain out of her contacts and began to type: "Alex just arrived, Benson OK."
xxxXXXxxx
Olivia never wanted to let go of Alex's hand again. Over the last three days, she had been dragged through the depths of her captor's madness and her own terror and misery, and she had never wanted her mother or her wife so very badly. By the time Nick had crouched by her side to tell her that Alex was coming home, Olivia had been too exhausted to believe him, to really let herself hope that her wife was coming and that her ordeal would finally end. And since, she had been touched, photographed, transported, washed, spoken to, discussed, and then all but isolated. Nick had been there, and then Cragen, and Fin, and Rollins. They had said things to her, and she had tried to listen but she had no strength left. She was all out of strength.
But then Alex was there, touching her fingers to her lips and then the Olivia's cheek, the same way she always did when Olivia was sore or sick. Olivia clung to her wife's hand. She had had too many fitful dreams and had made too many wishes to really believe that Alex was her without holding that beloved, familiar hand in her own. The relief that touch brought… it convinced Olivia that she was safe, that it was over, that in this bed, no harm would come to her.
In an instant, it all came crashing down on her: the pain and stress, the days without real sleep, the fact that the nurse had come… what, half an hour ago?... with those two blessed pills that numbed her senses. She was slipping rapidly out of consciousness and into the hands of the narcotics she had swallowed and, thank God, her wife. She hauled her rapidly sinking eyelids back up and gave Alex's fingers a squeeze. "Sorry," she murmured, aware that her voice was slurred but unable to do anything about it. "They gave me a… a… a thing." It was her best effort.
Dimly, as she fought in vain against the irresistible pull of the drugs, she felt Alex's fingers brush her cheek once again, delivering a kiss, and she heard her wife's soft voice.
"Go to sleep, honey. You're safe."
Author's note: There are two issues I feel obligated to discuss here.
Dean Winters will forever be the Beeper King to me. I have no ability to write him with Liv, because in my head, he says "Hey, Dummy" every two seconds. I dig the Bensidy on the show, but in my head, it's A/O all the way.
Canon is a guideline, not a rule. This is fanfic, and in this specific fanfic, (recent) Cassidy and Haden didn't happen. Instead, Alex quit; took the ICC job; jumped Liv's bones (finally!); put a ring on it; jetted off to beautiful, sunny, peaceful Kinshasa; and has split her time between Manhattan, Kinshasa, and the Hague ever since.
Hope you enjoyed this one-shot and are looking forward to season 15 as much as I am!