A/N: It's been over a year since I have been able to work on this story, or really write creatively at all. But, I have so much more that I wanted to say, and so much more in store for these characters. I'd really like to pick this back up where I left off. To all those that left encouraging reviews; thank you! You have inspired me to finish this.
Chapter 10
Though surrounded by people and under constant surveillance, Amanda decided that the psych ward was one of the world's loneliest places. Manhattan General's third floor psychiatric hospital was filled with the sounds of crying and sometimes shrieking, a temporary holding place for the desperate and the desolate. Amanda, who was locked on the crisis stabilization unit, shared a room with a woman who had severe depression; she had burrowed herself under her sheets and refused to speak or rise. Her first evening inpatient, Amanda didn't move much from her bed either, lying on her back with her eyes trained to the ceiling, counting the tiles. The rest of the time, she dozed lightly, the voices of staff and murmurs and sometimes cries of patients depriving her of real, restful sleep, as she was not allowed to shut her door for safety reasons. Every fifteen minutes, a busy aide or psych nurse would pop his or her head inside the room for an impersonal "check" to verify both women were still breathing. Institutional food was brought to Amanda on a plastic tray, a glob of mashed potatoes and rubbery Salisbury steak for dinner. Amanda refused to eat, and lay there awake and motionless until long after midnight. Her body felt so heavy. During that long stretch of hours, she wished more than anything that she had pulled the trigger. There were times when she hated Olivia for rushing over to her apartment, for talking her into holding on. For a fleeting moment, she even hated Frannie, for barking, for pulling her out of her trance, for needing her. And it was the anger towards her sweet dog that finally brought tears. They drenched her flimsy pillow until she fell into a restless sleep.
The next morning, Amanda felt nothing but numb. She left her breakfast of lukewarm oatmeal and buttered toast untouched. A few hours later, one of the nurses walked into the room to collect her tray and draw the blinds so that some pale winter sunshine filtered in. She smiled at Amanda and asked her if she'd like to watch some TV (the two roommates shared one flatscreen set mounted on the wall, the only bit of luxury in the room), and Amanda had shrugged and let her turn on the morning news. Gently, as if dealing with an invalid, the nurse pressed the remote into Amanda's hand and left the room. Amanda muted the volume and stared dully at the television, barely registering the images before her until the close-up of a familiar man's face popped onscreen. She stiffened at the sight of Professor William Mackey and instantly turned the volume back on.
"Once a well-respected History Professor at New York's Hudson University, Professor William Mackey is now known as a sex offender who allegedly propositioned students for sex in exchange for better grades," said the crisp voice of the news anchor. "Since Mackey was taken into custody by two officers of Manhattan's Special Victims Unit for assaulting freshman history major Jewel Matthews, at least three other young women have come forward claiming that their trusted Professor had forced himself on them in his office after they had come to him for study sessions or help with assignments."
As the camera panned away from Mackey's face and the news report continued, Amanda sat there, digesting the magnitude of what she'd heard. The story about Jewel's rape had just aired not even forty-eight hours ago and already other students were disclosing their assaults. Since Mackey had taught at Hudson for over eight years, there could be potentially dozens of other young women speaking out in the days to come. Amanda's heart started to pound faster, beating some life back into her. This was the part of being an SVU detective that she found both disturbing and rewarding. Unearthing new victims meant discovering more violation, more pain, but it also meant a shattering of silence and shame. It meant newfound justice for people that had long suffered alone.
Amanda's vision blurred with tears. If she was going to have to live, she wanted her job. She wanted to comfort Jewel and walk her through her recovery. She wanted to collar men in power who had used their authority to dominate others, put cuffs on hands that had touched without consent. She wanted to carry a weapon with confidence again, to chase down perps without fear, to bring some semblance of security to an unsafe world. But could she get herself stronger?
Alone, no, Amanda decided. She shuddered at the thought of nights in an empty apartment, of days alone without work, and felt that endless ache inside of her again. She hugged her pillow to her chest for want of something else to cling to. But what about with that support system—a friend? She remembered how she'd allowed Olivia hold her the other day, completely and with total surrender. How she'd let her rock her on the floor in her apartment, and then later cradle her on the hospital gurney while she cried. Amanda had lay against her, drawing strength from the rise and fall of her Sergeant's chest, as if Olivia were breathing for the two of them. The memory filled her with fear and embarrassment, but also a strange longing she had never felt before.
Suddenly propelled by a restless energy after hours of lying still, Amanda hoisted herself out of the bed and began to pace the room in her padded hospital socks. Why would Olivia want to be her friend after what she had almost done? She had been so weak. She was an addict, a victim, and now a mental patient. Pent up, desperate to move, she wandered into the hallway and began to walk aimlessly. For a good hour or so, Amanda wandered the small unit, feeling trapped, wanting out. There were other patient rooms; a nurse's station with a unit secretary; and a common area with blue vinyl chairs, a couch, and some card tables where some other patients were playing monopoly, scrabble and cards. Amanda didn't register their faces or what they looked like. A dining room with the lingering smell of scrambled eggs. An alcove with an old-fashioned payphone for resident calls. The small therapy room, with a circle of twenty- or- so folding chairs, where groups would be held. She paced and paced her hospital prison until a plump nurse clad in Hello Kitty scrubs, the same nurse who had turned on her television that morning, grasped her gently by the shoulder.
As soon as the hand gripped her, Amanda gasped for air and twisted away in great alarm, her heart thudding so hard she could hear it beating in her ears. In those weeks after that night in the motel room with Patton, before she transferred to Manhattan SVU, the Deputy Chief would come by her desk in the Atlanta squad room and lightly squeeze her shoulder or bicep and say "Hello, darlin.' My office." And Amanda would go to his office on command. And once the doors were shut, Patton would… she would let him…
"Don't touch me," Amanda snarled at the nurse. She shoved at her, shoved away the fragmented thoughts that she couldn't bear to look. She never let her mind go back to that month after the motel room, when she had tried to stick it out at the job she had worked so hard for. To those "office visits" that made her finally realize that running from her squad was not enough—she had to leave Georgia itself and get as far away from home as possible. Until now, she had outrun the memories. Nausea swelled inside her and she thought she might throw up, though there was nothing in her stomach.
"Calm down!" the nurse said, her beady eyes going wide. "You don't look well, and I wanted to make sure you were alright."
"I'm fine," Amanda snapped. "Just don't put your hands on me." Clutching her midsection with one hand, she turned and bolted in the direction of her bedroom. Once there, she hurried into the cramped bathroom that she and her roommate shared, closed the door with no lock, fell to her knees, and dry heaved over the toilet bowl.
Amanda wasn't sure how long she sat slumped on the floor in front of the toilet, her hair damp with perspiration, breathing shallow and ragged. That nurse had come knocking and peeked her head into the bathroom several times for a "check." (Each time, Amanda had mumbled, "Just leave me the hell alone.)The fourth or fifth time the nurse came by, she said softly, "It's visiting hour, hon, and you have a visitor."
Amanda actually turned her head this time, bleary-eyed, to look up at the nurse standing in the bathroom doorway. "I don't want visitors. I want to be left alone," Amanda emphasized, trying to sound cold and firm, but instead her voice trembled, giving away her emotion and surprise. A visitor? For her?'
"Her name's Olivia something," the nurse continued, undeterred. "Berton?"
"Benson" Amanda corrected immediately. "Olivia Benson. She's my…." Again Amanda trailed off, at a loss for what to call Olivia. She continued to kneel there on the tiled floor, at war with herself. "Tell her to go away,' she almost said. But she couldn't make her lips form the words.
"She's got some things for you. Clothes…some other stuff. You feel well enough to come out and meet her?"
Amanda gazed down at the paper scrubs she was wearing, the spongy pair of hospital socks. Olivia had been so concerned and intent on getting her away from her gun and safely to the emergency room that they had not taken anything from Amanda's apartment except their purses, and she now realized that she had no clothes to wear other than what the emergency room had provided. Silently, Amanda got to her feet, refusing the nurse's offered arm for support, and padded down the hallway toward the dining area where some of the patients and their visitors had gathered for visiting hour, intermittently putting a palm to the wall to steady herself when a wave of dizziness passed over her. She saw Liv sitting at one of the tables with a blue duffel bag on the plastic chair next to her. As Amanda forced her way into the dining room, Olivia spotted her and gave her a thin smile, standing up from her chair. She looked her usual, put-together self—her brunette, wavy hair falling gracefully to her shoulders, she was dressed in a white sweater and pair of indigo jeans, the usual gold police badge still clipped to her waistband—Olivia must have come straight from work, Amanda realized. She looked beautiful. Standing there in her blue scrubs, Amanda felt deeply ashamed.
Olivia walked over to where Amanda was standing, reached out, and gently stroked Amanda's arm. "Hey, Amanda. How you doing?" she asked softly.
This touch didn't make Amanda startle, or think of Patton. Instead, it triggered a thought that frightened and confused Amanda. She imagined herself closing the distance between them, hiding her face in Liv's shoulder, and letting herself cry into her soft, white sweater. She immediately squashed this strange, primitive need that was welling up inside her and watched Olivia warily, both arms rigid at her sides. "I'm—about as well as can be expected," she mumbled. "Being where I'm at and all," she added dryly.
"I know you don't want to be here, honey," Olivia said. "I'm sorry." She motioned toward the duffel bag at the table. "I brought you some clothes and things from your apartment. I hope you don't mind that I went through your place, but I knew you'd need something to wear."
Amanda could only nod. She knew she should say thank you, but there was a lump in her throat. She followed Olivia to the table, sat down, and took the duffel bag onto her lap, unzipping it too examine the contents. Olivia had somehow managed to locate and pack her favorite clothes that she like to lounge in when at home alone—a pair of blue striped pajama pants, her gray NYPD-T shirt, a pair of faded jeans that had worn threadbare at the knees, her fuzzy flannel shirt. Her "bum clothes," as she jokingly called them at the office. "No bar for me tonight," she'd sometimes reply to Fin, when she was too worn down and sometimes too sad or preoccupied with thoughts of gambling to go out for drinks after their shift. "Gotta get to a meeting and then I'm gonna go home and change into my bum clothes." Liv must have been listening, paying attention to their conversation. Or, was it just dumb luck that she had picked the outfits that gave Amanda the greatest comfort? The blonde detective flushed as she rummaged further into the bag and found socks, bras, and underwear, articles far too intimate for Olivia to have packed, considering that even now Amanda didn't know whether to call her "friend." Yet Amanda had needed them, and Olivia had brought them to her. Once she had dug through the clothing and reached the bottom of the bag, Amanda's hand brushed something rectangular and solid. She pulled out the item and saw that it was the simple framed photograph of Franny cooling herself under the shade of an elm tree in Central Park, tongue lolling out one side of her mouth, eyes half closed in contentment-the picture of her dog that Amanda kept on the nightstand by her bed. Amanda looked at Olivia, hugging the picture frame to her chest without even realizing what she was doing. "I thought you might miss her," Olivia said, by way of explanation. "I know she means a lot to you. I thought you might like a reminder of her, something familiar from home. Even if you're only in the hospital a few days, I know it's hard."
Amanda tried to smile at Liv in thanks, but her face crumpled instead. " Frannie's the only reason I'm here—you know, still…" the word alive got stuck in her throat.
Her Sergeant reached across the table and put a warm hand over Amanda's, stroking her knuckles with her thumb. "I know, honey. I want you to hold on for me. I need you to hang in there."
Amanda wondered if she should pull her hand away from beneath Olivia's, but she was partly transfixed by the contact, by the soothing, sweeping patterns Liv drew on the back of her hand. They were silent for a moment. Amanda blew out a long, slow breath. "I think I might want to live, Olivia," she said finally, her voice almost a whisper.
"Sweetheart, I don't want you to think you want to live," Olivia murmured back, equally as softly to ensure their conversation was private. "I want you to know it." Amanda stared at the table for a long while, studying the white Formica surface. She didn't have a response to that. She let Olivia hold and stroke her hand for awhile longer before sliding out of her grasp. "How is Frannie?" she finally asked. "Is she doing okay? Playing with Noah?"
"Oh, she's doing fantastic," Liv assured her. "Noah figured out pretty quickly how to roll her a ball, and then how to throw it and play fetch. It's been constant playtime with those two."
Amanda smiled. "Who enjoys the game more? Noah or Frannie?"
"Tough call, but I'd say Noah. He has Frannie running back and forth across your kitchen so many times that she's pretty pooped by the end of it all. She just plops down panting."
"Can't believe Frannie's met her match," Amanda quipped. She turned serious then. "Thanks for walking and feeding and playing with her, Liv…and for the clothes… and the picture."
Olivia nodded. "You're welcome."
Unable to look Olivia in the eye, Amanda peered around the dining area and her eyes fell on the clock on the wall: 5:30 p.m. Her sergeant was going nonstop— she must have had to leave work early to make visiting hour and see Amanda, would have to rush home to pick up her son, and then would have to drive over to Amanda's place to feed and walk Frannie.
Amanda swallowed hard thenagain, wanting to know something. "I just have to ask. Why are you doing this?"
Olivia's eyebrows furrowed. "Doing what, honey?"
"You know—helping me out. Taking care of my dog. Visiting me in the hospital."
"Because you're important, Amanda," Olivia said. "And you need someone to be there for you right now."" Her answer was short and direct, yet gentle—so very Liv. Amanda nodded wordlessly, and that simple motion of her head suddenly cause the room to spin. She clutched her dizzy head with both hands.
"You okay?" Olivia asked with concern, leaning forward at the table.
"Feelin' a little dizzy," Amanda muttered.
"Should I grab a nurse?"
"No, I don't need a big fuss. But maybe I should go lie down."
"You look like you could use some rest" Liv agreed. "Why don't you let me help you back to your room?"
"I'm sure I can find my own way, Liv," Amanda retorted feebly, but as she stood up from her seat at the table, her knees buckled. "Whoa, Whoa, Amanda!" Liv exclaimed. With her electric reflexes, she managed to leap forward and catch Amanda before she completely collapsed , grasping her firmly beneath both arms. "It's okay, I've gotcha."
Incredibly lightheaded, Amanda slumped forward against Olivia, and her sergeant wrapped both arms securely around her, literally holding her up. "I need a nurse over here!" she called out. Amanda whimpered in frustration then, and Olivia whispered, "Shhh."
The sound of rapid footsteps and squeaking wheels sounded, and seconds later Hello Kitty nurse was beside them with, of all things, a wheelchair.
"I don't need—I can walk—"Amanda stammered, but Olivia and the nurse each grasped one arm and lowered her into the chair. Amanda covered her face with both hands to hide her angry, defeated tears.
"It's okay, honey. You're okay," she heard Liv murmuring. The next thing she knew, she felt a push from behind and she was moving forward; Liv or Hello Kitty nurse or someone must be wheeling her to her room. She just wished everything would stop spinning. When the chair came to a stop, she uncovered her face and wiped furiously at her eyes. Through blurry vision, she saw that both the nurse and Olivia had brought her bedside. Quickly, before they could stop her, Amanda pulled herself up onto unsupportive legs and pitched forward headfirst onto the mattress. She knew that it was a ridiculous move, that she was lucky not to hit the floor, but it was a last ditch attempt to save some dignity, so that Liv and some nurse didn't have to put her into bed. "Amanda! Sweetie, please, let us help you," Olivia admonished.
"She needs fluids," the nurse declared. She's been sick today, and she's been refusing meals since she's been here. I'll be back in a few to take her blood pressure and blood sugar," She turned around and walked out briskly.
Olivia reached down to put a hand on Amanda's forehead, and the pale blonde woman shrank away from the touch, scooting backwards on the bed. Olivia withdrew her hand. "You need to be eating, and drinking, honey." she said.
"What for?" Amanda mumbled. The words left her mouth before she could stop them.
Olivia's brow furrowed deep, and her lower lip pursed slightly, a gaze of pure concern, and Amanda imagined, pity. "Oh, Amanda," she whispered.
Amanda rolled over and away from her Sergeant, curling into herself and hugging her knees to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Her posture demanded that everyone go away, leave her alone, but when she heard Olivia's retreating footsteps, her insides clenched, and her heart began to hammer in her chest. Two tears leaked out the corners of her eyes unbidden. She was suddenly terrified, and dared not turn around. Patton was behind her, towering over her. She could hear the sounds of him getting dressed-the zip of his pants, the clink of his belt buckle-as clearly as she did that night in the motel room, after she pulled out of inside of her, after he was finished. She was lying as she had then- curled up in the fetal position, completely naked on the cheap mattress.
She heard his footsteps coming round to her side of the bed, and she let out a shriek.
"Hey, hey, sweetie, it's me." It was a low, soothing female voice she knew well, not the Southern drawl of the man she feared so much. "It's Liv."
Weakened, without food, without her wits about her, Amanda whimpered, confused. Did Patton leave? How did Olivia get inside the motel? "Cover me up, Liv," Amanda whimpered, forgetting she was clothed. "I don't want you to see me this way. Please, cover me up."
Olivia hurried around to Amanda and knelt beside her bed. She had a pudding cup and juice box in her hand that she tossed aside onto the night stand. "Shhh…take a breath," she murmured. "Talk to me, Amanda. What do you need? Do you want me to put the blanket around you?"
"Please just cover me up," Amanda sobbed. "Please, Liv, Please…"
Olivia quickly grabbed the thick blanket at the foot of the hospital bed. She briskly opened it up and tucked it around Amanda, swaddling her in warm linen, rubbing her back through the fabric. Amanda sought out Olivia's eyes, fighting to come present but still in the past. "Is he gone, Liv?" she pleaded.
"Amanda, sweetie, there's no one here. There's no one here but us. Okay, honey? It's okay. You're safe. You're safe now," Olivia repeated.
Amanda let out a long breath. "I'm… in the hospital," she said raggedly. "I'm..I'm in New York."
"Yes, sweetheart," Olivia murmured. "You're here, with me, in New York. And he can't hurt you now. She rubbed slow, soothing circles on Amanda's back, grounding her through touch. "Just take a breath, my love."
Amanda blinked back more tears. Olivia was speaking so tenderly to her, as if she were a little girl. No one had ever spoken to her that way before. Five minutes passed where Olivia knelt on the floor beside her bed and just rubbed her back, until the nurse came back. As the nurse took Amanda's blood pressure, then pricked her finger and took her blood sugar, Olivia gathered the juice box off the nightstand and punctured it with the straw; peeled back the lid to the pudding cup and mixed pudding with a plastic spoon. "Do you think you can get something in her?" the nurse asked, pointing toward the hospital snacks.
Olivia held the straw to Amanda's lips. "Here sweetie—we've got to get you hydrated, " she coaxed.
Amanda was coming out of her flashback enough to be properly embarrassed and annoyed. "I can serve myself, Liv," she mumbled, but her lips closed around the straw nonetheless and she took a long, thirsty swallow from the juice box.
"She's back, attitude and all," Liv chuckled affectionately, giving her blonde hair a tug. "I'm glad you're feeling a little more yourself."
Amanda chuckled wearily and took the juice box from Olivia's hand. "Juicy Juice?", she said dubiously, raising her eyebrows at Hello Kitty nurse. "Gotta love the gourmet selections here. And you wonder why I won't eat?" she said, trying to cover up the fact that she was too depressed for food.
"You said you never say no to chocolate," Olivia challenged, offering her the chocolate pudding cup. "Was that all talk?"
Amanda rolled her eyes and swallowed one spoonful, then another. It was honestly hard for her to eat much more, to keep anything down, but after all Liv had done for her, she figured the least she could do was taste the pudding.
Once Hello Kitty nurse had left the room and Amanda had her fill of chocolate, Olivia sat down on the edge of Amanda's bed. Amanda was still wrapped up tight in the blanket Olivia had tucked around her. "I'm sorry about earlier, Liv," Amanda tried to explain, not wanting her Sergeant to think she was completely crazy. "I thought that Patton—I thought he was in the room." She flushed.
"I figured as much, Amanda," Olivia said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind Amanda's ear. "Remember what we do for a living. Remember what I've been through myself. Of course I would recognize what was happening to you. I understand flashbacks. After Sealview—after Lewis—I have had several. And please, honey—stop apologizing."
"But—why now? I was able to function before, Liv. For years I pretended that nothing happened, and I was fine." Amanda asked, unable to control the tremble in her voice.
"Because no matter how much you try to pretend that it didn't happen—when you've been through trauma, experienced assault-it's something you'll carry with you. You might not experience it right away. Some people can keep what happened to them locked up inside for years, and then there's a trigger, or a reminder, or something that brings it all back. I've seen it happen so many times, Sweetie. And working the job, so have you. Why should you be any different?"
"I was okay," Amanda stammered, letting the tears fall now, unable to stop them. "And then Reese happened…and this all c-came back-"
"I know, Amanda. I know." Olivia said, hushing her gently. She stroked Amanda's hair. "Do you understand, now, why I wanted you to get help, to talk to someone? I can see how much you're hurting."
Amanda stared at Liv, brimming with questions, the words lodged in her throat. What if she didn't deserve to stop hurting? What if she was beyond help?