A/N: I've been struggling with writing after Thursday's episode. It was just so sad and painful. But I'm back with a new chapter, and I hope you like it! (I know the slow burn is frustrating af)
TW for this chapter: Mentions of rape/violence.
…
CHAPTER 5
Ok, so there's flirting. And then there's flirting.
The first; The lazy and cheap, but classic version, is the kind that made her end up with some guy named Darrell or Rick the night before.
The "is this seat taken?" kind of flirting. The kind that doesn't really require any sort of effort, doesn't make you sweat and that certainly doesn't cause any butterflies. Or whatever it is you're supposed to call it when you've passed 30.
It's just a few lines, a smile, a tilt of the head, some innocent touching that definitely isn't innocent, not really. And then usually, sex. At the very least some tongue and meaningless grinding. There are exceptions of course, where the main goal isn't physical. But there's always a main goal, one way or the other.
She knows all about that kind of flirting. Watched it unfold on the small television in her bedroom as a kid. Later on, as a teenager she observed and studied how her mother did it. Copy, and paste.
It's the kind of flirting that has gotten her both in and out of trouble. Sometimes similar to the way she'll coax a perp to slip up, and give her what she needs. And other times, usually in a dark and crowded bar, just for the hell of it.
And sometimes, it's a bitter tasting quid pro quo. The kind of flirting that smells like whiskey, looks like a worn down motel room, and sounds like a thick, southern drawl. The kind that isn't flirting at all, but something else entirely.
But then there's this.
Something so foreign to her that she's not even sure if she fully understands the concept.
It's the way Olivia laughs, and bumps her knee into hers when she shifts on the couch, while she's left wondering if it's intentional or not.
It's the way their hands touch when they both reach out to grab another spring roll. And even though it's just a split second, that touch still manages to spread through her body and settle in places that makes her blush.
It's the way she hears herself giggle at something without actually knowing what's funny. It just is. Because it's her.
See, this kind of flirting she knows very little about.
Sure, there's been something resembling feelings before, somewhere hidden in her past.
But she has always managed to stay in somewhat control. Deciding when to act, when not to act. When to make a move, and when to keep silent and still.
And if she's being honest with herself, she can't even tell if those were real feelings. Or just, like, some sad appreciation of being noticed or taken care of when she needed more than a warm body against her own.
But now? This? No, this is uncharted territory. Like her first weeks in New York, alone in this massive city. When nothing made sense and she perfected the art of walking around with her head held high, all while shrinking on the inside.
When everyone she encountered was just another stranger, and the only comfort that these unfamiliar streets provided, was the fact that she wasn't in Atlanta anymore.
No, nothing about this makes sense.
First, because she's never felt this way about a woman. There's been a sense of attraction, yes. There's even been a few (drunken) kisses. But not like this. Never all consuming like this.
Second, because less than twenty four hours ago, she was more or less wholly convinced that this woman on her couch genuinely didn't like her. She wanted her to, and damn, did she try, but there was always that underlying inkling of not really being welcomed, of being an annoyance, an inconvenience.
Third, because… well, because what if she's wrong?
What if this isn't flirting at all.
It's just so very, painfully likely that she's imagining it. That she feels like this, because she feels like this. And because this is the first time she's seen this side of Olivia; Relaxed, almost content. As if the woman sitting next to her hasn't witnessed the worst life has to offer, seen the unspeakable, and the ugliest aspects of this world.
Here, tonight, she's just… Liv.
Gone is the badge and the gun and that whole armor she usually wears. Gone is that authoritarian tone in her voice, and those dark and solemn eyes. Even her blazer is gone; Thrown over the armrest, and leaving her in a simple, white shirt that hugs her chest in a way that forces Amanda to not. look. down.
Distractions aside, emotional and physical, it's not that she has forgotten about the reason they're here. Why they're sitting in her living room on a Sunday night at 10 pm, sharing takeout and beer and stories from their times as students and rookies, even a few stories from their childhood years.
But it's as if someone, or both of them, pulled a switch when they moved from the kitchen. Leaving behind whatever it was that gave Olivia that pale expression, eyes flickering uncharacteristically as she clearly tried to avoid and dodge Amanda's questions.
Leaving behind a conversation that feels important, almost essential, if she truly wants to know and understand this woman (who by the way just bumped into her with a knee again).
Maybe she could've pressed more, pushed more, when they were standing there face to face. But then again, while Amanda might not understand the concept of this kind of flirting, of feeling like this, she does however know a thing or two about hiding aspects of your past that feels too painful to shed any light on.
So she, or they, dropped it instead, and suddenly they were just two women, looking for a small window of air and comfort, maybe even something that resembles fun.
(Well, as much fun as it's possible to have when you're supposed to be investigating a case that gives you the creeps. Oh, and when you're not entirely sure if you have feelings for the person sitting two feet away.)
Either way, she can't deal with the latter right now. So she opts for the case instead. It might give her the creeps, but at least it's her area of expertise.
"Ok, ok-" She says, still chuckling after listening to Olivia tell a very interesting story about Munch and one of his many ex wives. "Be honest with me- How much trouble are we in for doing this?"
"Well-" Olivia sighs, glancing down at the notebook that they still haven't moved from its spot on the floor. "We're not losing our jobs…"
It's not lost on her how the other woman seems to drag the words out, making her nod along before she finishes the sentence for her. "But he's gonna yell."
"He's gonna yell." The brunette confirms as their eyes meet again.
"For what it's worth-" Amanda continues, adding a crooked smile. "I'd do it again, if it means that we can help someone."
"I'll drink to that." Olivia responds, clinking their bottles together.
And they do, drink to that.
And maybe it's the silence created then, that reminds them they have actual work to do, making them share a knowing look before Olivia turns and bends down to reach their stolen evidence.
(And if Amanda notices how that white shirt glides up a little, revealing bare skin underneath, that's strictly a coincidence.)
"Let's do this." Olivia says, her voice and body language determined as she places the journal between them. But her resolve dwindles down as quickly as it appeared because now she's looking down at the book like it's some kind of insect she'd rather not touch.
"Listen, Liv, if this is-" Amanda starts, pausing to chew down on her lip when her brain interrupts. Don't say "too much". She'll hate that. "I can read it." She says instead. "If you don't want to."
She takes a sip of the beer, waits, but for what she's not sure. For Olivia to lash out? For her defensive walls to come up again?
Instead, there's a glimmer of vulnerability in the brunette's expression, almost like a silent acknowledgment that maybe Amanda's offer is for the best.
"You can read it out loud." She mumbles, nodding towards the book. "Focus on the parts that you think are important."
Giving a simple nod in return, Amanda empties her bottle before clearing her throat, shifting to get settled with the black leather secured in her lap.
…
February 10th, 2011.
I've been sitting here for two hours now, staring at two things: This book, and my gun.
"All you have to do is keep your mouth shut." He told me.
If only it was that simple. I've been keeping my mouth shut, but I've been doing so much more than that.
And I don't know if I can take it anymore.
…
April 22nd, 2011.
The gun is still here.
But so am I.
I went to see her today. Told her just a few months more and I'll get her into a better home. Where she can get the treatment she needs and deserves.
She asked me how I'm able to pay for it.
If she knew the truth, she'd probably rather see me dead.
The gun is still here.
…
June 29th, 2011.
Today was bad.
Fight broke out in the cafeteria, and he made me take one of the girls down to solitary.
She wasn't even the one who started it. He just wanted her. Been staring at her for weeks now, and I should've seen it coming. I should've done more to protect her.
I tried to shut it all out, told myself I'm just doing my job while guarding the door.
I really should go see mom again, but I don't know if I can face her right now.
…
October 14th, 2011.
Finally got her settled into her new home. It's so much brighter, better. I know a lot of the damage has already been done, and that she will never fully recover. But at least she'll be comfortable now, and she can stay comfortable while I find a way out of this godforsaken place.
Was it worth it? I don't know.
I'm already looking for a new job.
…
December 6th, 2011.
Had my fifth job interview today. I think I came off as too anxious.
I don't know.
If I didn't need the money to pay for her bills, I'd just leave everything. I'd rather live on the streets than do this.
But I'm doing it for her.
…
December 9th, 2011.
I didn't get the job.
…
January 1st, 2012.
I was supposed to spend last night with mom, but I ended up taking the night shift instead.
I knew it was gonna be one of those shifts when I saw him. The way he grinned and called out "Happy New Year". My new year started as I tried to shut out the screaming, loud at first until it turned into this frail sound, like a wounded animal, pleading for help.
The gun is back.
…
March 27th, 2012.
I'm in so much fucking trouble.
…
Flipping through the rest of the book, empty pages letting her know that she hasn't missed anything important, Amanda finally closes it slowly, glancing up at the other woman. "That's it."
"That's the last thing she wrote?" Olivia asks, pulling the book from Amanda's hands to read that last, short entry, lifting herself to stand as she flips back to the first page, now pacing back and forth.
Eyeing the other detective for a moment, Amanda finally joins her on the floor.
"Ok, so-" She starts, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What are we looking at here? Was she killed or did she kill herself?"
Olivia stops pacing then, looking up from the journal before leaving it on the kitchen counter.
"She was alive when she got to the hospital-" Olivia says, sounding like she's talking to herself more than anyone else. "She had a gun, she could've shot herself. Setting the apartment, herself, on fire?" She shakes her head, hands planted against her hips. "I doubt it."
"I agree." Amanda nods.
Mirroring the nod, the brunette starts moving again, brushing against Amanda as she walks past her. "Ok, so we can assume that she might've threatened to come clean about the abuse? Or maybe using it as blackmail to get more money?"
"Which she needed for whatever care her mother is getting." Amanda continues.
"So he shows up and kills her?" Olivia says, turning back towards the blonde. "Tries to set the apartment on fire to cover it up?"
Shrugging in response, Amanda moves to the fridge then, grabbing a bottle of water that she half empties before offering the rest to the other woman.
"Think he raped her?" She asks, using the back of her hand to wipe at the corner of her mouth.
"If he did-" Olivia answers, taking a chug of her own. "The case is ours either way. But we might not find out for sure."
"But shouldn't this be our case regardless?" Amanda presses, gesturing towards the journal as Olivia joins her in the kitchen, suddenly feeling the lack of sleep creep up on her, suspecting that the other woman feels it too. "I mean, the things she's writing about. These women are being raped as we spea-"
"I know, Rollins." The brunette interrupts, making Amanda flinch with the sudden shift in her tone; Bordering on cold, harsh.
"Sorry." Amanda hears herself mumble, looking down at the floor. "I know you know."
That familiar silence returns then. That tense, awkward silence that has lingered between them so many times before; In the break room, stuck in a car together during late night stakeouts. It's not new, but after tonight she might've hoped that it was something they had finally moved past.
"It's late." Olivia eventually says, leaning forward to place the water on the counter, closing some (a lot) of the distance between them when she does. "I should go."
She wants to keep her mouth shut, she really does, and she really tries, but still, Olivia's close proximity, the way she just announced her departure. There's something there. Something that feels strangely deliberate. So instead of keeping her mouth shut, she opens it instead.
"Liv, what happened with that case?" She asks, forcing herself to keep a steady voice, sounding much more confident than she feels. "The one you mentioned."
"Nothing." Comes the immediate response. And as much as she expected it, Amanda definitely isn't prepared for the blunt follow up. "What happened in Georgia?"
She gulps, hiding her reaction to the best of her abilities as she stands her ground, refusing to look away as Olivia's brown eyes seem to bore into hers.
"Nothing." She says, her jaw set, focusing mainly on not allowing any emotion to accidentally spill out. But if there's anything she wants right now, it's to react. Especially when Olivia takes another step towards her.
She wants to yell now, pull her closer, push her away, and christ, she wants to kiss her. She wants to kiss her and erase the last couple of minutes from her memory. Erase Atlanta from her memory. And maybe, erase something from Olivia's memory too.
It's only then, when her eyes land on Olivia's lips, that she realizes how exhausted she is, how blurred some lines have suddenly become. Because if this woman doesn't move soon, she might just lean in and-
"I'll see you tomorrow."
Olivia's voice might be lowered, flat, like her expression. And still, it feels like being struck across the face when she hears those words, forcing her to blink and straighten her shoulders.
Leaving Amanda alone in the kitchen and interrupting whatever this was, the brunette moves to the couch where she grabs her blazer. "Bring the notebook with you." She adds, nodding towards the counter.
And with that, Olivia is dressed and out of Amanda's apartment, neither of them quite sure how to explain what happened here tonight.
Or where to go from here.