Dirt in the Carpet

Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you so much for your comments and follows! I really appreciate all of you! Please feel free to drop a comment and let me know what you like about this story or any other thoughts you may have. If you would like to connect via social media, my Instagram/twitter is faceinbud.

Here is the final chapter! Hope you like it!

I need to add both a disclaimer that I do not own SVU or its characters and a trigger warning for non-detailed discussion of kidnapping and rape.

"It's barely seven a.m," Amanda muttered to herself about a week later when an abrupt knock on her apartment door forced her to fully wake up earlier than she'd planned to. It had been another night of watching the time on her cell phone change at an achingly slow pace. Seconds were not supposed to last that long. Billie was a relatively good sleeper at this point, so it was the detective's own fault she'd only gotten three hours of sleep.

"Who that?" Mason questioned as the cop rose from her seat at the kitchen table.

Jesse directed him back to his abandoned pancake, even sneakily pouring some more syrup on it. "It's work," the little blonde surmised as her mother opened the door. "Eat your food," she commanded, before turning to Billie in her highchair and nudging a few large chunks of banana in her direction.

Amanda opened the door to find Olivia standing on the other end. "Captain," the younger woman greeted in surprise, genuine panic setting in. It was only seven. What time was she due at the precinct? Did she have to be in court? Would an angry Carisi be moments behind Benson? She didn't think she had the strength to deal with both of them. "Am I…uh," she spluttered, "am I late?"

"Oh, no, Amanda," the brunette instantly assured her subordinate, her brow raising in speculation as she observed the other woman heave an exaggerated sigh of a relief. "I didn't mean to scare you." There had been a time, not too long ago, that the idea of being late wouldn't have caused a ball of nausea to roll its way up her esophagus. In Atlanta, she often ducked in at the very last minute, something she did purposefully to avoid every male commanding officer. And all of her commanding officers were male. It was usually counterproductive, as the write up or verbal reprimand that would follow often required prolonged contact with the men who made her uncomfortable—the type of discomfort that spreads from your toes to your stomach to your throat, the tips of your fingers, and even your ears, the hair on each goose-bumped piece of skin standing tall in alert. Amanda used to try to be late. And it was a habit that took some time to let go of. But as she learned that what she generally received upon arriving late in New York was a concerned look and worried eyes—Olivia Benson's eyes when they looked at you like that were something to behold—she concluded that it was just easier to report to work on time, lest she fall victim to those eyes. Sometimes she thought it would be easier to take Patton's wandering eyes than Liv's gentle ones. At least Patton's were predictable, and she knew she could survive it.

Shake it off, Rollins.

"I just thought you and I could get some coffee before we all meet in the bullpen." The offer was innocent enough, but Amanda knew what was behind those unassuming orbs. Benson had no doubt been compiling her list of therapists, and today she wanted to share what she had found.

Amanda rattled off the first excuse that occurred to her. "Sienna isn't here yet, Liv," she feigned disappointment, opening the door slightly further to present the evidence of three children, all of whom would be left unattended if the detective went with her boss for coffee.

As soon as Jesse laid eyes on Olivia, she leapt from her chair and launched herself into the woman's arms. "Olivia!"

The blonde watched as the two collided, the captain lifting the little girl from the ground and giving her a hug. "Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"

"Uh huh!" Mason's attention was garnered by the commotion, Frannie was barking, and even Billie began squirming excitedly as she palmed banana in each hand. Everyone in this house was excited to see Olivia Benson.

And Amanda would be lying if she had claimed the other woman didn't have a similar effect on her. Having a friend was uncomfortable, and she didn't know if she'd ever get used to being held accountable in a gentle way, but she knew the fate of her morning was sealed as soon as her daughter had laid eyes on the brunette. "You're welcome to have some pancakes with us, and then we can go once Sienna gets here."

"That sounds great."

Once Sienna arrived, Amanda kissed each child and grabbed her bag, exiting the apartment with Olivia. Soon, they entered a local coffee shop, quickly emerging with their drinks. "It's colder than I expected," she commented as they walked back out into the crisp morning. Rollins was grateful to "ten minutes ago Amanda" for thinking to bring a sweater. Sometimes, she told herself, she had her shit together.

"One of the two reasons I thought coffee might be a good idea," Liv explained, pulling her own sweater tighter around her body.

Rollins turned to look at her captain as she led them down the street. "And the other reason?" She wrapped her lips around the lid of the warm cup, appreciating the initial burn of the liquid and sighing as the aromatic beverage settled over her senses and trailed a blazing path down her throat. Amanda knew why her boss had arranged this coffee date, and though she was beginning to believe that the older woman did indeed enjoy her company, this morning absolutely had another purpose.

Olivia knew her detective would prefer to skip the pleasantries. She sighed heavily before taking a sizable gulp of her coffee. "Her name is Jennifer Pittman, and she's a LCSW, a Licensed Clinical—"

"—Social Worker, I know," Amanda finished, chucking her still half-empty (half-full?) cup of coffee into a nearby trashcan as they strode down the city block. The last thing a woman who struggled to keep her heartrate below one hundred beats per minute for longer than a few seconds at a time needed was a stimulant. "I've met plenty of social workers in my day, trust."

"I've referred lots of survivors to her. She has almost twenty years' experience, and I think she'd be a good match for you."

"Oh, God, Liv." She let her fingers massage still sleepy eyelids as she grimaced, willing this moment to be nothing but yet another intrusive thought. Not that those were enjoyable, but at least they ended.

Benson knew that the process of selecting and then going to see a therapist would be difficult for Amanda, but she hadn't imagined just how overwhelmed she would feel. She reached out to comfort her before pulling her arm back. She realized that she had no idea what was actually upsetting the woman that walked next to her, and touching her could make it worse. Liv never wanted to take her choice away. "What? What's wrong, 'Manda?"

"It just feels like GA, goin' in to see a trauma therapist—'Hi, I'm Amanda, and I'm a rape victim.' I don't think I can do that, Captain. I don't think I can say the words out loud, even now."

A proud smile played on Olivia's lips as Amanda spoke to her. She was capable of more than she realized. "You just did."

Rollins shook her head. Olivia didn't get it. This didn't count. Anything she said to her boss didn't count. The safety that surrounded the longtime SVU cop in an aura of light didn't exist anywhere else. It wasn't naturally occurring in any other environment. Even with twenty years' experience, this Jennifer Pittman person wasn't Oliva. She wasn't a vacuum cleaner, Amanda thought, chuckling at herself. "Yeah, but not like—like, for real." And there she was, just looking at her again. Amanda swore, if she didn't know any better, she would have assumed she had something in her teeth. "I couldn't admit it in therapy, I don't think." Not to someone that wasn't Olivia, the blonde wisely decided to keep to herself.

"That's part of the process, yes, but no sexual assault specialist is going to force you to put any labels on your trauma, certainly not to start off with." When she didn't reply, Liv looked up to see they were arriving at the station. "Look," she said, though it didn't sound like an order, "I'm not asking you to see this person every week for the rest of your life. I'm asking for you to go to one appointment. One," she stressed. "And I will sit in the waiting area, and I will hold space for you in any way you need me to. You're one of the most compassionate detectives I've ever met." Amanda knew Olivia had no idea what kind of weight a statement like that held, but the blonde was almost breathless for a few moments, grateful that the other woman resumed speaking after an extended pause, her way of letting her words set in. "You deserve the compassion you afford every other survivor. You deserve to heal. But I know you well enough to say with absolute certainty that if left to your own devices, you would take all of this—all of your dirt—to the grave. I can't in my right mind let you do that. You deserve better, Amanda."

Amanda absorbed her boss's words, aware beyond any shadow of a doubt that no one had ever spoken to her with so much respect in her entire life. Benson actually admired her, and the blonde felt like she could live a thousand lifetimes and never truly understand why. "I…" She wasn't sure what she could say that would adequately express her feelings in the moment. Her and Olivia had so much in common. Turbulent childhoods. Single motherhood. They were both survivors in one way or another. They both saw the worst of humanity day in and day out, and they went home to the best of it. There was a connection there, an empathy. And though neither woman really knew what it meant, they were each desperate to hold on to it. Because lonely was the worst thing to be in this world.

"All I want," the older woman concluded, "is for you to read her webpage. Really think about it," she implored, giving Amanda those eyes again, "and then tell me yes or no. I'm more than willing to respect your answer, whatever it is."

Amanda didn't think she'd ever feel ready to return to therapy, but she trusted Olivia with her life. She had never steered her wrong, and even if she wasn't sure things would get better, the blonde knew that she wasn't doing so well at the moment, and something needed to change.

Later that night, as she cuddled with Noah prior to bedtime, Benson received a text. It said only, "Yes."

On the day of her appointment, Olivia picked her up in the morning. The plan was to go straight to work after, but Liv had scheduled Fin as well as Kat in order to ensure they would have enough manpower even if Amanda didn't feel up to enveloping herself in SVU after her first therapy session.

Amanda's leg bounced anxiously in the waiting room, her fingers playing absently with each other. When she was called back, the younger woman's heart leapt into her throat and her vision blurred. "Bucci's in Rikers," she whispered to herself, probably looking like a crazy person. Still, she said it again. "Bucci's in Rikers."

"Hi, Amanda. I'm Jen," a friendly woman greeted, reaching out to shake the cop's hand. "Do you want to come back with me?"

She looked at Olivia, the woman offering her an encouraging smile. Amanda prepared herself to answer a shit ton of yes or no questions as she nodded, the hallmark of this kind of therapy being giving power to the survivor. "Would you prefer I closed the door or left it open?" the therapist asked calmly when they arrived to what was likely her office.

"Oh—o-open," she stuttered, realizing she did indeed have a preference. Maybe Olivia would be able to hear her calling for help if the door remained open.

They went through introductions quickly, and Amanda could tell that Jen was extremely talented when it came to building rapport with clients, and it occurred to the blonde that had she been any other client, she would have melted into the relaxed atmosphere of the room. But why did she feel the need to fight so hard? Why did every kindness feel like a trick? Life was one big quid-pro-quo for Amanda. She didn't deserve anything unless she gave something in return. In Jen's office, though, it didn't feel that way. She knew the social worker wouldn't ask her to get into the nitty gritty immediately, and this would likely be their easiest session together, but the fact that Amanda was even thinking about having another session spoke volumes. Maybe there was more than one vacuum cleaner in the world. Maybe she just needed to be open to it.

But Lord, was she tired by the end of the hour, the urge to retreat into her cocoon returning. "It's gonna take more than one session, 'Manda," she heard the voice in her head remind her. This time, though the southern drawl behind the words remained, she also registered compassion, empathy, and understanding.

It was her own voice.

The brunette greeted her in the lobby, standing up to assess her detective's body language and overall status. "Hey, how'd it go?"

"Oh, it was fine." Amanda prepared to maintain the status quo, to go about business as usual.

"Emotion is weakness," Beth Ann's incessant southern drawl fought back with a condescending click of the tongue. "Be careful, Mandy Jo. No one out there genuinely gives a rat's behind about you," the voice continued.

When Olivia expected more, the younger woman let strands of yellow hair conceal the blush on her face. It felt like everyone in her life either looked at her like she was going to break or like they wanted to be the one to break her. The appointment had actually gone well, better than Amanda had expected, but she didn't want to get her hopes up for further sessions (and more, she didn't want to get Liv's hopes up), so she toned down her optimism, settling for a noncommittal response. "Therapy is therapy, I guess," she shrugged, her blue eyes downcast in avoidance of the captain's insistent and compassionate gaze.

Olivia saw right through the façade, as she always did, but where Amanda expected to find judgement, she found understanding. A careful hand came to rest on her shoulder, and Amanda couldn't resist meeting deeply feeling chocolate orbs any longer. It was like magic. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's gonna take more than one session," the voice inside her mind repeated, shushing Mama Rollins's attempt to be heard louder than the detective's own intuition. The blonde sighed, and she resigned herself to the fact that the decision to speak had been made for her, something that ordinarily would have had her reduced to a panicking blob on the floor. But with Olivia, what as a general rule felt like a forceful squeeze, a malevolent power invading the recesses of her mind, now felt like a gentle coaxing, a respectful longing, a whisper carrying with it the promise of unimaginable grace.

Vroom, vroom.

A/N: I really hope you enjoyed this story! I just posted the last chapter of In the First Degree, so if you haven't read that story yet, I encourage you to do so. It's my favorite thing I've ever, ever written.

As for what I'm writing next, I plan on posting a series of one-shots that exist in the In the First Degree universe (things like Amanda going to therapy, the day they first met the twins, Olivia finding out about Alex, etc.) So if you're interested in that, please feel free to make requests. The other thing is I have an idea for an Alex/Olivia centric story that would take place around the episode "Guilt" in season 3, so let me know if you're interested in that idea. In the meantime, if you haven't read Something Good and its one-shots yet, that's also an option.

I would love to hear your final thoughts about this story.

All the thanks in the world,

Gabby