A/N: Set in season 21, with references to a few episodes: 'The Longest Night of Rain', 'Can't be Held Accountable', 'Must Be Held Accountable', and 'Eternal Relief from Pain'. Trigger warning for mentions of suicide. Rolivia friendship.

Chapter 1

The rain had lashed down in sheets for hours, slate grey and as frigid as the farthest reaches of winter. Amanda Rollins squinted, her vision struggling to focus on her goal through the torrent. She needed new boots, she noted, as water seeped through the seams of her soles and started to numb her toes. She hunched her shoulders up around her ears as her umbrella bowed dangerously above her head, the weight of the elements almost too much to bear. She took a chance and sprinted across the road toward the bar where she was meeting Captain Olivia Benson. A yellow cab honked as it almost clipped her (she could not sprint as fast as she was once able, thanks to her busted knee) and she cursed loudly when the wheels ran through a puddle, dousing her left pant-leg with dirty New York street water. A shiver ran through her as the wet material clung to her calf, and a few seconds later, she breathed a sigh of relief as she finally pushed the heavy door of her destination open.

Amanda collapsed her weary umbrella and dumped it in the bucket by the door. She scanned the room looking for her friend. Warmer now, she shrugged out of her long, black winter coat and folded it over her arm. She spotted Olivia in a side-booth, and forged a path through the reasonably crowded establishment to join her.

"Hey," she touched Olivia's shoulder fleetingly as she greeted her, before slipping into the opposite side of the booth, "Sorry I'm late," she said, as she lay her coat and purse down in the space beside her, "The girls' sitter was stuck in traffic."

"No problem," Olivia smiled, but it was a sad, mechanical movement that lacked any genuine warmth. She pushed a glass of wine in Amanda's direction, "I ordered while I was waiting, I hope this is ok?" Olivia gestured to the bottle of Pinot Noir that sat in the middle of the distressed-wooden table, it's label lit up by the slow-burning candle set beside it.

"That's great, thank you," Amanda graciously accepted, even though wine wasn't really her first choice when it came to picking an alcoholic beverage. She preferred beer or scotch. Even if her vices didn't lie with the excessive consumption of alcohol, she was not going to refuse it if it was handed to her, and she wondered should she worry about the instant relief she felt coarse through her when she swallowed her first mouthful of the smooth, red liquid. Whilst she had told her father that her house was a sober house (and it was, for many reasons) that didn't extend to outside, to her (these days meagre) social life. But maybe it should. She did not gamble anymore. She would not even take anything stronger than an anti-inflammatory for her busted knee. Maybe she should drop any and all alcohol, too. Amanda watched, almost entranced and deep in thought, as she swirled the wine around the delicate glass. Addiction had ravaged it's way though her family. Amanda was so determined to break all the horrendous cycles of addiction and trauma for her daughters, that maybe it was for the best to remove any potential future bad habits.

"Amanda?"

"Hmm?" she looked up to Olivia.

"You drifted there for a moment," Olivia tipped her head to the side, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder, "Where did you go? Are you ok?"

Amanda met Olivia's brown eyes, and took in the exhaustion and the sadness that reflected back at her.

"I'm fine," Amanda smiled a small smile, "It's just been a heavy few weeks," she admitted with a shrug of her shoulder, understating to a huge degree the impact of being taken hostage and held at gun point; of Kim turning up with a kid and OD'ing, then going to prison; of her father appearing, out of the blue, and OD'ing. Even Ed Tucker's suicide had shaken her, despite the fact she had never been a huge fan of the guy. But that was her way. If she pretended nothing could touch her, then she was untouchable.

Right?

"That it certainly has been," Olivia agreed, with a trace of ironic laughter behind her words. She threw her hair back over her shoulder, "Which, as you mention it, is the reason I wanted to meet up with you like this," Olivia explained.

Amanda took another sip of her wine and waited for Olivia to continue.

"I've been thinking about Tucker," Olivia finally said quietly, after a pause.

"Of course you have, Liv," Amanda said, and she leaned forward. She almost reached forward to touch Olivia's hand, where it rested at the base of her wine glass, but she stopped herself. Historically, she had had a rocky relationship with Olivia, and while the sea had calmed between them for a long while now, something held her back.

Or, maybe that was just her in general, Amanda mused. Open and forthcoming were not exactly her middle names.

"What happened was awful," Amanda continued, after her brief moment of hesitancy, "And I'm glad we're doing this," Amanda gestured to their surroundings, indicating the bar they were sat in, "If you want to talk about him or tell me anything about how you're feeling, I'm happy to listen."

Amanda was more than happy to listen, and here reasons were two-fold. Firstly, her anxiety surrounding her captain's well-being had been growing over the last little while, so much so it was as if it had sprouted feet and was permanently stood beside her, behind her and in front of her all at once, almost omnipotent, dwarfing her. Olivia was a constant steadiness in her life, and the recent suicide of her ex-boyfriend had, obviously and understandably, shaken her. And by extension, Amanda too, like some kind of ripple effect, or shock waves from an earthquake. For some reason Amanda could not quite articulate, she needed Olivia to be ok to ensure she was ok. Secondly, if Amanda was listening, she was not the one doing the talking. Despite her recent paddle into the shallows of therapy (and look how that turned out), Amanda had always been more of a shove-her-feelings-right-down-to-the-floor-and-bury-them kind of woman. It had crossed her mind that Olivia had been asking her out for drinks as a way to get her to open up, and the anxious energy that shot through her at that prospect caused her to break out in a cold sweat.

"Thank you, Amanda," Olivia said, haunted shadows in her eyes, "I appreciate that," she nodded, "But what I was going to say, is I've been thinking about Tucker, and there is obviously nothing I can do to help him now. Or Rachel," she added with a shrug, and she drained the remaining mouthful of wine from her glass.

"Liv," Amanda said seriously, before Olivia could continue, "If you're feeling any guilt or responsibility for what happened to either of them, then…it's misplaced. You know that, right?" and this time, Amanda did not stop herself when she reached forward and covered Olivia's – slightly trembling? – hand with her own. "It's just your brain's way of trying to give you control. If you feel guilty, it suggests you had power over a situation, rather than that you were helpless."

"I know," Olivia agreed, but she grasped Amanda's had in return nonetheless, "I know there was nothing I could have done, even if I wish that wasn't the case. That's why I wanted to do this tonight. To take the time to check in with you. You've been through so much in the last few weeks," Amanda withdrew her hand, and this time, it was her who swallowed the remainder of the wine in her glass in one, big gulp. "I know you're fiercely private, Amanda, and I respect that, I really do, but I don't want all of…what's happened, I don't want…" Olivia trailed off.

"Don't want what?" Amanda probed, a little against her better judgement, as she could feel herself clamming up, her walls coming down. She poured herself another glass of wine, then topped up Olivia's glass, too.

"I don't want you to become the next Tucker, or Rachel, or Simon in my life," Olivia's admission hung in the space between them, suspended in the warm, beer scented (or, in their case, red wine scented) air of the bar. It was a shocked second later, Amanda realised tears were brimming in Olivia's eyes. Shock, because she would never have considered she would inhabit the same realm of importance in Olivia's life as Tucker or her brother, but also because she had zero intention of causing herself any harm.

"Liv," Amanda was not often lost for words. She usually found a quick retort or come back in any given situation. Her sassy mouth had got her in trouble more times than she cared to remember. But for this, she had no words. She took another drink as Olivia delicately wiped the unfallen tears from her eyes in attempt to save her mascara. "I'm not going to…do anything like that," she eventually said.

"No, and I am not saying you'd intend to. But who does? Is it a choice you make, or a point you arrive at?"

A cold, hard feeling of dread lowered itself down onto Amanda's chest. Suddenly, everything seemed to make sense. Olivia had been distant and detached for a while.

"Liv, are you telling me…? Do you mean…? Are you…?" she spluttered, "Liv, you're not saying-"

"Relax, Amanda," Olivia interrupted her, suddenly more collected in light of Amanda's inability to form a sentence, "I am one hundred percent not thinking what you're thinking I am,"

Amanda sighed and almost collapsed with relief. She almost took another mouthful of wine, but her head was swimming enough as it was. She needed food. She waved a bartender over.

A young, disinterested man with no sense of immediacy ambled over to her.

"Yes ma'am?" he said, his eyes almost completely obliterated by his floppy blond fringe. For a moment, Amanda considered him around thirteen years of age, but then resigned herself to the fact it was probably her getting older, and not waiting staff getting younger.

"Are you serving food?" she asked.

"Just bar snacks at this time," he said, almost bored, and he made a show of looking down at his watch, "Nachos, buffalo wings, that kind of-"

"That'll be great, thanks," she smiled tersely at him.

The apparent school kid started at her blankly for a second, then blinked slowly.

"Which?" he asked.

Jesus, were they braces on his teeth?

"Both," Amanda clarified, "To share, thanks," she repeated, and he sauntered away without writing anything down.

"To soak up the wine," Amanda explained, when Olivia looked at her quizzically.

"I ate with Noah before he went to his sleepover," Olivia shrugged, "But I could probably help you out," she smiled. "Sorry, Amanda, I didn't mean to panic you like that," Olivia said, composed once more but still radiating a level of pain and sadness that made Amanda want to rage and break things. Olivia did not deserve any of this shit.

"It's ok. I'm glad I got the wrong end of the stick. But please, don't worry about me like that, Liv," Amanda shook her head, and she took a smaller, slower sip of her wine this time.

"I'm sorry," Olivia apologised again, "I don't want to freak you out, here. Maybe I've approached this in the wrong way, or said the wrong thing," Olivia dropped her gaze and traced her fingertip around the swirls in the wooden grain of the table.

"No, it's ok," Amanda reassured her, and she dipped her head to try to meet Olivia's eye, but the other woman avoided her. "I get why this kind of stuff is on your mind right now…it's understandable…Liv?" she said, once again trying to get her friend to look her in the face, "It's ok," she repeated, when Olivia finally looked up. Her captain looked smaller than usual, Amanda noticed. Not in a having lost weight kind of way, but more in a stature kind of way. Like, Olivia's shoulders were not as back, and her head was not held as high.

Amanda was well aware that once life had beaten you down to a certain point, you just sort of curled up and took it, you rolled with the punches, but it was disconcerting to see it happen to Olivia, and it unsettled Amanda to her core.

"Tell me how you're doing," Olivia said, and whilst it had come out as an instruction, there was something of a plea detectable in the under tone.

Thankfully their food arrived then, which bought Amanda a few more moments to think before she answered. She did not want to do this. It wasn't that she minded telling Olivia per se about how she was coping after Bucci, her sister, her father…it was just…she was resistant to the idea of dragging it all to the forefront of her mind, when she had been anticipating spending an evening being a confidant, not a confider. It was deep and heavy and if she was brutally honest, it hurt her. Talking about her past (however briefly) in therapy was different. She could work up to that, get herself in the right headspace beforehand. She could ensure she had something to do after to wind down and distract herself. This, tonight, with Olivia had blindsided her.

But in the end, Amanda understood. She knew Olivia needed to feel like she was in control, like she was able to help the people (she had left) she cared about. She understood, because she needed to do exactly the same thing.

"I'm ok as long as I don't think," Amanda eventually answered, and she scooped up some salsa and guacamole with a salty tortilla chip before depositing it in her mouth. She had the length of time it took to chew and swallow to decide what to say next.

Olivia picked at a chicken wing.

"I don't want to force you to tell me anything, or make you feel like you have to, just to make me feel better. God, Amanda, I'm sorry. I thought I was doing right by you, but maybe I'm just being selfish," Olivia reasoned. "Jesus, my head is a mess," she admitted, with a self-depreciating laugh, her voice, thick with emotion, threatened more tears. Olivia dropped her food to her plate, wiped her fingers on her napkin then pressed them to her temples and rubbed hard circles there.

"Hey," Amanda said, and she reached forward for one of Olivia's hands again. She pulled her by the wrist, away from her head, and she linked their fingers, "Stop being so hard on yourself," Amanda said, a reprimand, but she spoke softly. "Beating yourself up like this doesn't help anyone."

"I know," Olivia agreed, reluctantly, and she looked at their joined hands rested on the table between them, "Thank you for being such a good friend, Amanda," Olivia all but whispered.

Amanda smiled and squeezed Olivia's hand before pulling it back to continue attacking her nachos.

"Thank you, too," she said, before crunching another loaded tortilla chip between her teeth.

Olivia coughed to clear her throat, "Have you heard off of Kim?" she asked, and she too resumed with her chicken wing, ridding the little bone of it's meat.

Amanda shook her head in response as she chewed, then swallowed.

"I think she's using all her call time to speak to my mom, about when she is going to move up and where to have Mason," Amanda looked at the next nacho, ready to bite, but she dropped it back down to the plate and sighed.

"What's wrong?" Olivia asked.

"I feel…guilty," Amanda admitted, her voice small, "He's my nephew, and god, Liv, if I could afford to have him with me, I would. But I can barely afford the kids I've got, and-"

"Hey," Olivia held up her hand to halt Amanda, her words increasing in speed, with urgency to explain herself, "There is no judgement from me," Olivia dropped her hand again, "And he'll be ok with your mother, won't he?"

"I dunno," Amanda shrugged, "I mean, better her than child services, right? But…I know what it is like to be brought up by my mother. I wouldn't wish my childhood on anyone," Amanda said, and she pushed her plate away from her, having suddenly lost her appetite.

"I'm sorry, Amanda," Olivia said, and she was so genuine that it cut straight to Amanda's heart, and she had to swallow down the emotion.

Amanda could feel her knee bouncing under the table, and she did her best to make herself still. When she was uncomfortable, or anxious or trapped, she could never hold herself in one place. It would always start with her legs becoming restless, then she would mess with her watch, or her hair (if it was loose) or chew her lip, or pace about, or-

"Amanda?"

Amanda jolted at the intrusion of her thoughts.

"Hey," Olivia said again, softly, "What's happened?" she returned Amanda's gesture by reaching over the table for her, but she took hold of both of Amanda's hands, clammy with cold sweat, in both of hers, "You look like your about to bolt out the door," Olivia observed.

"Sorry," Amanda shook her head, tried to shake off her nerves. Gratefully, she squeezed Olivia's hands in return, "It's just…hurricane Kim ripping through my life again, my daddy showing up after all these years. My mother coming up this way…it's getting me kind of anxious," Amanda admitted, honestly. "Like, I came here to leave Georgia behind me, and now they're all here."

"Is everything ok with your food?"

Both Amanda and Olivia startled at the interruption, and Amanda pulled her hands back and dropped them to her knees. Maybe if she held them still, they would stop bouncing.

The blond-haired young bartender turned and walked away without waiting for an answer.

"What is he, twelve?" Olivia asked.

"I don't know, but he looks like Jesse's Paw Patrol backpack would really suit him," Amanda quipped, her apprehension taking a step back, but still remaining ever-present. The relief was short lived, though, because a second later a crowd of rowdy, early-twenty somethings barrelled through the bar door. They were laughing loudly and talking with excessive volume, taking up the little space available, and suddenly the room started to spin, and Amanda felt claustrophobic. And also, an idiot. She wanted to smash her forehead against the table with shame when anxious tears sprang to her eyes.

"C'mon," Olivia said, kindly, "Let's pay and get out of here. If you want to come back to mine, you're welcome to?" Olivia offered, "It's up to you," she continued when Amanda did not immediately respond, "I don't want you to feel like I'm bulldozing you into talking again…I just…I don't want tonight to be over yet…I mean, don't want to leave it…I don't want to leave you like this," Olivia looked at her earnestly.

Like this.

Amanda pondered Olivia's words.

Like what? Nervous? Anxious? Upset? A complete mess?

"Don't over think it, Amanda," Olivia warned, and Amanda could not help but smile, as if the other woman had read her mind.

"Ok, but, come back to mine for the rest of the evening," Amanda invited instead, "Noah is at a sleepover?" she clarified, and Olivia nodded in confirmation, "That way, I can let the sitter go, and I don't have to leave early to get back for the girls."

"You're sure?" Olivia asked.

"You're not bulldozing me, Liv," Amanda promised, exercising a bit of mind reading herself, "I don't want tonight to end yet, either," she said, sincerely. Because to tell the truth, she had not enjoyed adult, social company in too long. If she wasn't at work, she was at home with the kids. It was nice to spend some time out with Olivia, even if the conversation had got a little intense.

"Ok," Olivia flashed her a smile, "In that case, I would love to spend the rest of the evening back at your place."