Author's Note: Thank you SO much for all of the positive feedback on this story! I can't even express how grateful I am that people are actually emotionally invested in something I'm creating. I'm having so much fun; I can't believe I didn't start writing fanfiction sooner! I also promise to always be as quick to update as I possibly can-however-I am in nursing school, and sometimes, that takes precedence over writing. :( I do have a lot of ideas for the next couple of chapters, though, so hopefully I can find the time to write them this week! Thank you again, and I hope that you like this chapter. Xoxo
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The dusty, old-fashioned clock that is sitting un-hung and up against a wall on the counter in Amanda's undisturbed kitchen reads close to midnight, as the detective and her superior furiously stumble through the hefty apartment door. Olivia is essentially carrying Amanda in her arms at this point—after making a bargain with her, promising snacks—and having struggled greatly to get her limp body out of the car—and to pressure her into walking out of the parking garage and into the elevator. As soon as they bust through the stubborn entrance of Amanda's one-room apartment, and the soles of their slush-covered shoes touch the hardwood floor of the living room, Amanda gradually slides out of Olivia's arms and droops down to contort her body into a puddle on the ground. Frannie has already awoken out of her lonely, peaceful slumber, and hurries to greet her sloppy owner with a stroke of her sloppy, wet tongue. Amanda remains undisturbed by her loyal companion's welcoming; Olivia shakes her head in response, rustling the wavy, brown locks, and lifts a foot over her drunken subordinate to switch on a dim light.
"Okay, 'Manda," Olivia prods, now crouched low to the ground next to Amanda, seeking direct access into the detective's small ear. "C'mon, sweetheart," she adds, allowing the pet name to slip out of her mouth without a second thought, secure in the fact that the younger woman is indeed far from consciousness. She gently shakes Amanda's limber, bony shoulders in an attempt to wake her from the dead, but is met only with a throaty grumble and a slew of some choice words uttered from the small detective's mouth.
Frannie, who is anxiously awaiting her owner's attention, attempts to help Olivia awake her sleepy master by barking lightly and pawing at her arm. Now feeling nothing short of totally overwhelmed, Olivia decides to take three deep breaths—as suggested by Dr. Lindstrom—and consequently breathes out heaps of carbon dioxide over Amanda's flaccid body. The deep breathing instantly relaxes her, and she further resolves to drown out the yaps and drift off into her own mind. The older, now more calm lieutenant quickly realizes that her brain is in an endless loop, constantly replaying the words Amanda so carelessly uttered right before her cheek plopped against the icy car window and she passed out: "anything you want, Liv...you can do anything you want to me."
"What the hell does that even mean?" the older woman internally demands, now fully immersed in the depths of her subconscious yearnings. "We've barely even scratched the surface as friends…why would she assume I would even WANT to do anything to her? Is this what she means by 'demons?' Does Rollins like women? DO I like women?"
The baffled brunette is harshly interrupted by a very restless dog, whom she can only assume is eager for attention, and, perhaps, in need to relieve herself. She verbally questions Frannie if she needs to go "potty," and her overzealous response only confirms her suspicion.
As Olivia hoists Amanda up from the now-dirtied ground, she is conscious to press all of the weight into her legs and NOT her back. The veteran cop remembers learning this tip in the police academy several years ago, relying on it on a daily basis while catching perps. A tinge of nostalgia overcomes the older woman as she remembers her younger years, when she was naïve, optimistic, and definitely more open. Olivia is nearly screaming in agony as she positions the younger woman, whose limbs are inevitably splayed out all over into a jumbled mess, onto the couch—the place where she expects Amanda to retire for the night. Olivia stands in front of the piece of furniture for a moment, seriously wondering how such a tiny woman could weigh so much. "Jesus Christ, I'm getting too old for this shit," she shamelessly mutters aloud this time, as she simultaneously massages a hand into the small of her already-aching back.
Olivia takes a step back and reaches a hand into the pocket of her coat that she has yet to take off, grabs her phone, and opens the flashlight app on the device. She creeps around the shadowy apartment to find Frannie's leash, which is, much to her surprise, actually placed atop a hook on an organized rack next to the front door. Olivia ponders this strange occurrence: Amanda doesn't seem like she would have any aspects of a Type-A personality, but the orderly items prove otherwise. Frannie is now giddy with enthusiasm, impressively jumping up so high that she can reach Olivia's shoulders, and subsequently places a kiss on her cheek when she realizes she is about to be taken outside.
After Olivia and her new furry friend have engaged in some unexpected bonding, Olivia is determined to be as quiet as possible as they sneak back into the living room of Amanda's apartment; she is now unwilling to engage in any more drama for the evening. She does wonder, however, if she should be at liberty to decide where she is going to sleep. Amanda is taking up the entire couch; she definitely can't leave the younger woman alone, and she doesn't feel that it would be appropriate to sleep in her subordinate's bed, especially without her permission. As the canine and lieutenant make their way back into the living room of the apartment, Olivia decides that she will steal some pillows and a blanket off of Amanda's bed, and crash on the floor next to the couch for the night. Before this thought is fully finished, Olivia sees that Amanda remains as undisturbed as she was when Frannie licked her face; her limbs are now gathered close to her trunk as she rests tranquilly, a heavy snore flowing out of her stuffy sinuses. The brunette feels a rush of relief as she finally loosens the belt of her coat and slips her booties off.
With the flashlight still illuminating from her iPhone, Olivia quietly journeys a few feet over to the kitchen. She cracks open a cupboard that is next to another systematized setting containing Frannie's food and water dishes. She winces at the sound made by her own hands unfolding the bag of dog food, as she places bits of kibble into Frannie's dish. She unloads the kibble only a handful at a time, in lieu of making too much noise. A nearly inaudible sigh of respite escapes from her parted lips when she notes that Frannie still has some water in the other bowl. As soon as the sigh has exited the older woman's mouth, she hears a rustle coming from the couch; shoulders instantaneously tensing in response as she swings her head around and is greeted with the sight of Amanda's head popping up from beneath the fuzzy blanket she had placed atop of her before she took Frannie outside.
Amanda is an utter mess, both metaphorically and literally; blonde strands of hair are sticking up in all directions, the bags under her eyes have tinted into a deep purple color, there is dried drool resting on each side of her lips, and her already-wrinkled shirt has gravitated to the side of her shoulder, revealing just a little too much.
"Hey, sleepyhead," Olivia remarks cautiously, attempting to assess the younger woman's mood.
"Liv? Where…are we? How d-did I get here? Where's my F-Frannie?" immediately splays from the younger woman's mouth, hiccups intercepting every other word or so.
The brunette gracefully walks toward the blonde, and gently motions for her to make some room on the couch. Olivia speaks in a lull, soothing whisper: "Honey, we're at your place. I drove home—you're safe—Frannie is safe and taken care of—I was just about to head to bed myself."
Nodding in sheepish understanding, Amanda tries to stand up, before she loses her balance and topples down onto the older woman's lap. "Hey there, take it easy," the older woman lightly chastises, "you need to get some rest yourself," she adds, as she rubs a couple of fingers through Amanda's greasy hair; her vacant hand stroking along the younger woman's back. Amanda lets out a slight moan at this rare touch from her superior, which promptly sends Olivia into a downward spiral.
"Okay," Amanda mutters in response, "let's go."
"What?" Olivia genuinely inquires.
"Let's goooo…to bed," the detective slurs. "Duh. Can you help me? I'm having…uhh..some trouble…standing up…"
Confused, the older woman tenderly replies, "Amanda, I figured you would stay on the couch tonight…I was just going to sleep on the floor next to you."
Amanda is aghast. "Livvy! No! Why would you do that?"
"Why not?" Olivia chuckles in guilt, "the beds in the crib are way worse than a hardwood floor, anyways—and I've slept in those more times than I can count."
Immediately, Amanda starts to tear up; she rapidly flutters her eyelashes in an embarrassed response, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay.
"'Manda, honey, what's wrong?" Olivia questions, grasping her emotional detective in an even-tighter grip.
"Livvy…I'm drunkkk…I'm so…embarrassed…" she continues, tears falling in rivulets down her cheeks, not even bothering to fight against them anymore.
"Can you just sleep in my bed with me?" she softly asks her boss—definitely crossing a line—blue orbs gazing romantically into Olivia's milk chocolate eyes.
A victim to the heat of the moment, and against her better judgment, Olivia complies.
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As they are drifting off to sleep, both pairs of eyelids now heavy with fatigue, and with Amanda wrapped tightly in her arms, Olivia finds the hysterics of this Saturday finally starting to catch up to her. She mentally notes that she had been so distracted earlier—immediately shifting into gear and unconsciously channeling her inner caretaker as soon as she realized Amanda wasn't okay—that she has just begun to notice that it's the middle of the night, and she is at Amanda's apartment. Even worse, she is in her bed and spooning with the younger, drunk woman. Correction, she internally verbalizes—she is spooning with her younger, drunk, female subordinate—her younger, drunk, female subordinate, that she is, without a doubt, hopelessly attracted to.
As Olivia feels another panic attack materializing, and emotionally prepares to glide Amanda out of her own initiated embrace, completely engrossed in fear about what it means, the younger woman drunkenly attempts to utter a statement. Unfortunately, the statement comes out so inaudible and so muffled, due to the fact that her mouth is pressed up against Olivia's chest, that she has to work up the courage to ask Amanda to clarify.
"The…demons…" Amanda repeats.