A/N: Hi :) Even though I'm not posting as often as I'd like, at least it's moving along gradually and steadily. Sorry about this being short, but… we're getting somewhere. And that somewhere might be pretty bad and creepy I fear.
…
CHAPTER 10
Nick Amaro's assignment, in addition to making sure that Amanda stays alive, is this; He is to meet with Fin at a bar every Sunday and every Wednesday night. Then, he goes to see Olivia Friday afternoon. During these meetings he gives them a report, whether short or long (mostly short), but stays for the agreed upon time of two hours, to make it look like any other social get together.
They have no reason to believe that someone is watching him outside of Bayview, or suspects anything at all, but this is not a late night sting where they're in and out in the matter of minutes or hours. This isn't like all the other times where Olivia has put on her reddest shade of lipstick under the guise of being a madam, or Munch spending some time in a confession booth to make a priest slip up and do a little confessing of his own.
This isn't like that at all.
And as much as Olivia would've preferred this to be quick and easy, or not necessary in the first place, she has more or less accepted it now; That constant sense of unease, her mind painting images of Amanda in a prison cell, or worse. Having witnessed on more than one occasion how reckless the blonde detective can be. How impulsive. And praying that it won't get her into more trouble than she can handle.
When Nick showed up and told her what had happened with Amanda and this Pike guy, she cried. Not in front of him, obviously, but after he left. It didn't matter that Nick told her she seemed fine, that it was "just" one punch and one kick. It left her feeling helpless, mixed in with a sense of unprofessionalism, that voice in the back of her mind telling her that she shouldn't feel like this. That she shouldn't care this much. But she does. Fuck, she cares.
Because, of course, on top of everything else, there's the kiss.
Goddamnit.
As if the case itself isn't messy and confusing enough, there's a kiss in the middle of it; Messy and confusing and beautiful and godfuckingdamnit.
Every waking moment since it happened, she has forced herself to not think about it. And every waking moment, she has failed. It consumes her, fully and completely, to the point where she has started to question if it was all in her head. Just a simple fantasy.
But no. That can't be the case, because there's a hint of lipstick on the collar of her shirt, the one she was wearing that night. The one she still hasn't cleaned. Taunting her from its hanger in her bedroom. It probably smells a little bit like her too, but she hasn't checked, and she won't, just for, like, dignity reasons.
And then, there's the text. Sent and received long after she made it home. As she laid in bed, twisting and turning, picturing Amanda in the neon light of that restroom. The light that made her eyes look so much darker, both inviting and intriguing.
"I promise."
A repeat of Amanda's last words before exiting the bar. And the only comfort, knowing that she didn't jump into this undercover assignment with absolutely no regard for her own safety. Knowing that she had someone on the outside who will worry. Someone who knows a little too well what kinds of danger she might be facing.
Sometimes when she can't sleep, she'll open the text, look at it, imagine Amanda writing it; How she probably tried a longer message, typing and deleting, typing and deleting, until she finally decided on this. A promise.
And god, if a promise ever mattered, it matters now.
…
After thirteen days, here's where they are:
Christine Baker was murdered, there's no doubt about that. And whoever did it, tried to strangle her first. Then, thinking they had succeeded, they sat the bedroom on fire, and with it: Christine Baker herself.
What the killer didn't know, of course, was that Christine didn't die of strangulation, but woke up in the ambulance, and spent her last hours on this earth in and out of consciousness, in extreme pain.
They know, from her journal, that she was paid to keep her mouth shut about what was (and probably still is, Olivia keeps reminding herself) happening at Bayview.
Problem number one: Except for her regular salary and what they've learned is her mother's social security, there are no transactions going into Christine's account that can lead them anywhere. That is, there's a weekly deposit that Christine did herself. So whoever paid her, used cash. In other words; Untraceable.
Follow the money, they say. But in this case, every last cent leads back to her.
Problem number two: The killer left nothing behind in Christine's apartment. Not a fingerprint, not a shoe print, not any form of DNA. Nothing. Which means, in addition to the cash, they're dealing with someone who knows what they're doing. Or at least not a complete idiot. A sadist, yes. But not an idiot. Which just makes everything so much worse.
Problem number three, and the most frustrating problem of them all: After thirteen days, Amanda and Nick have nothing. Questionable behavior? Yes. Unnecessary use of force? Plenty. Other inmates showing signs of being traumatized? Unfortunately. Guards who never should've ended up with a job in prison because of their god complex? Definitely.
But they know, the whole squad knows, that this won't stick. They can't charge someone based on a gut feeling, no matter how much they've all grown to suspect (and hate) officer Pike after the stories they've heard.
Hate doesn't stick in court.
Which is why yesterday, Cragen announced that they would pull Amanda and Nick out if nothing turns up by Sunday. Leaving Olivia reeling in the middle of his office.
"So Christine Baker will never see justice? And worse than that, whoever is raping and abusing these inmates are gonna keep on doing it."
She was practically seething as she said this, arms thrown out and voice raised as she stared at her captain.
"I know you're frustrated-" He said. "But we're already a limited squad, Liv. There are other crimes happening that demand our attention."
She knew that he was right, of course, but she still scoffed at this. Because she was right too.
"So they don't matter?" She nearly yelled. "These women; Daughters, mothers, sisters and wives, they don't matter just because they're behind bars?"
"That's not what I said, detective." Here, he raised his voice too. "But we just don't have the resources. And they're not getting anywhere." He paused. "And it's not like we're giving up. We'll continue the investigation, from the outside."
Frankly, she found herself a little surprised. Because didn't she secretly want Amanda out? Wasn't she tired of worrying and thinking and feeling so much all the time? Wasn't there a part of her that actually felt relieved?
But instead-
"Cap, I know that we're understaffed. But I also know that something is happening in that prison. Something bad. And you know it too. Amanda said it herself, this is our best shot. If we just give her more ti-"
"Since when did you start caring so much about Rollins?" Cragen said, interrupting her speech.
Forcing a neutral expression, she sighed, already knowing that she was probably losing the fight. "I'm just trying to solve a case."
He eyed her then, deflated and resigned and looking more tired than usual. Which is why she saw her opening, a last chance, sinking down in the chair across from his desk.
"Let me go in, as a guard."
There's a beat. A long, heavy beat.
"What?"
"Nick was placed there to observe, and protect Amanda. Let me go in as a guard who gets on Pike's level. One he can trust. Maybe I can-"
He interrupted her again. "Olivia, have you absolutely lost your mind? Did you not hear what I just said?"
"I can work this faster than Nick-"
"Jesus." He said, glaring at her now, his frustration palpable. "This is all about Stabler?"
Her eyes widened, unprepared for the sudden confrontation and the harshness in his voice.
"What are you talking about?" She asked.
"You still can't get used to having a new partner. You still can't trust him."
Shaking her head, she got up from the chair, restlessly moving around the room. "That's not-"
"You know what." He said, demanding her attention. "Take tomorrow off. You've been working this case way too hard and it's becoming clear to me that you're not thinking straight."
It was her time to glare now.
"I can't believe you're doing this."
"Well-" He shrugged, pointing towards the door. "Believe it. Go home, Olivia."
And so, against her will but without much of a choice, she went.
…
Slamming the door shut behind her after entering the apartment, she doesn't even bother to reheat the leftovers that were supposed to be her dinner. Instead, she opts for the shower where she stands motionless under the running water until it's bordering on cold.
It reminds her of the showers in Sealview. Always so damn cold. And then, pushing that memory aside, she briefly allows herself a moment of weakness when she imagines Amanda joining her; Their bodies pressed up against each other, the smell of shampoo and heat, the touch of her wet skin.
Now, does she feel a little guilty for planting this image of naked Amanda in her head right before going to bed? Yes, absolutely. But fuck it. After this day? She does not have the energy to fight it, or care too much.
…
She can feel herself slip away from the dream before her alarm goes off, can feel herself cling to it, desperately, almost physically.
Just one more minute, she begs. One more minute of her.
It's usually the same dream. And it's odd because while nothing sexual actually happens, she still finds herself turned on when she wakes up. Turned on by a dream where she's simply sitting on a balcony, sharing a bottle of wine with Amanda. The wine is terrible, and they laugh about it, because it goes so well with this terrible hotel and its terrible balcony with the equally terrible chairs.
They're not cops in this dream. No cases to work, nothing threatening their safety. They're just too women, sitting on a balcony, drinking terrible wine.
But it's the laugh. It's that laugh she craves all day when she's at work, and when she goes to bed and when she wakes up in the morning.
And honestly, it's not just her laugh. And that absolutely terrifies her. Because the more she thinks about her, the more she allows her brain to go there, the more she is starting to realize that this goes beyond mere attraction, or an innocent fling.
She wantsto know her, understand her. She wants to know what happened in Georgia, what made her move to New York. She wants to know about her family, how she ended up becoming a detective, and why. She wants to learn about her childhood, her dreams and ambitions and where she sees herself in ten years. Does she want kids? What is she afraid of? Has she ever been in love? Has her heart ever been broken, and by who?
And oh, shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
She's falling for her.
Not that she has a lot of experience in this field. But she has enough. Enough to know that you don't think about a person like this if you only want to sleep with them. Yes, she wants that too. Their first kiss only leaving her wanting, no, craving, more. But it's also just one of the many things she wants and craves. And you don't feel like that, unless you're feeling something else.
Shit.
"I want you." Amanda said in that restroom. But, how? How did she say it?
It was very much a heat of the moment thing, a sense of losing control and giving yourself over to lust and want and all the things she has deemed herself too old for, post David Haden.
But, wasn't there something else in that statement?
"Not here. Not like this."
Is it possible to translate that into "I want more than a dirty restroom where people are banging on the door, telling us to hurry up"?
It's possible.
…
She groans into her pillow when the alarm goes off again, mostly because she's tired and because this doesn't feel like six thirty in the morning. It feels more like she's been asleep for no longer than an hour, if even that.
And that's when she realizes that it wasn't her alarm pulling her away from Amanda and that balcony.
It's the doorbell.
Confused, she turns and looks around the dark room, as if she expects someone to barge through her bedroom door. When that doesn't happen, she moves out of bed, her half asleep brain reminding her to grab her robe since she's only dressed in panties and a tank top.
She hurries across the floor, her legs reacting as the doorbell seems to become more insistent. And when she opens it and finds Nick Amaro standing outside, her heart is already beating wildly in her chest.
"What are you doing here?" She asks, hugging the bathrobe close to her chest, suddenly feeling exposed on top of her growing anxiety. "Did something happen?"
"Sorry for showing up here so late-" He mumbles, looking over his shoulder as if someone has been following him.
"What?" She asks again, gesturing for him to enter her apartment, closing the door as soon as he's inside. "Tell me."
"It's Amanda." Nick says, and their eyes meet then. "She was taken to solitary yesterday morning." He pauses, looking at her with a pained expression. An expression that speaks of worry and worry only.
"Liv, she hasn't come back."