A/N: I was going to save this till tomorrow, but I changed my mind for reasons. :) I hope you all have a wonderful weekend and enjoy reading the chapter. Thanks for the comments on chapter 9!
'Cause I can only tell you what I know
That I need you in my life
When the stars have all gone out
You'll still be burning so bright
Sarah McLachlan, "Answer"
. . .
"Now kiss."
- Daphne Tyler
CHAPTER 10: Interlude
. . .
The puncture wound, though star-shaped, was ugly as sin. Amanda grimaced as she peeled the bandage back further, examining the blood and watery drainage that still oozed from the hole near her navel. It had already stained the gauze with red and pink psychedelic swirls. The colors of Valentine's Day. Hardy har har.
It hadn't needed stitches, as it turned out. That Orion prick didn't even have the decency to get close enough to any major organs for her to walk away with a cool story about the scar she'd be stuck with for the rest of her days. From here on out, she'd be Detective Amanda Rollins: Stabbed by a Screwdriver. They would probably Sharpie in a little "LOL" next to it in her jacket. And she could forget about showing off her abs in a bikini next summer, although she hadn't done much of that since Jesse was born anyway.
"At least it wasn't a flat-head," she sighed, and carefully replaced the gauze, wincing as she smoothed down the medical tape. Technically, she wasn't supposed to tamper with the bandage in the first place—had been given strict orders not to by the nurse, who must have sensed her tendency to peek—but curiosity got the better of her.
She'd been an avid scab-picker, sunburn-peeler, and tooth-puller as a child, never one to shy away from the unsavory or the painful. As an adult, she'd had enough of both in the past twenty-four hours to last her a lifetime. She felt like one giant bruise, after being body-slammed onto a literal rock-hard surface, then dragged across it as if she were a roped calf on branding day. Her nails were also shot to hell—chipped and worn to the nub from clawing madly at said rock. Of her various scrapes and contusions, the one that hurt least was the bop on her nose from Olivia. Not broken, just swollen.
She might be a little worse for wear, but she had fared the best of the four women who went into the woods last night: one didn't come back at all, one had months of recovery ahead from multiple fractures sustained by a motor vehicle impact, and the third was currently sleeping off the anesthesia from arthroscopic surgery to repair a torn rotator cuff. Olivia had reluctantly opted for the procedure after an MRI confirmed a full-thickness tear that would likely impair her left arm range of motion. Not exactly a death sentence for a right-handed cop, but unacceptable for a female lieutenant who couldn't allow her job performance to be brought into question: by the brass or herself. When the doctor started throwing around words such as "desk duty," "sling," and "four to six weeks"—and that was just the immobilization stage; full rehabilitation could take as many months—Olivia almost backed out. It had taken Amanda half an hour of promising that she, Fin, and Carisi would pick up the slack before the lieutenant finally relented. Even then, Amanda suspected consent was only given so she would have to leave the room and get checked out by a doctor herself.
"Joke's on you, boss lady," Amanda murmured to the deeply unconscious woman, who wore a pouty little frown in her sleep. Cute. "You're stuck with me."
It was a relief to see her actually getting some rest, even if she had to be knocked out to do it. The real challenge would be later that evening when she was released from out-patient recovery and sent home with her children and the memories of that nightmarish trip to the Catskills. Oughta be a blast on top of the RTS and the post-op pain. And knowing Olivia, she would try white-knuckling it to avoid prescription opioids (high addiction rate) and antidepressants (major stigmas attached, especially among law enforcement). Well, she might change her mind by the time Amanda was through. No way in hell was she going to let Olivia face all of that alone. If it meant becoming a squatter in the lieutenant's apartment, she was damn well prepared to do it.
Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. But it brought the tiniest smile to her lips as she imagined the scenario playing out: herself in charge, bossing the boss around; Olivia ready to throttle her, but healing—mentally and physically—and secretly happy with the arrangement; the little ones making them both crazy in a good way; and the dog(s) eating up every last bit of the delicious chaos in Casa de Benson-Rollins.
Rollins-Benson?
Oh God, Daphne had been right. All that Amanda needed now was a Trapper Keeper covered in heart doodles.
"Poor Daph," Amanda said, taking the clerk's cell phone out of her pocket to check the time. She and Olivia would have to wait a few days more for their luggage and other personal effects—including the phones left on the guest room dresser at the lodge—to be released by the local police.
She felt guilty to still be carrying Daphne's cell around, but she hadn't gotten the chance to visit her friend yet. The little brunette was a banged up mess when they brought her in. A banged up mess, but alive and immediately wheeled off to surgery for extensive repairs on dislocated fractures in both legs. If Orion had accelerated just a little faster, Amanda would have been attending a funeral instead of planning a trip to the gift shop later to buy flowers and trashy tabloids. It looked as though the clerk was going to get the bouquet Olivia mentioned, after all.
Amanda leaned back stiffly in her chair. It was adequate, as hospital furniture went, but her wound and aching muscles made finding a comfortable position almost impossible. She told herself to suck it up—she wasn't the one lying in a hospital bed or facing months of physical therapy—and rested her head against the vinyl upholstered chair back. She watched the muted television for a while, some soap with hackneyed plots she didn't need sound to decipher, and was about to drift off when a stirring of bed covers snapped her to attention. Molten lava surged through her abdomen and she sucked in a slow, whistling breath, wound momentarily forgotten as she sat forward in anticipation of Olivia waking.
Several minutes passed with no further activity, and then, as Amanda was daydreaming about finding the energy to pull over another chair to prop her feet on, Olivia's eyes fluttered drowsily open. They wandered around the room a few times, gazing at nothing in particular—oh yeah, she'd gotten the good drugs—until coming to rest on Amanda. Still not fully awake, the lieutenant regarded her with a sullen, almost suspicious side-eye, as if she might be staring at a blonde impostor. Amanda had seen the look before, on the rare occasions she'd happened upon her boss dozing while on a case, usually in hospital corridors at ungodly hours, and gotten saddled with the task of waking her. (Honestly, Amanda didn't mind. She rather enjoyed sleep-mussed Benson.)
"We gotta stop meeting like this," she said, offering a soft smile as Olivia blinked her into focus. It was a corny line, but she didn't care. After the night they had survived, a little bit of humor was necessary to counteract all that awful. There would be time enough to reflect and process later. Maybe too much time, in Olivia's case.
"Thought I told you to get checked out," Olivia mumbled, her voice as raspy as a cinematic mobster's. She cleared her throat dryly. Traipsing through the woods and inhaling lungfuls of helicopter dust hadn't done her allergies any favors.
"Already did." Amanda lifted the hem of her shirt and hooked a finger into the waistband of her pants, drawing it down to reveal the bandage underneath. Her pajamas had been in tatters after all the abuse they endured, and she now sported a pair of hospital scrubs—at least until Carisi showed up with her real clothes, Lord help her. Whatever he picked out would have to be better than the AstroTurf green she was currently wearing. She hoped.
"Your surgery's over, darlin'," she said, then mentally kicked herself for including the affectionate term. It was one thing to call Olivia by a pet name as a form of comfort or to be cheeky, but it was quite another to start slipping it into normal conversation with the boss. Especially when you still weren't sure she felt the same way. Luckily, Olivia seemed too out of it to notice. Taking advantage of the grogginess, Amanda hastened to add: "Doc said it went great. You'll be able to go home once you've rested a bit. And you should eat something."
That last part was prescribed by Amanda herself, not the surgeon. She wouldn't be satisfied until she got some food into Olivia's belly. Though it might not cure everything, she firmly believed a good meal and a good night's sleep would put the lieutenant on the right track for the long recovery process ahead. She was thinking like her mother again, she realized—or at least like a good little Southern housewife—but food and sleep were remedies even she couldn't disagree with. Mainly food.
"Not hungry." Olivia had roused enough to see—and hear, as Amanda sighed much louder than necessary—that she was in for an argument. She blinked heavily, her eyes staying closed for a long time. Just when it appeared she'd gone back to sleep, she said, "But I'll try. Did you need stitches?"
Gloating at the assent, Amanda relaxed against the chair, smug smile undermined by her cautious movements. "Nah. Nurse patched me up, gave me a tetanus shot. I'm good to go."
"Then why aren't you home with your girls?" Olivia attempted a stern look, but it was the least intimidating thing Amanda had ever seen. None of the typical Benson fire. Just tired brown eyes and the same pouty little frown from her sleep.
"Because I'm here . . ."
With my other girl, Amanda thought, but didn't work up the nerve to say it. Hinting around about her feelings should at least wait until the other woman's head didn't sway like an infant's whenever she tried to hold it up for more than ten seconds. Instead, Amanda finished, "With you."
"I'll be fine. You should be with your daughter—"
"I'm staying." Amanda folded her arms stubbornly across her chest. Both limbs were weak and shaky from the strain of dangling cliffside and being lifted almost single-handedly by Olivia. But it had taken a much bigger toll on the lieutenant, and then some. "I'm the reason you're in that bed, and I'll be here when you get out of it. Besides, someone has to take you home and make sure you have everything you need."
Olivia started to protest, then caught a glimpse of the abduction sling she was strapped into like a harness. It was a bit of a monstrosity, the thick foam pillow that supported her arm making the whole rig appear twice as prominent. It looked supremely uncomfortable and she looked supremely annoyed by its presence. "Ugh," she groaned, dropping her head against the much more deflated pillow at her back. "Fine, you win. But only because I'm too tired to fight you on it. And because I honestly can't remember where the hell I live right now."
"Don't worry, I got ya covered," Amanda said, chuckling. She stifled a groan of her own as she rose from the chair, walking as stiltedly as a robot towards the bedside table to pour the lieutenant some water. Even the small plastic jug felt heavy, and half of the liquid she poured in an unsteady stream from its spout wetted her hand on the first try. She shook the water off and presented the cup to Olivia, who had just as much trouble getting it to her lips as Amanda had filling it. They made quite the pair.
"Thanks." Olivia closed her eyes and took another long swig, then pressed the side of the cup to her forehead. She winced when the cool plastic touched the red stippling that started near her temple and darkened to a hefty bruise the size and color of a plum at her cheekbone.
More of Orion's handiwork, but Amanda couldn't help feeling responsible for that too. She never should have dragged Olivia along on the damn trip in the first place. The lieutenant hadn't wanted to go, and if Amanda hadn't pushed her into it, she wouldn't be battered, bruised, and confined to yet another hospital bed. "I'm sorry, Liv," Amanda blurted before she could stop herself. She managed to hold back the tears that pricked at her eyes, but just barely. Okay, so maybe the emotions and the exhaustion were catching up with her, too.
Olivia glanced up in surprise at the marked change in Amanda's lighthearted tone. "For what?" she asked, sounding genuinely baffled. Her sleepy confusion and wide-eyed gaze gave her an innocent, childlike vulnerability, only heightened by the cuts and bandages and that big ugly sling. She was fighting dirty, whether she meant to or not.
"I made you go on that stupid trip. I was being selfish because I wanted to spend time with you, and I . . ." Amanda bit down on her bottom lip, but the words were already out. (So much for keeping a lid on those feelings, Rollins.) She let her shoulders sag inside the pine green scrub top, which probably offset her reddening cheeks rather nicely. If she never saw another nature shade again in her lifetime, it would be too soon. "I messed everything up. Including you. Your shoulder would be fine if not for having to save my lard ass."
Though listening intently, Olivia wore an unreadable expression. After a moment, she drained the remainder of water from her cup and then put the crinkly plastic aside. "Amanda, when have you ever been able to make me do something I didn't want to do?"
"Um . . . never?"
"So, why would this time be any different? I went along because I wanted to." Olivia's right hand—wrapped in fresh gauze to protect the gashes she'd incurred from the mirror—rested close to Amanda's hand on the edge of the mattress. She slid it over gradually, curling her little finger around Amanda's when they met. "With you."
Heart thudding almost as wildly as it had when she was hanging from the cliff, Amanda took it a step further and interlaced each of their fingers, her hand on top. She brought the other over to cradle beneath the lieutenant's palm.
"And everything else I did, I did because I wanted to," Olivia added, with a meaningful look. "Even if I went about some of it the wrong way. But there's nothing I regret. That includes saving you, messed up shoulder or no. Also, if I ever hear you refer to yourself as a lard ass again, I'm docking your pay."
"Yes, ma'am." Amanda couldn't resist flashing her prettiest dimpled smile, the one that had helped her out of some tough scrapes as a child—and, on occasion, as an adult too. But it faded when she noticed the expression on Olivia's face.
The lieutenant looked as if she'd just been socked in the gut, what little color she did have dwindling away. Amanda turned sharply—and immediately wished she hadn't, ouch—glancing up at the small flatscreen television mounted high on the wall. A somber newscaster mouthed a story off the teleprompter, but it was the bold headline beneath him which had captured Olivia's attention:
3 Dead, 3 Injured as Manhunt Continues
"They still haven't found him?" she asked, her voice so hoarse and whisper-thin that parts of the question were inaudible.
After their rescue by helicopter, one of the pilots had informed Olivia and Amanda that the drop-off, though astonishingly high, extended over a large body of water. The fall would likely kill you, the pilot assured them—while making eyes at both of them, Amanda had noted with disgust—but there was still that sliiiim chance of survival . . . That was how he'd said it: "sliiiim," as though elongating the vowel qualified it as a delightful little anecdote. The true delight would be finding out Orion's body had been recovered, but as of the women's arrival in Manhattan that morning, he'd yet to be located. By divers or on the ground. Fin was keeping Amanda updated via text, but no progress had been made so far.
"Not yet," Amanda said gently, and stroked her thumb over Olivia's fingers. "But his body'll wash up somewhere. There's no way in hell he survived, Liv. I felt that screwdriver go in—I had to at least've nicked a kidney or something. And you got him good. All that, and the fall on top of it? He's toast."
"Yeah . . ." Olivia's eyes lingered on the screen for several more seconds, taking in the aerial shots of Meredith's lodge, the Clines' residence, and both demolished vehicles. When those were followed by video footage of the outcropping where they had nearly perished, Olivia turned an uneasy gaze on Amanda. "I hope so."
Before Amanda could offer anymore reassurance, a knock at the recovery room door interrupted the conversation. She recognized the cheerful tapping ("Shave and a haircut . . .") even without a peek onto the other side. Stellar timing, Sonny boy, she thought sarcastically, and switched off the TV with the remote control and call button combo attached to Olivia's bed by thick, unwieldy cable. Hesitating on her way to the door, she presented her boss with another winning smile, and said, "Don't be mad, okay?"
Olivia arched her eyebrow, instantly wary. "Rollins. What did you do?"
"I may have invited a few friends to stop in and say hi," Amanda said quickly, then hurried over to answer the second knock ("Two bits . . .") before the lieutenant had time to object—or to cuss her out.
Stepping aside, she waved in the small troop of visitors who were waiting outside the door, bearing gifts and ear-to-ear grins: Carisi led the march, a large bouquet of pale pink tulips balanced on one arm, and little Matilda—just as sweet and dainty as the flowers—seated in the other; Noah and Jesse followed closely behind, holding hands (Oh, Lord) and trailing a shiny Mylar balloon apiece, one shaped like a baseball and the other like a pacifier, the legend "It's a Girl!" slanted across the front. Well. At least it wasn't difficult to tell which kid had picked out which balloon.
"Mama!" cried both little girls in unison, Matilda stretching her slender arms in Olivia's direction, while Jesse skipped forward and wrapped Amanda into a tight bear hug around the middle. It hurt like the dickens, but it was well worth the pain, to see that adorable face beaming up at her.
"Hey, baby girl!" Amanda leaned down far enough to kiss her daughter atop the head, stealing a few extra strokes at the silky golden strands that extended past the child's waist. One of these days, the five-year-old would need her first haircut. But not today. Amanda kissed her again, then reached for the balloon string. "That for me?"
Jesse snatched the balloon aside protectively. "Nuh-uh, it's for Aunt Livia. She's hurted, Mama, not you." Despite the questionable grammar, the little girl was quite sure of herself as she trotted over to the bed and her "Aunt Livia" (she never had mastered the "O" at the beginning, but it was an improvement from her original pronunciation: "Wivia").
"Okay then," Amanda said in a huffy tone, though more amused than offended. She stood back for a moment, smiling to herself as she watched Olivia light up with unmistakable joy when Carisi placed Matilda on the bed beside her. The toddler crawled onto her mother's chest—Olivia waved Carisi's hands away when he tried to intercede—and threw both arms around her neck, planting a kiss square on her lips. The sound of Olivia's delighted laughter at the emphatic greeting was confirmation enough that inviting the children had been a good decision.
"Oh my goodness," Olivia sighed into the toddler's bouncy red curls, closing her eyes as she hugged Matilda to her for a very long time. "What a perfect thing to wake up to. Thank you, my love."
Never one to be left out of anything—even a mother-daughter bonding moment with the wrong mother—Jesse tugged at Carisi's pant leg until he gave her a boost onto the bed as well. "I buyed this for you," she said, thrusting the balloon string in Olivia's direction. "It says 'Get whales soon, Aunt Livia! I love you! From Jesse!'"
Olivia glanced up at the floating pacifier, and somehow managed to keep a straight face, though her eyes twinkled with suppressed humor when Carisi muttered, "She made me get it, Lieu." He obediently took the string that Olivia handed over, and tied it to the safety rail on the bed.
"I love it. Thank you, sweetheart." Olivia leaned forward as far as the sling and her daughter's tiny body—snug at her right side—would allow, and kissed Jesse's comically puckered lips. When both girls were settled into place against her, Olivia looked to Noah with a hopeful smile that didn't quite conceal her apprehension. He had been hanging back from the group in silence, studying each of them and his surroundings with wide, earnest blue eyes.
"Hi, baby," she said softly, and motioned for him to come closer.
He shuffled forward to stand at his mother's bedside, his chest pressed to the mattress, fingers curling around the frame. "Hi," he said, fiddling with an edge of blanket as he cast surreptitious looks at Olivia's sling and the bruise on her cheek. He poked at the bedding a few times, jerking his hand back as if expecting retaliation. Then suddenly, he ducked down beside the mattress, just his eyes peering over the edge. "Are you okay?"
"Mm-hmm." Olivia reached out to tousle the mop of curls that sprouted up next to her. "But I'd be even better if I could have a hug from my guy."
Finally, Noah's dimples made their debut. He popped up with a grin, clambered onto the bed by himself, and found an empty spot near Olivia's hip to lean in for a squeeze. "Does it hurt?" he asked, examining the sling so closely his nose practically bumped it.
"A little. The doctor gave me some medicine though, so that helps. I'll be good as new before you know it."
Although it was the answer Amanda expected—and the same one she would have given, if asked—she shook her head. A little. A portion of the woman's body had literally ripped apart, and she said it hurt a little?
Dear Lord, Amanda loved this woman.
It took a moment for the thought to register in her mind, and when it had, she repeated it to herself without reservation: she was in love with Olivia Benson. A wonderful and daunting realization. Wonderfully daunting. Much like the lieutenant herself. Amanda felt a sappy smile spread across her face, but she was powerless to stop it. She ignored the strange looks from Carisi and went on enjoying Olivia's interaction with the children.
Noah tugged on the balloon string in his hand, causing the inflated baseball to dance overhead. "This one's from me and Tilly. It doesn't say anything," he explained, tying the string in a loose knot alongside the other balloon, "'cause I couldn't find one that said 'I'm Sorry.'"
"I sorry," echoed Matilda, oblivious to the meaning behind the words, but smiling with pride at having remembered them. She removed the finger she'd been chewing from her mouth, pointing its slobbery tip at Olivia's bruised cheek. "Owie, Mama?"
"Yes, baby, Mama's got some owies." Olivia patted the little girl's hip, shrugging her over to drop several kisses into her wispy ringlets. She rested her uninjured cheek against Matilda's head—the toddler snuggled closer, always ready for affection—and wiggled her fingers at Noah, encouraging him to take them. For a moment, he regarded the bandage on that side with uncertainty, then he gingerly cupped her fingers with his palm.
"What do you have to be sorry for, sweet boy?" she asked with such tenderness it made Amanda's heart ache. How the lieutenant could ever question her mothering skills was inconceivable. They were as natural and intrinsic to her as breathing. As strength and integrity.
"For what I said about Lucy . . ." Noah glanced over his shoulder at the other adults in the room. He lowered his voice to a stage whisper, leaning towards his mother confidentially. "I don't really want her to adopt me or Tilly. I was just mad. I'm glad you're our mommy."
Olivia lost the battle with her tears almost immediately, but smiled through them as they fell. She brought Noah's hand to her lips, kissing the back of it soundly. "I'm glad too," she murmured, when she found her voice again. "So very glad."
"I'm sorry too," Jesse piped in, the poignancy of the moment and the silence that followed—during which, even Carisi swiped at his eyes—completely lost on her.
"Good Lord, Jesse," Amanda groaned, butting her palm against her forehead in exasperation. "Learn to read a room, child."
Chuckling, Olivia shooed Amanda away when she stepped forward to extract her daughter from the family gathering. The lieutenant swept the little girl's long hair behind her shoulder, combing through it and sprinkling the gossamer strands from her fingers. (Amanda marveled at the easy gesture—it was like trying to catch a possum barehanded whenever she so much as showed her daughter a hairbrush.)
"And why are you sorry, Miss Jesse?" Olivia asked, attentively.
Jesse scrunched up her face and tapped her chin in a pantomime of deep thought. "Ummm . . . I don't know yet. But I'm sure I'll have a good reason soon. Right, Mama?"
"No doubt about it, you little varmint."
When the laughter had died down and Jesse was done refuting her varmint status, Carisi gathered the tulips he'd abandoned on the bedside table. What appeared to be a single large bouquet turned out to be two separate posies, and he brandished one in each hand, like a magician pulling flowers from his sleeve, before Olivia and Amanda.
"For both of yous, from all of us," he said, with almost as much pride as the children presenting their balloons. He focused just a bit more of that pride on Amanda, she noticed, as she accepted the flowers. Olivia had noticed, too; her eyes were on the exchange, not the tulips, as she sniffed the bouquet Noah held out to her. She quickly returned her attention to the crowd on the bed when she caught Amanda's gaze.
"Thanks, Sonny." Amanda gave him a distracted smile, trying to be courteous but not overly warm. She cared a good deal for the well-meaning detective—as a colleague and as a friend—and she always would, but there would also be that part of her that always saw him as the overeager SVU rookie with a cheesy mustache. Though they were only a few months apart in age, she often felt decades older. He would be a great husband and father someday, just not with her. She needed something more. She smiled again, widely, this time in the direction of the bed, where Olivia was engaged in deep conversation with all three youngsters.
Much more.
"Oh hey, when's Fin coming with the thing?" she asked suddenly, pointing the flowers at Carisi. She'd almost forgotten that another surprise was on its way.
Wearing a downcast expression at her lack of enthusiasm for his gift, Carisi checked his watch. "Should be any minute now."
"What thing?" Olivia asked, without looking up from her trio of companions. Woman didn't miss a trick.
"Oh, you'll see. You'll love it." Amanda jabbed Carisi with her elbow. "Trust me, it's golden."
He didn't catch on at first, but once the reference sank in, his disappointment was replaced by that boyish Carisi grin. "Yeah, Lieu, it's great. Fin just has to retrieve it," he said, snickering.
Now, Olivia did glance their way, her eyes narrowing. "I don't know what's happening here, but I think you're both fired."
On cue, a casual tap at the door signaled Fin's arrival. Even his knock was laid-back, or so Amanda had believed, until she opened the door to see him swiping aggressively at his black sleeves and slinging the resultant fur off his hands. "You owe me big for this one," he announced, slapping a leash into Amanda's palm.
"Jelly donuts on me, one month," she said, trying to hide her amusement at the sight of big bad Sergeant Tutuola covered in white fluff—and having a hissy about it. She reached down to greet the shaggy culprit with a scratch behind the ears, and received a thorough lick on the hand.
"Make it a year. And you're vacuuming out my car." Fin nudged Amanda aside and poked his head into the room. "Hey, kids, Liv. Glad you're okay. Thought you should know, this wasn't my doing. I'm just the wheelman."
"Where you going?" Amanda called after him when he did an about-face and strolled off down the corridor, patting Gigi the dog on the head as he passed by her.
Fin flicked a brief wave over his shoulder, though Amanda got the distinct impression he would prefer to be flipping her the bird. "I gotta go find a lint roller, maybe some Wet-Naps. Tell Liv I'll be back to see her before she goes home."
"Thanks, Sarge."
"Yeah, yeah."
Grinning down at the dog, Amanda said, "I think he likes you," and lead her slowly into the hospital room. According to the veterinarian, it was a miracle the golden retriever had survived the bullet Orion clearly meant to put through her heart. Thankfully, the dumb bastard knew nothing about canine anatomy or the resilience of a loyal pet. Gigi might have a permanent limp, but the vet anticipated an otherwise full recovery. And as the children—plus Carisi—descended on her, abandoning Olivia to the confines of sling and hospital bed, the dog wagged her tail like she didn't have a care in the world.
"Careful, guys," Amanda warned, handing the leash over to Carisi. "She just had surgery on her shoulder too. No roughhousin'."
"What's her name?" asked Noah, whose face was already getting a hearty spit-shine from the dog as he knelt in front of her. He giggled, bunching his shoulders up to his ears and squinting out of one eye to read her collar. "Giggy?"
"Gigi." Amanda snuck a peek at Olivia, trying to gauge her reaction before leaving the dog to bask in the attention she was receiving from all sides (Carisi and the two older children vied for her affection, each calling her name in turn, while Matilda squealed, "Goggy!" and clapped her tiny hands at a safe distance, shy about approaching such a large animal). The lieutenant didn't appear displeased, but she wasn't brimming with excitement, either. Mostly, she just looked bewildered.
"Easy come, easy go," she stated, a tinge of sarcasm in her tone as she handed Amanda the tulips that had been tossed aside in favor of four paws and a wiggly butt.
Amanda laid both bouquets on the bedside table and gave a light, apologetic shrug. "Dogs always trump moms. If Frannie ever learned to cook, Jesse probably wouldn't give me the time of day anymore."
"How the hell did you even get permission to bring a dog in here?" Olivia asked, a faint smile on her lips as she watched Noah collapse in a fit of giggles while the dog snuffled him from top to bottom.
"I told the hospital administrator she's a member of the K-9 unit, wounded in the line of duty, and coming to visit her partner. He was only too happy to oblige."
"Amanda!" Olivia put on a good show of being appalled by the blatant lie, but a twitch at the corners of her mouth gave her away. She laughed in spite of herself, pressing a hand to her shaking abdomen. "If 1PP catches wind of this, guess whose—" She glanced over at the kids, mouthing a silent "ass" before continuing aloud: "—gets chewed out for . . . conspiracy to commit police dog impersonation."
Yep, those painkillers were really kicking in. Amanda snickered behind her hand for a moment, then feigned an expression of the utmost seriousness. "I promise if it goes that far, I'll take the rap. But I don't think anyone here is going to snitch, do you?"
Everyone in the room went silent at once, waiting with bated breath as Carisi finally coaxed Matilda to reach a hand out to the golden retriever. Gigi gave the toddler's palm an equally tentative sniff, and finding it satisfactory, left no finger unlicked. The little girl stood stock-still, unsure what to make of the odd, slobbery sensation—and then she began to giggle. It was an infectious sound that soon had the older children joining in, while the adults chuckled at three different volumes, depending on the extent of injuries. Gigi sat down and offered a smile of her own, panting happily as Matilda hugged her around the neck:
"Goggy!"
"No, I don't think they will," Olivia agreed, resting back against her pillow with a sleepy little grin. "But how did you work it out with the Cline kids? Shouldn't she be with one of them?"
The Cline "kids" weren't really kids at all, but the adult children of the couple slaughtered in their home by Orion. Amanda had briefly spoken on the phone with the eldest daughter, who was too grief-stricken by the recent news of her parents' brutal deaths to make arrangements for their pet. She'd left it up to Amanda's discretion. It had taken all of five seconds for Amanda to come up with a solution. Now, if she could just play her cards right . . .
"None of them can or will take her. Oldest daughter has a baby and a six-year-old, and 'doesn't want them around a sick animal.' She kinda sounded a little snooty, to be honest." Amanda rolled her eyes. She had no patience for people who didn't like dogs, even if their parents were just murdered. "The son's on his second tour in Iraq, and the youngest girl's allergic. So, that leaves poor Gigi out in the cold, it seems."
Olivia made a sympathetic noise, looking over at the dog, who was currently entertaining the children with her obedience skills ("Shake!" commanded Jesse, giddy with excitement when a paw landed in her upturned palm; Frannie never obeyed that one). When the lieutenant glanced back at Amanda, she did a double take and held up a forbidding finger.
"No," she said, enunciating.
Apparently she wasn't too out of it to recognize an ambush when she saw one.
Amanda assumed the most innocent expression possible. "What? I'm just sayin'. I'd hate for her to end up at the pound. The lame ones get euthanized faster because no one wants to bother with 'em. They just want cute little puppies."
"Then you take her," Olivia whispered. She screwed on a wide, tight-lipped smile when Noah turned a curious look her way. The kid was far too observant for his own good.
"Can't," Amanda murmured from the corner of her mouth. "Frannie doesn't get along with other big dogs."
Okay, that was a fib. Frannie Mae loved dogs of all shapes and sizes; she practically went berserk whenever Amanda so much as breathed the word "park," her favorite place to run and play with every single pup who had the energy to keep up. To tell the truth, Amanda probably would take in the golden, if Olivia refused. But first, she wanted to see how this played out.
"Carisi, then." The lieutenant was beginning to look desperate.
"Liv, she saved our lives. Don't you like her?"
"Of course I like her. But—" Olivia gestured to her sling, exasperated. "How'm I supposed to take care of a dog with this thing? And where would I put one?"
"Noah's old enough to help. And . . . I could walk her for you," Amanda said, hoping the last part sounded like an off-the-cuff remark, rather than what it was—a shameless ploy to spend more time with the boss outside of work. "And they don't actually need their own bedrooms, you know. Have you never owned a dog before?"
Olivia suddenly became very interested in the design of her sling, fiddling with the shoulder strap and adjusting the Velcro tabs until the ends lined up perfectly.
"Oh my God, you haven't." Amanda clapped a hand over her mouth, feeling like a complete ass. Growing up in Loganville, she and every other kid she knew had at least one four-legged family member. Her father always had some hound or another chained up in the backyard, terrorizing the neighborhood cats and baying at all hours; meanwhile, her mother was fond of small dogs, especially yappy ones that nipped at her children's heels when she wasn't looking. (In Frannie, her sunny little pit bull mix, Amanda had reached a happy medium.) She took it for granted that most people had similar childhood experiences with dogs, but the lieutenant's reticence proved otherwise. "Oh, Liv, I'm sorry."
"Pets weren't exactly a priority in my house. I did have a fish once. And my mom drank like one, so it was kind of the same thing." Olivia gave a dry little laugh, but cut it short at the look on Amanda's face. "Come on, that was funny. And it's not some huge tragedy, Rollins. You and I both know there's a lot worse things that can happen to a kid than never owning a dog."
It was hard to argue with that logic, and Amanda could tell she had hit a sore spot—the lieutenant only made light of her mother's alcoholism when she wanted to deflect from the deep pain it caused her—but there was one last bid to make. She was in danger of overstepping her boundaries as a lower ranking officer; as a friend and someone with Olivia's best interest at heart, she would have to take that chance.
"What about as an adult?" she asked gently, reaching over to still Olivia's hand as it continued to fidget with the sling, the blanket, and anything else in its path. "Dogs can help with PTSD. They can even be trained to wake someone who's having a night terror."
The tension Amanda felt in the restless hand she'd captured began to abate a little at a time, Olivia's expression turning soft and pensive as she observed her children, still fawning over Gigi. The women's entire conversation had been conducted under their breath, far enough away that the little ones couldn't possibly have overheard—and yet, when Noah noticed his mother watching again, he put his arm around the golden retriever and implored, "Can we keep her, Mommy? Pleeeeaase?"
Jesse and Matilda chimed in with their own chorus of entreaties—the latter's sounded more like "peas"—until the room rang out in childish voices that required shushing by all three adults to silence. If they didn't get busted for the dog, they sure as hell would for disturbing the peace. Three sets of wide blue eyes gazed eagerly at Olivia, whose brown eyes rolled accusingly in Amanda's direction, too pretty to be very worrisome.
Still. "I didn't say a word," Amanda swore, hands up in a blameless gesture.
Sighing lightly, Olivia shook her head without lifting it from the pillow. "I don't know, you guys, a dog is a big responsibility," she said in a measured tone, careful not to get anyone's hopes up. But she smiled at Gigi with undeniable affection as she spoke. "You'll have to let me think about it."
"Okay, Mommy." Noah thrust his hands deep into his pockets and hung his head like a lowly guttersnipe denied spare change, but a devilish little grin broke through when he turned and whispered to his companions: "That means yes."
Fifteen minutes later, Carisi had managed to wrangle the children and lure them away from Gigi with promises of ice cream on the way home. Another five minutes were spent on goodbye kisses for mama—or Aunt Livia and Annamandy, depending on which child you asked—and twice as many for the dog. Once the room had quieted, all that exuberance and lovely attention gone, Gigi limped over to rest her head at the foot of the bed, large brown eyes fixated on its occupant.
They stared each other down—the lieutenant and the golden—for another full minute, until Olivia caved, patting her hand against the empty space alongside her leg. Gigi needed no further invitation; she sprang onto the bed, her hindquarters getting a boost from Amanda when they didn't quite make the jump. The dog burrowed in next to Olivia as if the spot had been hers all along, head propped on the slope of one hip, and continued to gaze up adoringly at her potential new owner. Her tail began a steady thumping on the mattress, like the sound of a loud, clear heartbeat, when Olivia stroked her forehead and murmured, "I guess we can recuperate together, huh pretty girl?"
Amanda got the feeling she had just witnessed the lieutenant's heart being stolen right out of her own grasp. She couldn't be too jealous, though. Olivia had plenty of heart to go around.
"Think you'll keep her, then?" Amanda asked, unable to conceal the hopeful note in her voice.
Olivia took a while to answer, her attention on the fuzzy white ear she rubbed between her fingers like a remnant of silk, putting Gigi in a trancelike stupor. "Well, I do kinda have a thing for cute blondes," she said at last, casting a sly glance at Amanda.
Flirting was Amanda's forte. You didn't grow up in the South without learning a thing or two about feminine charms, especially with Beth Anne for a mother. She'd trained her daughters how to play the coquette from a young age, the way some mothers taught their little girls sewing or the piano. Amanda knew just how to maneuver the needle, exactly which keys to press. But for the life of her, she could not untwist her tongue to form a single coy or clever remark when Olivia's words finally sank in.
Speak, dummy!
In the end, it was Olivia's next comment that did the trick: "Especially short ones."
"Oh Lord, here we go again." Amanda rolled her eyes with exaggerated annoyance, despite the grin spreading across her lips. "Five-seven is well above average for a woman. In fact"—here, she schooled her face and laid the drawl on thick—"I'm well above average in just about everything, hon."
Ha! Still got it.
"Who said I was talking about you?" Olivia asked, smirking.
"You got some short blondes up your sleeve I don't know about?" Amanda leaned her elbow on the bed rail and cocked a hip, all swagger—or, as much swagger as the hole in her gut allowed. "Who are they? I'll kick their ass."
"I just bet you would." Olivia smiled up fondly from her pillow, head tilted at a rather adorable angle, features still dreamy-soft from the pain meds. A massive yawn brought the sweet moment to an abrupt halt, displaying the inner works of her mouth, from soft palate to the tonsils she'd apparently never had removed.
"My toxic masculinity boring you?" Amanda asked in amusement. She took up petting the back of Gigi's head and neck when Olivia's rhythmic strokes were interrupted by another yawn—this one covered by her bandaged hand.
"No." After several labored blinks, Olivia sat up straighter and gave a small but resolute shake of her head. Not even sleep would get the better of Lieutenant Benson. "Sorry," she said, and resumed toying with the dog's fur, gathering it into tufts she twined loosely around her fingers. She created half a dozen of the pale little coils, her expression growing thoughtful. Perhaps a bit sad. "Speaking of short and cute. How's Daphne?"
"Her surgery should be over by now. I'm gonna go up and check on her here in a bit." Amanda inched her fingers along the dog's neck, intentionally moving closer to Olivia's hand, until hers grazed against it. "She'll be okay. She's probably already hitting on all the hot lady doctors."
Olivia attempted a lighthearted laugh, but it fell horribly flat. She pressed her lips together firmly and shut her eyes, as if praying forgiveness for such a carefree sound. When her eyes opened again, they glimmered with unshed tears. "Tell her I'm sorry. I never should have left her like that. All I could think about was getting out of there— getting you out of there, so he couldn't . . . I should've helped her."
And there it was. Amanda had known the lieutenant would blame herself for cutting the clerk loose, even though they had no other choice. She knew because she blamed herself for the same thing. It was her duty to protect others, and when Daphne had needed her, she'd been too chickenshit to risk her own neck. Or Olivia's.
Given the chance to do it all again, she would make the same decision every time, if it meant protecting the woman in front of her. "When?" she asked, scooping Olivia's hand into her own, both resting lightly on top of the sleeping dog's head. "While he was trying to run you over with a goddamned car, or while he was taking potshots at us with a nine? If we had gone back for her, he would've killed us and Daphne. I know it doesn't seem like it, but leaving her was the best option. She's alive because of it. And that's what I'll tell her."
Lifting the shoulder not immobilized by the sling, Olivia swiped it under her nose. She clasped Amanda's hand to prevent it from abandoning hers in pursuit of a tissue. "Maybe phrase it a little gentler than that," she said with a hint of wryness.
"I will." Amanda thumbed a stray tear from Olivia's cheek with her free hand. It trickled down the digit and into her palm, where she held it like a drop of balm, smoothing it into her skin with her fingertips. She had something else she wanted to say, and it required all the courage she could muster. But it needed to be now, before anymore of the previous night's ugliness—and all the doubts and fears that would inevitably bring—had time to settle in.
"You know, I was never really mad at Daphne for lying about us being a couple," she said, already hating the searching tone in her voice and the nervous way she kept fussing with Olivia's hand. Flirting was one thing, but discussing real, complicated feelings relied on a whole different set of muscles which Amanda seldom exercised. That steady, perceptive gaze the lieutenant was giving her didn't help matters, either.
But:
"Neither was I," Olivia murmured. She turned Amanda's palm over in hers, tracing her thumb along the scrapes left behind by woods and cliff, as if she could erase them with a touch.
Bolstered by the admission—and the touch—Amanda rested her other hand at the crook of Olivia's elbow, far away from her bruised wrist. (That fucker in the mountains had almost broken it with the tire iron. The bruise where the car had kissed Olivia's hip was even more infuriating; Amanda wanted to stab Orion all over again when she saw that one. This time she'd go for the groin.)
"I know I made a mess of things," she continued, not quite as awkward as before, although still shaky. "Pressed way too hard and didn't listen to my instincts telling me something was wrong. But I hope I didn't scare you or—"
"You didn't." Olivia gently squeezed Amanda's hand to get her attention. Once she had the eye contact she always sought out to convey her most genuine and heartfelt emotions, she said, "You did nothing wrong, okay? I wanted you to kiss me. I wanted . . . I wanted you, Amanda. I have for a long time, but I didn't know how to tell you, or if you felt the same way. I'm sure you don't, now that you've seen how broken I am—" Her voice gave out then, and she bit down on her trembling lower lip. The tears came fast and heavy, slipping off her cheeks in plump drops that pattered against the stiff fabric of her hospital gown. Gigi perked her head up, instantly alert and concerned by the signs of distress.
Amanda knew just how the dog felt. She had seen far too many of the lieutenant's tears in the past several hours, and each was like a small, vicious pinprick—only she wasn't the one enduring the needle. She had to sit back and watch it slide into Olivia's flesh over and over again.
It was unbearable, and Amanda had to make it stop. "You are not broken, Olivia," she said, taking the woman's chin in hand with the utmost care and brushing the moisture from her cheeks. "A little banged up, sure. But you're going to get through it. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but if anyone's got the strength, you do. And nothing you told me changes the way I feel about you. Nothing. I still respect you more than anyone I've ever met in my life . . ."
She swallowed hard, heart lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her esophagus. It was not unlike plunging off the side of a cliff or playing a risky hand when the stakes were high, this feeling. Amanda had done both, and almost lost everything in both instances. But in this case, the reward was too great to pass up. She laid all her cards on the table:
"And I still love you."
For a very long, agonizing moment, Olivia's only response was a short intake of breath, too light to be called a gasp, and released without the resignation of a sigh. It was something in between the two that Amanda couldn't quite define, and she began to fear she'd gone right off the edge, into free-fall. But just like before, Olivia reached out and caught her; she slid her hand along the underside of Amanda's arm, pausing near the top and tugging her forward by the triceps. When Amanda leaned in closer, Olivia sat up far enough to place a soft, lingering kiss on her lips. No pressure, just a sweet whisper of contact that lasted seconds but made up for the hours—days, months, years—spent dreaming about it.
They parted slowly, and Olivia took the opportunity to sweep aside the bangs that hung in Amanda's eyes, tucking them behind one ear. When the long strands immediately fell back into place, Olivia smiled with such love in her eyes, all of Amanda's fears were allayed. She could gladly spend the rest of her life making sure Olivia smiled like that each and every day.
"I want you to know I would never break a confidence, either," Amanda said, after an exchange of shy glances and handholding. (Gigi sniffed their interlocked fingers, then went back to sleep.) "I won't repeat anything you told me, to anyone else. Ever."
"I know that," Olivia said warmly, and the certainty on her face—the absolute trust she gave so readily—made Amanda want to weep with gratitude. She wouldn't, of course; but knowing that she had finally restored the faith Olivia lost in her so long ago—that was all she'd striven for in the years since.
As if the lieutenant could read Amanda's thoughts, she added, "I wouldn't have told you if I didn't trust you. Completely."
"Good. That's good." Amanda cleared her throat, waiting to go on until she was certain her voice would remain steady. "Because I want you to keep talking to me. If it all gets to be too much or there's something else weighing on your mind, you can come to me. I'm not goin' anywhere. And I'll always be willing to listen. Got it?"
Olivia nodded, and when she met with an expectant look, she confirmed out loud, "Yes. I'll try not to bottle things up from now on, I promise." She toyed with Amanda's fingers, running her thumb back and forth across the knuckles, as she visibly struggled to find the right words to follow her vow. Eventually, she settled on: "Thank you, Amanda. For not giving up on me."
"You kidding? When have you ever given up on me? And I've actually given you good cause to, plenty of times." Amanda emphasized the last part, widening her eyes for effect. "Over and over."
Mouth quirked at one side, Olivia breathed a tired little sigh of laughter. Her gaze drifted down to their hands, curled tightly together against the blanket as if they were still clinging to each other for dear life. "It's just . . . it might be a little while before I'm ready for more than talking and—" She lifted their clasped hands slightly, then brought them to her chest, pressing them over her heart. "This. I don't want you to feel like you have to wait around on me to pull myself back together."
"Hey." Amanda shook her head and bent down to Olivia's level to get her point across, loud and clear. "There's no rush. You take as much time as you have to. I'll be here whenever you're ready. In whatever capacity you need . . . or want me to be. Friend, confidant, or anything else."
She kissed Olivia again, a gentle peck to the forehead that felt almost maternal. If chaste kisses were all they shared from that moment on, she'd learn to live with it for the lieutenant's sake. She hoped for more—she was human, after all, and did possess a healthy appreciation of sex—but she could be patient when she wanted to be. And she wanted to be with Olivia, however long it took.
When Amanda leaned back, Olivia's eyes were closed, the expression on her face peaceful, in spite of the bruises. Amanda surveyed the damage, from discolored cheek to cumbersome sling to the marks that couldn't be seen beneath the blanket, but she knew were there because her own legs were mottled in them, like the skin of a rotting piece of fruit. And then there was that silver thread of a scar along the throat—unrelated to the other injuries, but an ever-present reminder of what Amanda had very nearly lost forever.
"Thank you," she murmured when Olivia's lashes fluttered apart, brown eyes curiously seeking her out in the weighty silence. "For saving me."
In so many ways you don't even realize, she added to herself. The trials and tribulations of Amanda Jo Rollins could wait till another day.
"It was really more of a group effort," said Olivia, modest as ever. "Besides, I owed you one. Two, actually."
"Tell ya what, let's call it even."
"Done." Olivia brought Amanda's hand up and dotted a quick kiss to the back. "Now, go check on Daphne. She shouldn't wake up alone. Gigi can keep me company while you're gone."
"You sure?"
"Go, Rollins."
. . .
After repeated pledges of a swift return—and just as many dismissals from the lieutenant—Amanda left one hospital room, in search of another. She had barely shut the door behind her when a voice, equal parts humor and sarcasm, spoke up a few feet away, giving her a start:
"'Bout time. Didn't think you two lovebirds were ever gonna give it a rest."
"Jesus!" Amanda whirled towards the opposite corridor to see her sergeant lounging against the wall, right next to the plate glass window that overlooked Olivia's room. The very wide window that offered a generous view of the bed on the other side. Amanda's back had been turned to it the entire time she spoke to—and kissed—the lieutenant. She hadn't even thought about who might be outside, watching. "Shit. Fin, you scared the hell outta me."
Getting caught with the boss'll do that to you, Dee Tec Tiv.
Fin's thoughts must have been on a similar wavelength, because he pushed off the wall, arms still folded inside his crisp, clean shirt, and said, "You might wanna keep your choice of fraternization buddies a little more on the DL next time, then."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Amanda mirrored his posture, arms crossed over her chest, feet planted firmly apart, and head held high. Far less effective when the skinny white girl in Christmas-colored scrubs and disposable slippers did it. But she was a firm believer in lying one's ass off until one discovered exactly how deep in it she actually was.
"Save it, Rollins. I saw you macking on Liv. Just be glad it was me out here, and not Dodds. Or Carisi."
(Pretty deep.)
And when you couldn't lie to 'em anymore, distract 'em by being a smartass:
"Macking?" she asked, and forced out a laugh that sounded more nervous than snarky. "Why don't you go back to 1995, the last time anybody used that term. Old age got you losin' your edge, or something?"
Fin rolled his eyes at the lame attempt to disparage his word choice. They both knew he could dust off any old piece of outmoded slang and make it cool again. It was all about the delivery and the confidence of the speaker, and Sergeant Tutuola had both down pat. "Relax, twitch. I ain't trying to bust your balls. I'm glad you two finally decided to go for it. The sexual tension was starting to drive me crazy."
Realizing her leg was indeed jiggling madly, as if she'd downed an entire Big Gulp from the corner 7-Eleven and it was just now kicking in, Amanda cursed the traitorous limb and let both arms fall to her sides in defeat. "Was it really that obvious?" she asked, dejected. She'd thought she was doing a decent job of keeping her feelings for Olivia under wraps, but apparently she had some more tells to rid herself of—besides the restless leg.
"To a civilian? Nah." Fin tweaked at the cuffs of his black button-down, not a trace of fur left in sight. In fact, the shirt looked freshly pressed, if Amanda wasn't mistaken. "But I've worked with you almost every single day for ten years. Twenty-plus with Liv. I know when something's up. The only people who give each other the silent treatment more than you two are married couples. Besides, y'all can't go five minutes without checking each other out."
"You're so full of shit," Amanda scoffed, but caught herself stealing a sidelong glance at Olivia through the plate glass. The lieutenant appeared to be having a serious discussion with Gigi the dog, whose attentive face was balanced in the woman's palm. It would have been a snapshot-worthy moment if Amanda had her own phone (and if sneaking a picture didn't seem like such a gross invasion of privacy, after viewing the Benson shrine erected by that creepy little shit, Calvin). She turned back to Fin, eyes narrowed skeptically, but still couldn't keep the smile out of her voice: "She really checks me out?"
"Well, she sure as hell ain't admiring your fashion sense." Fin looked Amanda up and down, smirking at her hospital chic attire. He patted his belly, indicating the wound that currently resided in her abdomen. "How's that doing?"
Always eager to show off a battle scar, Amanda hitched up her shirt as she took a step towards the sergeant. When she peeled at the corner of the bandage, he retreated several steps and waved her away. "Get out of here with that. All's I asked was how it is, not what it looks like," he said, a disgusted sneer on his face. "You nasty."
"But it's shaped like a star." Amanda inched the medical tape aside tauntingly. Even that much set her stomach aflame, skin so hot and itchy it felt as if she were lying prone on a hill of fire ants—and totally worth it, just to see Fin squirm for a little bit longer.
"I don't care if it's shaped like my dearly departed Gammie Tutuola, you keep it away from me."
"Ugh, fine." Snickering and wincing in turn, Amanda smoothed down the bandage and eased the hem of her shirt back into place. She plucked at the cheap poly blend fabric, unable to tolerate its occasional scrape against her irritated skin. Regular-fitting clothes were going to be even more fun.
"It's okay," she said, fidgeting with discomfort. From now on, she was going to heed the nurse's advice and leave the damn gauze alone. "Feels like the chestburster from Alien tried to claw out of my belly button, but I'll live. I think. Had to get a tetanus shot and they're running blood tests to make sure the cocksucker didn't give me hep C or something."
She'd intentionally omitted the last bit of information when she updated Olivia on her health status. There was no sense in worrying the lieutenant with unlikely outcomes; she needed to stay positive and focus on the probable—her own ability to make a full recovery, in body and mind. For now, Fin could be the sounding-board for Amanda's most bothersome woes. And indeed, he quickly put her at ease:
"I wouldn't stress too much. I called up Coxsackie, got them to send over the cocksucker's jacket. Didn't see anything about hep C or any other communicable diseases. Just a whole lotta hate and one ugly-ass mugshot. What the hell kinda name is Tad Orion, anyway?"
So, the cocksucker did have a first name. He didn't get to live on in infamy, the frightening huntsman whose evil deeds required only a mononym to evoke fear, like Hitler or Satan. He didn't have dominion over the night sky, nor even a small tract of forest that couldn't be located on any map. He was nothing—Tad. Taken down by a dog, a blonde, and a brown-eyed girl.
She would be sure to tell Olivia as much, if the lieutenant ever needed reminding. She wished she could reduce all of the woman's monsters to such simple terms.
"Shit name for a shit human being," Amanda muttered. She glanced back into the hospital room for a moment, then pulled Fin over to stand along the wall, rather than at the window. While she doubted Olivia's ability to read lips, nothing would surprise her when it came to her boss's aptitude. "Do me a favor and don't mention any of that stuff to Liv. Just talk up her recovery—how fast it's gonna be, how strong she is, and how we'll all pitch in. That kinda thing."
"Should I tell her she's pretty, too?"
In the half-second before she realized he was kidding, Amanda considered it. She clucked her tongue in annoyance when he flashed a knowing grin. "I'm serious, Fin. She needs encouragement right now. Be nice, or you'll have me to deal with."
The sergeant laughed, but there was no guile behind it. "All right, cool your heels there, Mac. I know how to talk to Liv. Been doing it a lot longer than you have."
"Mac?"
"Figured it was time you had a new nickname. Pretty sure I once saw an episode of MacGyver where he saved the day with a screwdriver and a bar of soap." Fin's eyes glinted merrily, and he bumped her lightly on the shoulder with his fist. It was probably the closest she would get to a hug from the sergeant, but she'd take it. "Sound familiar?"
"I had to improvise." Amanda shrugged—what're you gonna do?—and gave him a hokey wink, right out of eighties television itself. "That's how I roll."
"Uh-huh. Well, just make sure you know which way you're rollin' with the lieutenant. You're either in it for real, or you're out. No improv, no in between. She'd be putting a lot on the line for you." This time, Fin rested his hand on Amanda's shoulder and offered a small squeeze, more supportive than discouraging. "And I'm sure she'll do it without question. She'll go all in, like she always does. Don't let her regret it."
Amanda shook her head solemnly. She hadn't expected to get the protective dad speech from Fin, but she couldn't fault him for thinking she needed it. She was the one who—five seconds after a fling with a coworker—had conceived an illegitimate child (with another coworker), didn't inform the father until he caught her ready to pop, and basically told him to take a hike when he tried to get involved. Not exactly the poster child for stable relationships. The sergeant was just looking out for Olivia because he loved her—and that was something he and Amanda had in common.
"I won't," she said, with such absolute conviction it brought tears to her eyes. "I swear it. I'd never do anything to hurt her."
A gentle smile softened Fin's brusque features, giving off a hint of the dimples that were seldom very far out of reach. "Yeah, I know. And no one'll hear about any of this from me. Now, go do what you gotta do, so you can get back here and take care of your woman and your dog. 'Cause my chauffeur days are over."
Amanda couldn't help grinning as she made her way to the orthopedic wing. Her woman. She liked the sound of that.
. . .