A/N: This chapter was technically finished before I went to sleep, but I was too tired to post it at like 6:15am. My birthday was nice and quiet, and I'm glad I got this done and posted. For those of you following this and Eight Days, I do have an idea for the next installment, but more than likely I will finish this story first. Just know that I have still been keeping the other fic in the back of my mind. I always love all your reviews and encouragement, so thank you. Enjoy!
Rating: MA
Spoilers: Pattern Seventeen, Forgiving Rollins
Trigger warnings: Consent by coercion, weapons, voyeurism, homophobia, references to rape, captivity
Mirror Image
Olivia looked at Rhoda and Vince blankly, her muscles rigid with anxious anticipation. "What does that mean?"
Rhoda cleared her throat and scuffed the floor with her boot. "You two . . . have to, um, do stuff. While I watch."
Liv's mouth fell open as her better eye went wide. "We . . . what?" her voice came out breathless and faint.
"You heard her," Vince snapped.
"I – no!" It came out instinctually, reflexively, from embarrassment and resentment.
"Olivia – " Amanda cautioned quietly from behind her.
"Shut up, Amanda," Liv cut her off, "let me handle this."
"There's nothing to handle," Vince informed them, and primed the shot gun. It was incredibly loud in the quiet room. "Either you do it, or you die – and not quickly."
Olivia was unflinching, utterly still in the spot where she stood. Rhoda was still off to the side, quiet but breathing rapidly, waiting. Vince shouldered the gun and levelled the barrel at the brunette with a snarl that wasn't suited for his clean, intelligent face.
"Wait," Amanda said calmly, and stepped between the barrel and Liv purposefully. "Wait a second. Can I have a word with my wife?" she asked. "Please."
"We're staying right here," he told her.
"Okay," the blonde nodded. Taking Liv by the forearm, she pulled her aside and into a whispered huddle. "There are much better things to take a stand for," she murmured. "It's a bit premature to throw yourself on a gun, don't'cha think?"
"You can't be serious! Do you really think they're going to stop there? What do you think will happen if we just give in?"
"I know what will happen if we don't!" Rollins hissed. "And I've got an entire life in New York that I haven't even lived yet. I'm not ready to die without finding out what the last four years have been like, or willing to let you die, either!"
Fear, anger, discomfort: Olivia's stomach was knotted with a sour mix of emotions that there was no time to untangle. She unclenched her shoulders in disgusted defeat, her chin dipping toward her chest as her heart pounded.
"Alright," Amanda said, louder, nodding in Vince's direction.
"Ro, get the chair," Vince said, without turning his head.
Rhoda crossed the floor and retrieved the chair she had used before, when tending to Olivia's head. She pulled it along until it was next to where Vince stood, then sat down. That was when he motioned with the gun again, this time at the bed.
"Get going," he told them.
Not asking specific questions was a tactic it seemed both women had settled on in order to refrain from digging themselves in deeper. Thus, they got onto the bed entirely clothed, laying down facing each other like virgin teenagers scared to make a move.
"They still think we're married," Rollins whispered in Olivia's ear, "try to keep up the act."
Liv raised an eyebrow, in surprise at the idea that any of her reactions would be fabricated. The short kiss they had shared nearly two days ago was more than she had felt in ages – enough to scare her more than staring down a shotgun barrel. Which was exactly why this situation was dangerous in more than the obvious ways.
All of these concerns were cut off by Amanda's mouth, softly grazing up Olivia's jawbone on the way to her lips. Similar to the first kiss they had shared, it was tentative and careful, but it rapidly warmed up, with Amanda scooting closer on the bed. The press of Amanda's warm curves into her was fireworks: the fullness of her breasts, even beneath her clothes, lining up with Liv's own was explosive.
Strangely, neither Rhoda nor Vince spoke. The silence made it dangerously easy to forget the duress, and for the room to slip away. Before long, Olivia became aware of the creep of Amanda's fingertips, beneath the edge of her sweater. Her cool palm slid up the plane of her belly and over the swell of one breast inside warm satin, pressing her thumb over the nipple. The pad of Rollins' thumb rubbed the nipple to an aching peak, drawing breath from her open-mouthed kisses as she sighed out, "God, Amanda . . . "
As their bodies shifted and collided soundlessly on the bed, Rollins was able to nudge her leg between Liv's, bringing her thigh up to press into the cleft of her groin. It wasn't until Olivia recognized the pooling of desire there, that she became aware she'd been rhythmically rocking into the firm muscle. Her head spun with the sharp contrast of her desire and the context of the situation.
"Jesus, Ro, I think you hit the jackpot this time!"
The sudden sound of Vince speaking jarred the two women on the bed out of their quiet mental seclusion. Liv's breath caught, and she blushed deeply as her stomach throbbed with embarrassment and indecency. Amanda squeezed a hand in hers reassuringly, but they had both stopped moving at the noise.
"That's enough for right now," Vince told them, surprising everyone. "C'mon, Rhoda." He rushed the woman from her chair, nudging at her with the shotgun as they went.
The door clicked shut, and Olivia and Amanda lay facing each other in silence again – this time also in privacy.
"We need to talk," Liv exhaled shakily.
Amanda rolled to her back and took a deep breath, rubbing down the corners of her mouth with her thumb and forefinger. "Okay," she nodded. "I'm listening."
"We haven't talked much, yet, about the four years you can't remember - but there are things that I know. About you. Things that came up, over the years . . . that are important, right now, that you know I'm aware of," Olivia tried to explain, but it came out sounding strange.
"Ok?" Rollins looked at Liv uncomfortably, feeling embarrassed immediately, unable to know about what.
"About a year ago, we cracked a case that turned out to be connected to a cold case in Atlanta. The pattern 17 rapist," Liv told her. "It turned out that he had committed dozens of rapes, all over the country, but with nobody testing their rape kits, we didn't have his DNA. You went back down to Atlanta, to get access to the kits there, and ultimately, with a little luck and some more work, our squad cracked the case."
Amanda was listening intently, but nothing seemed to have dawned on her yet.
"Albert Beck was an EMT, he traveled around the country, knew how to choke out his victims. He liked to hum a gospel song."
Rollins' eyes widened at last. "The humming guy?! We caught that son of a bitch?!" Liv nodded. "Yes! That's incredible!"
"It was," Liv agreed, "and we couldn't have done it without you, but Rollins . . . after it was all over, your former boss from Atlanta came up to Manhattan."
"Chief Patton?" Amanda said, going pale at the name. "Yes. He wanted to steal NYPD SVU's thunder by taking more credit than he deserved. Not only that, he showed up at the conference with a brand new, blonde protégé Detective."
Pain was starting to cloud into the blues of Rollins' eyes, but there was nowhere for her to run. She rolled away from Liv, facing the wall, and curled up tight.
"Amanda," Liv sighed gently, "I – I know what Patton did to you," she confessed, placing a hand tenderly on the blonde's shoulder. "But that's not why I'm telling you this. Well – not entirely why I'm telling you." She moved a little closer to Rollins' form, careful not to touch her too much. "Honey, we got him. We got him; he can't hurt you any more."
Rollins turned her head, craning to see Liv over her shoulder. "W-what?"
"He resigned from his office, he pled guilty and was put on the registry."
"But . . . in my case? I – I mean I kind of . . . consented? Sort of."
"Listen to me," Liv said firmly, moving the rest of the way forward until they were spooned together, "you revoked your consent and Patton raped you. He did the same thing to the woman he brought with him to Manhattan. He allocuted in open court, and he can never work in law enforcement again. You and that woman – you beat him, at his own game."
She felt Rollins finally relax against her, and let out a tight breath in relief.
"Christ," Amanda murmured, "I thought I'd never get out from under Patton's thumb, ever. I can't believe it."
"We both know that, until we figure out how we're getting out of here, that those two are going to be back. And if I'm getting their drift, they're going to want something more than kissing."
This time, Amanda rolled all the way over. She didn't speak, but they looked at each other intently.
"I told you because I need you to know that, no matter what happens, you're safe with me. Don't be afraid to tell me if you get triggered or uncomfortable. Don't . . . don't just go along because you think you have to hide anything from me," Olivia explained. "I can't have that over my head, Amanda. I won't. I refuse to hurt you."
"Thank you," she whispered with a small smile.
Rollins' blue eyes searched the brown of Olivia's, so touched and yet, so bewildered at how much had happened in the four years that had emptied from her head. The more they talked, the more she wanted that time back. She wanted the triumphs and the change and the memories. But somehow, she knew that the relationship between herself and Olivia would not be – was not – the same in that reality. The thought of losing what they had been through, what she felt now for the older woman, left her feeling anxious and melancholy.
.
.
Vince and Rhoda did not return, however, the rest of that day or into the night. It wasn't until mid-morning the following day that they saw either of them again, when Rhoda came tottering in with a breakfast tray.
She set it down on the chair, which was just where she had left it. Looking over at her two captives, she nodded at them, but her eyes were vacant.
"Rhoda?" Liv said as the woman was going back to the door. She stopped and turned those empty eyes back toward them. "Would you . . . do you want to stay with us? We could talk while we eat."
She seemed to consider it, glancing thoughtfully back out into the rest of the house.
"As long as it won't upset Vince," Rollins added, watching Rhoda carefully.
"He's not – " she mumbled, then cleared her throat, "he's at work."
Liv got up from the bed and retrieved the tray. "Pull up a chair," she told Rhoda brightly, "if you want."
After hesitating another long moment, Rhoda stepped in and shut the door behind her. She dragged the chair closer to the bed, then took a seat and crossed her arms over her chest awkwardly. She watched them, looking over what was for breakfast and deciding who would eat what.
Liv wanted information, but she didn't want to jump in as though interrogating, so she said nothing until the food was organized between herself and Amanda. Biting into a banana, she asked, "How did you meet Vince?"
"Met 'im when I was nursing."
"Did you nurse close to here?"
"Naw. Not here."
"In Michigan?"
Rhoda narrowed her gaze. "Far from here."
"Is he your husband?" Rollins asked.
"Christ, no," Rhoda snorted.
Liv and Amanda exchanged a look and chewed slowly, thinking. It was Olivia who finally asked a more direct question. "What is it, exactly, that Vince is trying to teach you?"
It made Rhoda stiffen and blush faintly. Immediately, she dropped her eye contact. "He wants me to . . . " she gestured, but indistinctly, "be . . . normal."
"Normal?" Liv furrowed her brows.
"Like, better." Liv held back, tipped her head, still watching her as she chewed on toast. "I – I uh, I've never been so good, with – with men. He says I need help; that he wants me to learn."
The answer staggered both women on the bed, and not just for the obvious reason. Blinking with surprise, Amanda tucked her hair behind her ears and cleared her throat. "I – I don't mean anything by this, but . . . how does watching two women fit with his plan?"
"It's not usually two women. Usually it's not even two people," Rhoda explained. She took a deep breath, letting ig out as a sigh, then got up from the chair and crossed to the window. "You two were just some . . . big stroke of luck, for him." She gazed out on the smooth, deep snow, her gaze far off, glazed.
"So how is it usually?" Liv asked, trying not to cross a line that would make the woman shut down.
"Usually it's just one woman at a time. Vince does 'em. Makes me watch . . . sometimes makes me join in. He says it's training."
"Training?" Liv echoed. "For sex?"
"I can only get . . . " she stopped, balled her hands into fists, frustrated. "I only . . . " she gestured again, at herself, then at the world outside the window, "with women! Vince says he can teach me how to enjoy it with men, instead."
Amanda was gaping in disbelief, and snapped her mouth shut as Rhoda turned back to them.
"That's why he's so pleased about finding you two. It turns me on better . . . gives him more to work with." Their breakfast was pretty much done, except for some weak instant coffee, and Rollins kept her eyes on the tray as she absorbed what Rhoda was trying to say. "It always ends the same way, though," she said hollowly.
She crossed back to the bed, stacking empty dishes. She wouldn't meet their eyes again as she picked up the tray and said: "Now he wants to fix you, too."
.
.
A bell over the door jingled when Carisi and Fin entered the car rental company. It was like a million other car rental places: clean, boring, and quiet. A TV mounted up high on a corner shelf was murmuring a soap opera into the lobby. There was nobody behind the counter. Fin tapped the bell for service as Carisi perused the tourism pamphlets along the wall.
"Hey – did you know the windmill in Holland, Michigan, is the only authentic Dutch windmill operating in the US?" Carisi said, holding up a flyer.
"Yeah? I'll come back and see it right after they get some clean water to the people livin' in Flint," Fin replied. He smacked the bell again. "Hello? Anybody workin'?!"
Finally, a man appeared from out back, grinning apologetically as he wiped his hands on a mechanic's oil rag.. "Sorry! Sorry, gentlemen, it gets hard to hear the bell back there with all the machinery going."
"Maybe you should consider gettin' a front desk person," Fin offered.
"It's on the top of the list, as soon as business picks up!" he said brightly. "My name's David Pelley. What can I do for you folks?"
Fin briefly showed his badge, then pulled up a picture on his phone. "You rent a car to these two women, 'bout four days ago?"
David squinted at the picture. "Uh – yeah. Yeah, the brunette signed the paperwork. It was a, uh – a Mazda 3; new compact sedan."
"You get it back yet?" Carisi asked.
"No, Sir, the rental was for seven days."
"Did they seem okay? When they came in, I mean – were they alone, did they seem nervous or in a hurry?" Fin probed.
"Not that I recall," the man shook his head. "It was just the two of them. Other than tired, and cold, they were just another rental."
"We're gonna need to see the rental contract," Fin told him. He sighed, thinking, while the man went to a nearby filing cabinet. After a moment, David handed him the forms. "Do you use a tracking system for your rentals, or log them on a GPS?"
"Too small of an operation for that. Sorry fellas." He shrugged, "The new Mazda they're in has a nav system on board, but they were the first to rent it, so I didn't have time to tinker with any programming. Are those two ladies alright?"
"We're not sure." Fin slid his card across the counter. "If you hear from them, you give us a call," he told him.
"Of course," David nodded. Fin and Carisi turned to go out the same way they came. "Have a good day, now," the man called after them.
The bell jangled as the pneumatic door pulled shut, the man watching Fin and Carisi crossing the parking lot. Looking down at the business card on the formica counter, he could read Manhattan Special Victims Unit. The friendly smile slipped off his face, one side at a time.
That was when Vince realized he'd have to go back to the car in the snowbank.
TBC
A/E N: Just a couple things – 1) that fact about Holland, Michigan is true, 2) the Flint water crisis started in 2014, so that reference is correct per time period.