A/N: Hey guys! Thank you for reading. This is my first SVU fanfic. I am fascinated by the relationship between Olivia and Rollins. Follow or review if you enjoy! Stay safe and stay home if you can! Rated T for language.

***Trigger warnings for sexual assault***

Olivia Benson doesn't know how to comfort Rollins in the wake of Deputy Chief Patton's trial, so she turns to an old colleague who may have some helpful advice in this area. My take on Forgiving Rollins. Two-Parter. Olivia/Rollins Friendship.

16th Precinct.

Sergeant Benson's Office.

Wednesday, January 7, Hours After Deputy Chief Patton's Trial.

I should have seen something. I should have picked up on it: during the conference, at the hotel...Goddammit, we questioned her about him, and I chalked her hesitancy up to professional courtesy. Since when has Amanda Rollins ever been a bastion for professional courtesy?

Something happened to me on the job...it's...it's kind of why I had to leave Atlanta.

She'd said that to me the first year after her transfer when I'd disclosed to a victim about my own assault.

Without warning or preclude, his hands are on me again. I can smell the must of the prison basement, feel the moisture of the air on my skin, hear his taunts...the memories flash in a moment, catching me off-guard. As if sensing my weakness, the darker parts of my mind light my skin on fire. I can feel Lewis' ropes around my wrists, the burning iron against my chest, his breath on my neck, the look of terror in Mrs. Mayor's eyes...

I grip the sides of my desk for support and take several slow, steadying breaths until the memories run their course. I know eventually, they have to recede, but for long seconds, my mind swirls and it is everything I can do not to vomit. Deep shuddering breaths wrack my body. The panic and powerlessness is real again. When I release my hold my hands are still shaking and my chest aches. I feel hollow.

It never really goes away.

I sit there for several minutes as my body slowly comes back to reality. I am not in the prison basement. I am not being held by Lewis. I am safe. I am in my office, surrounded by good men who would give their lives for me, who would never hurt me...

With painstaking efforts, I bring my mind back under control.

Amanda, who has been living in silence, is my concern right now.

Through the blinds of my office windows, I can just make out parts of her face. She is staring at her computer screen, pretending to work. If I didn't already know what was happening would I be able to guess what she is hiding behind her blank expression? Apparently not. Amanda has always stood in a certain blind spot for me - something that for years I have tried to understand and rectify. It's not that I don't discipline her or call her out on bullshit when I see it. The problem has always been seeing it.

I'm a good detective and not naive or prideful enough to participate in dishonest humility. So why has Amanda always been able to slip through my scrutiny? It's not the most important question right now, but it concerns me nonetheless.

The most important question - and the most difficult - is how to best help her to heal and move forward with her life once this is over. Learning to focus on the survivors - not the perp - is, in part, my secret to processing this kind of work. Thinking obsessively about the monsters only leads down rabbit holes of misery. The monsters are inconsequential. They are nothing but obstacles. No, it's the survivors, their strength, their courage and tenacity and desire to regain a sense of control in their own lives, that is important. I don't do this job because of the perps; I do it for the survivors. And so I survive.

But now one of them is my own. Damn you, Cragen, I'm going to have to take you to dinner. I smile sadly to myself at the thought of my old Captain. Damn, what I pain I was to him: shrugging away every offer of help, mocking his gestures of kindness, pretending that my world was still spinning around the same axis...just like Amanda is doing to me right now. I stare through my window again, watching her for several seconds, wondering how often Cragen did this to me over the years.

"You're going to get through this, Amanda," I murmur, "You are a survivor."

The ringing of my telephone jolts me out of my musings. As if she were only waiting for it, Amanda's eyes flash towards my office. For a brief moment, our eyes connect. We share a look that I have shared with hundreds of other women over the course of my career. It is fear and despair, tapered by hope and expectation, all rolled into a small glistening in the eyes and a tightness in the lips.

"Benson." I mutter into the phone.

"Liv, it's Barba."

"What's going on?" I hiss.

Despite my tone, Barba keeps his own even. "The doctors don't think it was a heart attack."

"Then what the hell was it?"

"They're saying anxiety." I can hear the skepticism in his voice.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I hiss again, thinking of Detective Taymor on the stand, facing the full scrutiny of society and the police force, while a bulbous excuse for a man questions her every action and, of course, of Rollins, sitting in the crowd, being forced to relive her nightmare and watch as her monster attempts to squirm his way out of justice. Now the bastard has the audacity to have an anxiety attack while the women he assaulted are in the room? "Coward," I grimace.

"I agree."

"So what does this mean for the case?"

"His lawyer will try to make a deal."

"Barba..."

"I know, Liv. I'm not going to let him get away with this." The crack in his voice betrays him. 'This' stands for something much more. Barba is a good man who takes each case and each victim seriously. He treats them and their stories as fully human, but this time, it is personal. This time it is family.

I look out into the bullpen again. Amanda is pretending to be at work, but I catch her eyes casting quick glances my way. "He already has once, maybe more."

"Not this time, Liv. That's a promise."

"I believe you. Thank you for calling."

"Liv...how is she?"

"Honestly, I don't know. You know how it is - "

"Yeah, well, take care of her, okay?"

"That's a promise," I whisper. "Thanks for the update."

I have barely hung up the phone when Rollins walks through the door. I shake my head, "Patton didn't have a heart attack."

"Then what was it?" The acid in her voice is evident. Even as she stands there, her leg is shaking and her eyes are darting to every corner of the room refusing to meet mine.

"They say it was anxiety."

She shrugs, "So the trial will continue." Almost before she has finished her sentence she turns her body to leave.

"Rollins...will you close the door for a sec?" I can see it in her face, the recognition of what is next. Does she know that I once stood where she is now? Does that even matter? She closes the door slowly and turns to face me, but her expression...is that how I looked to Cragen? Half-present, half-gone. Caught between a limbo of reality and nightmare. I remember that feeling of being drowned in memories, fighting so hard to keep my head above the water while holding everyone who tried to help me at arm's length. I want her to meet my eyes, but she staring stubbornly at the wall behind me.

I start with the only thing I know how to give her: the truth.

"Amanda, what Patton did to you...you've been pushing that down for years, and if you don't deal with this now, it's going to keep you trapped or stuck more than it already has - "

"Okay," she whispers, more as a plea than a response. I can see her physically shutting out my words, crawling back into her mind where she hopes it is safe. But we both know, the mind is sometimes the most dangerous place to look for comfort.

"Amanda, you have an opportunity here," my own plea enters my voice. Dammit, why does she have to be so stubborn?

The usually quick-witted, rapid fire blonde hesitates. "I've gone through it," she says, meeting my eyes for the first time. "You're only as sick as your secrets, and - " she chokes on her next words. I see ghosts of self-hatred, doubt and regret playing behind her eyes. She scrambles for words to fill the silence. "I'm goin' to meetings."

"Yeah, for gambling." I interject. Then it happens. I wasn't expecting it. Perhaps I should have been, but when Amanda Rollins freezes in my office like I have seen so many other women freeze, all professional barriers fall away. She looks like a cornered animal. I can see the fear and desire to flee written plainly over every inch of body. For some reason, I have the brief image of her as a child, blonde pig-tails swinging in the air as she aims a squirrel gun at her abusive father. At ten years old she was already fighting monsters most couldn't imagine, and now that little girl is standing in my office, fighting back tears, trying to convince me she doesn't need anyone's help, especially mine. Well, then, she is in for one hell of a ride.

"I know you don't like feeling sorry for yourself. I get it. But can you go back to that detective you were five years ago and feel compassion for her?"

"I walked into it. You know, I put myself into that position."

Her words echo with those of so many others over the years, but here, hearing them from her as she attempts to regain control by claiming a responsibility that isn't her's, wakens my sleeping giant. Until now, my anger has simmered beneath the surface, my call for justice resigned to the the court's decision, but now, hearing her taking the blame for that monster's work, anger fueled by a need for vengeance erupts in my chest. "You have to stop blaming yourself, Amanda."

She raises a shaking hand to her face. Her eyes are darting again, looking for any way to escape. Tears which have threatened to fall since she walked into my office, begin to make their way down her cheeks. Without thought, I raise myself from my desk and make my way around to her. I know she doesn't want me to touch her, but I lower myself to her level, forcing her to meet my eyes even for one second. "Honey, you're safe here."

A look of utter pain flashes across her face, and I catch myself wondering if Amanda Rollins has ever felt safe in her entire life.

"I have to get out of here," she murmurs, shaking her head and wiping stray tears from her face.

"No, Amanda, it's okay - " I reach out for her, but she shakes free of my grasp, refusing to meet my eyes again. Before I can say anything else, she is gone. I watch her nearly sprint out of the bullpen. Fin and Nick follow her with their eyes then they both turn to my office. My hands are still outstretched where Amanda left them moments ago, images of blonde pig-tails, squirrel guns and broken bottles still haunting my mind.

A/N: Thank you guys for reading! If you enjoyed Part One I am hoping to have Part Two up very soon! Leave a review if you are so inclined!

Reading and writing are a sometimes beneficial release from reality, but as most of the world is reeling from the COVID-19 outbreak, please keep in mind those women and children who have been turned out from safe houses or shelters and sent back to the streets or into the hands of their abusers. This outbreak for many has taken away any chance they have of security and safety. We are our sisters' keepers.