Olivia
My mother's drinking rose to a critical point when I reached my teen years, at an age when I needed her acceptance and love the most, but also when I possessed the understanding of what had been my conception. Often, when I arrived home from school, she'd lock herself into her office, claiming papers needed grading or lessons needed planning, but it was a weak facade for the truth. Finding her passed out across the desk, I would gather her limp body in my arms and carry her up to bed. It was easy to feel pity for her then, when she was quiet and helpless. The regret of my anger towards her would flood over me, only to return the next day when she was lucid enough to blame me for things that were far outside of my fifteen year old hands.
Perhaps, it is the same with Amanda. I'd made myself a promise when I was holding her near lifeless body, but now mere hours later, when she's stared back at me, wondering at why I'd saved her, I've barely managed to stand by it.
Rushing past the nurses and visitors, I find my way to the elevator. I haven't fully conceptualized what I am going to do beyond this point, but the sole thought of escaping the irrational urges surging through my body drives me down towards the ground floor.
The elevator is full and I stand near the door, hands clenched into fists at my sides. My jaw aches from my teeth being clamped shut, but it's all I can do not to break down in tears. I've held my emotions under a tenuous control since the medics arrived to take Amanda to the hospital, and now, they are bursting forth, striving to break from my heart and through my mouth.
As soon as the doors slide open, I stride out into the lobby and towards the exit. As I rush through the door, I suck in a lungful of air, filled with the familiar scents of the city rather than the medicinal, sterile environment in the hospital.
I can still feel the warmth of her body beneath my hands, but when I close my eyes all I can see is her lying motionless beneath me. The image is haunting only mere hours after the incident, and I can hardly bear to think of how it will mutate with time. This is my future with her, forever wondering which time I hold her will be the last, gripped with the thought that if she did it once by accident that she could do it again, and much easier, with intent.
I come to a wobbling halt on the sidewalk, reaching out to grasp the side of the brick building as I attempt to breathe beyond the crushing weight of reality. Pressing my fingers to my eyes, I grind my teeth against tears even as the bloom beneath my fingertips.
My heart clenches in my chest with an almost physical ache as I imagine the moment of her escaping the grasp of this life, knowing that the pain will be greater should I love her this deeply to the very end. I've cut myself off so many times, only to return at her smallest whimper, but this time, I cannot withstand the agony, even with the guilt of abandoning her upon me.
Dragging my hand over my face, I push away from the wall, and stride into the parking lot, and towards the street. My squad car is still on the curb at Amanda's apartment, but it's the least of my worries. I know if I return to that place, what little function my mind still possesses will escape me.
Instead, I hail a cab and return to the precinct. At least there, I can pretend some sense of normalcy still exists - even if it's only in my head.
xxxxxx
Fin doesn't return to the precinct for several hours, and while typically, I would be frustrated with the lack of staff, I am almost grateful for the monstrous workload. Managing several responsibilities at once leaves no time for pondering, however, even the all consuming nature of my job cannot dull the guilt working its way through my body. I realize that I panicked inside the hospital room, triggered by memories of my mother and the similarities between my childhood and the present situation.
In many ways, I feel as if I no longer know Amanda, but beyond the grasp of the situation, I'm crushed with the desire to have the woman I once loved back - and with the understanding that I may have damaged that quest with my unbridled emotions. I wanted her to realize the serious implications of her overdose, but it pains me to think that Fin handled that conversation far better than me, someone who was her partner for two years.
How inadequate am I, trailed by my own trauma and lack of understanding?
When I notice Fin stepping off the elevator towards evening time, I can only regard him with apprehension. My heart cries out for any shred of good news, but also bitter with jealousy over their platonic connection. I begged with her for months to take control of her life, and if he has managed to make some better impression than me in a few sparse hours, I'm not sure as to how I will feel.
I'm sitting at his desk across from Nick where we are currently cross-referencing different databases with MOs as he approaches. I cast him a few quick glances, shifting in discomfort when I can't decipher his expression.
"Oh, hey, Fin, how's Amanda?" Nick asks, immediately as he draws close.
"She's doing better." Fin replies, his answer and tone neutral.
I glance away at the mention of her, ignoring every urge to demand every minute detail of their conversation. I flip through several mug shots, although the faces and features of the men on the screen hardly compute.
"Liv," Fin's voice catches my attention, leaving no room for me to disregard, "You got a minute?"
My stomach surges with dread as I glance up quickly to see him nodding towards my office, his expression insistent. At this point, I do not know what to expect from Amanda, and I have no way of knowing whether this conversation will be good or bad.
"Yeah, sure." I nod, standing from the desk, and spreading my hands over my thighs in a nervous gesture. "Nick, just let me know if you get anything."
"Sure thing, Sarg." He answers, easily, although his eyes follow me with weighty inquiry.
Turning quickly, I head towards the office, my head lowered. As soon as we are inside, I shut the door quickly and lean on it.
"Fin, if this is about Amanda -" I begin, shaking my head.
"You need to go talk to her." He cuts me off, immediately, despite my resistance.
"I know all I need to know." I whisper, glancing up at him despite the tears stinging my eyes. "She does not want my help."
"You came at her pretty hard, Liv." He says, his tone quiet against the harsh condemnation.
Pursing my lips against further emotion, I glance away for half a second.
"I know that." I reply at last in a rough whisper. "But, trust me, I have tried the gentle approach."
"This isn't about you, Liv." He replies at last.
Although his tone is far from condemning, I feel the sting of it nonetheless. I glance away quickly, swallowing every bitter word which lunges up upon my tongue. He doesn't know the months of agony in which I watched her slowly destroy herself, tearing us both to pieces from the inside out. He does not know the road to ruin which led us here, and the altar of sacrifice which I have laid my heart upon in order to save her. He doesn't know the half of it.
"You don't understand, Fin." I reply at last, my voice trembling beneath the tears. "This isn't the first time I've to help her... And I have failed. Every. Single. Time."
"Olivia…" He says, softly, stepping closer, "I already know you love her."
I snap my eyes towards him, sharply, glaring at him through glittering tears. I am not angry towards the fact that he is now aware of our previous relationship as the information is moot now; but the fact that Amanda spilled so much trust and truth upon him is a hard slap in my face. I've already suffered through the loss of her faith in me more than once, but it never hurts any less.
"She told you." I say at last, struggling to sear the exasperation from my voice as I drop my hand from the door and turn away.
"I don't think anyone needed to tell me, but yes." He replies, watching me with a deep frown as I pace away from him.
Wandering towards the desk, I lean against it and rub one hand over my face as if to wipe away the sting of tears.
"What else?" I ask, stiffly.
"She told me what happened between you two last night." He explains, although I can detect his paraphrasing their conversation.
"She was drinking on the job, Fin. What else was I supposed to do?" I snap, snatching my hand from my face in order to glare back at him. "I cannot treat her any differently than anyone else inside this precinct."
"Liv, I'm not blaming you, and I don't think Amanda is either." Fin cuts in to my desperate excuses. "You're not responsible for this."
The tightness in my throat clinches even harder at his words and I duck my face once more, pressing my hand to my chest to dull the convulsions of emotion there.
"How am I not?" I whisper at last.
"Look, Liv," He replies in a softer tone, "I've spent a lot of time around addicts, and I can tell you the same thing about all of them. They put the needle in their arm. They had that drink. You didn't make Amanda overdose."
"I was angry at her, Fin." I respond at last, feeling a tear slip from my eye. "After Nadari, I lost sight. I treated her with little regard for her best interests. That is no way to command."
Fin is quiet for a moment, and I know what he is thinking. We should have never become involved if we wanted to maintain any type of professional relationship. Romance has only ever served to harm my career when it comes to co-workers, and I should know better. He doesn't need to tell me, and I'm grateful that the words do not leave his mouth. I have blamed myself enough for ten people's accusations and perhaps he understands that.
"Nobody's perfect, Liv." He says at last. "Not you, and not Amanda. That's why I think you should go talk to her."
I shoot him a watery, apprehensive gaze with a low, skeptical scoff.
"Come on, you know I don't involve myself in other people's business, but this is serious." Fin insists. "She needs to know we haven't abandoned her."
I twist my fingers in my shirt collar, and clench my teeth against another rush of emotion at his plaintive plea. The word "abandoned" strikes a cord deep within me because I know that feeling all too well, and imagining Amanda lying in the hospital alone, imagining that I hate her, seizes me. In my heart, I know Fin is right. It would only be selfish of me to wallow in self pity while she faces what is tantamount to life or death.
"Okay…" I whisper at last. "I'll go."
xxxxxx
The Next Day
It's early morning, and the halls of Mercy General are quiet, save for the occasional nurse or visitor. I'm grateful for the lack of social interaction as I make my way towards Amanda's room with my head lowered. Remembering that my last walk down this path was one of escape, I feel ashamed.
After my conversation with Fin last night, I went home only to be plagued by nightmares of losing her before I ever had the chance to speak to her again. I awoke in a cold sweat, my heart hammering in my chest, nearly crying in relief when I realized the terrifying scenario was only a dream.
Now, only mere seconds from seeing her again, I can't help but feel anxiety grip me. Fin seems adamant that she desires my approval and comfort, but I can hardly imagine it after the previous week of punishment that I gave her. Perhaps it was more my own guilt that drove me from her room yesterday than fear or anger. Maybe it was all three.
Glancing up, I catch sight of her room, only yards away. My steps slow as I draw a deep breath, mustering my courage. As I draw close, I can see the interior of the room through the open door, and Amanda standing with her back turned next to the bed.
My heels click against the tile floor, catching her attention, although I would've wished for just one more moment of preparation, one more second to watch her, unnoticed. She turns, her expression a mixture of both surprise and apprehension. I realize what she may expect from me, and I can almost see the slightest flinch as our eyes meet.
"Hey," I say, softly, ignoring the dull ache that goes through my chest as I glance over her face and body language.
"Hey." She replies, before glancing back towards a duffel bag that she's packing on the bed. "I was just getting ready to check myself out of here."
Fin must have helped her with that. I think, glancing towards the bag. I could've done that…
"They're releasing you?" I say, ignoring the jealous and pathetic thought which skips through my mind, unchecked.
"Yeah…" Amanda replies, quietly, fidgeting with the strap of the bag. "My BAC is below the legal limit so I'm technically allowed to drive, but…."
Her voice trails off, a frown crossing her features. She glances away, and I can only wonder at her thoughts. Every part of me wants to jump to her assistance and offer to take her wherever she wants to go, but I came here with a purpose.
"Amanda…" I begin, her name breaching my lips with heavy purpose.
She glances up at me, her brow furrowing as if she's afraid of what I will say, and I rush to complete my omission.
"I came to apologize." I say, stepping further into the room, as her eyes dart across my expression, as if she searches for some trick within my words.
"For what?" She asks, with a quick shrug as she turns back towards the bag, using it to avoid eye contact.
"For leaving." I murmur, reaching out to touch her arm. "Yesterday was extremely shocking and stressful, and I didn't exactly know how to handle it."
My throat tightens at the feeling of her warm skin beneath my fingers, alive and flourishing with blood and oxygen. It is a relief in and of itself to feel her life force next to mine, and I'd be grateful, even if she yanks away from me - but she doesn't. She glances down at my arm, then up towards me slowly.
"I think we've both messed up." I continue, holding my tone steady despite the way I want to collapse as my gaze locks with her clear, cerulean one.
It's a relief to see her free of the alcohol's hold after the way that I found her. For several long hours I thought that my last memory of her would be our whiskey driven fight inside my office. Simply seeing her standing her is a blessing I hadn't fully appreciated yesterday, and I have to clear my throat to continue.
"I understand that I allowed our personal conflict to get in the way of our professional one, and I take responsibility for that-"
"Liv, stop." She cuts me off, quietly, her eyes darting from mine.
I halt, swallowing hard at the sadness in her tone. I can't sense animosity or rebellion, neither of the emotions that I have come to associate with our conversations, but her bleak tone is almost worse.
"Stop apologizing." She continues at last. "It's not your fault."
"Well, I could've handled the situation better." I begin, although I'm reeling at the meek tenor of her voice.
"I understand if you want nothing to do with me." She states, although I can hear the tremor of tears in her voice.
She grabs her bag and roughly zips it, her motion rigid despite the way I can see her fingers trembling.
"That couldn't be further from the truth." I insist, shocked and confused by her words.
From my conversation with Fin, I had gathered that she wanted my acceptance and understanding, but perhaps things have changed since last night.
"It doesn't matter anyways." She says at last, lifting a quick hand to wipe at the tears.
"What do you mean?" I ask, my anxiety rising at her words, the fear of her spiraling once more.
"I'm going away." She says, finally looking up at me, her blue eyes glimmering with unshed tears, and beneath, fear.
"Going away where?" I demand, grasping her shoulders before she can turn away.
She hardly fights me, but I can see her lower lip and chin quivering as she struggles to glance up at me.
"A rehabilitation center." She says at last, her voice thready with tears.
Her mouth forms a line against the emotion and she glances away from me with another shrug, but I know the cavalier motion is only a cover.
I stare back at her, caught off guard for a moment at her explanation. For a long second, I can hardly believe that what she said is true. I never the thought the day would come where she accepted outside help. Now, as the reality of her statement settles upon me, I can sense her shame and embarrassment at the necessity of this outcome.
"Amanda...that's good." I whisper, lifting a hand to touch her cheek.
I can feel a tear slip down against my finger and I nudge her face towards mine, pulling her closer. Finally, she glances up at me, tears pooling quickly in her eyes at my compassion.
"I'm scared." She whispers, reaching up to clutch my arm as the tears spill over her lids. "What if I fail?"
"Shh…" I hush her, pulling her to my chest. "You won't."
Her fingers grasp at my sides, and I can feel her shivering as she presses her face into my shoulder.
"Of course you'd say that." She whispers. "You already believe in me, and that's the scariest thing."
I close my eyes and cradle her head as the understanding of her fear brings tears to my own eyes. She is afraid of my disappointment and my anger, and it pains me to realize I have made these my first reactions towards her in recent months. Instead of expecting understanding and compassion, she expects rejection and frustration.
"I'm sorry, Amanda." I whisper into her hair. "I'm sorry for letting you down."
"What do you mean?" She whimpers.
"I'm sorry for giving up." I clarify through the thickness of emotion as he stroke her hair. "I stopped trying to help you. I stopped believing in you."
"It's ok." She whispers with a sniffle. "You shouldn't have had to. You were right… I should've done this by myself a long time ago."
"Just because I was right doesn't mean it was for the best." I insist, pulling her back in order to look into her eyes. "You shouldn't have to do this alone."
She blinks quickly, and I can see her grappling for words, shocked at my sudden change in attitude.
"Y-you don't hate me?" She finally whispers, her brow furrowing in uncertainty.
"God, no." I whisper, passionately, clasping both my hands to her cheeks. "I never did."
Her face crumples beneath another wave of tears, and she pushes herself into my chest. Her arms wind tightly around me as if I am her final lifeline, but this time it doesn't terrify me. This time, I feel something that I never felt with my mother. Hope.