A/N As always thank you for your reviews.
MrsChilton; If only you knew what I do for a living! I am about as far from a writer as is it is possible to be. I haven't written anything since the fictional essay compositions of English class in school, and that was not yesterday! You are too kind. I think maybe I believe that everyone has one great story in them... I felt his absence needed an explanation too. I so agree, I think his character is amazing and so human. Who could disagree he is madly in love with her? Oooh good theory.
Guests; I am so grateful for your kind words, it did feel like no one was reading. I've fallen I love with such kind reviews.
I have been slightly overtaken by this story, works sometimes intervenes but luckily not too much at the minute. That may be about to change again, but I can try... Thank you so much. Please don't be shy to tell me which of the creative liberties I've taken you don't like as much...
Please let me know what you think?
"I can drop you off on my way, Liv?"
I've wanted to try and talk to her since we found Nadia but with the trial there just hasn't been the time.
"Thanks Amanda." She smiles gratefully, turning to say her goodbyes.
"Well Hank, keep in touch" I'm shocked to see the grumpy Chicago Sergeant's face crack into a wide smile as his head nods, raising his once more refilled, glass to her.
"It has been a pleasure to work with you Jay, sorry about the circumstances..." He too nods in answer, his eyes drifting down to the table in sombre remembrance of what she alludes to.
"Erin, you have my number, ...anytime...I'm so sorry about Nadia, take care of yourself." They hug tightly, both women struggling not to cry.
"Guys!" she waves at a very drunk Carisi and a merry Amaro, rolling her eyes in Fin's direction.
"I'll make sure they find their way home, Liv." Fin promises chuckling at his new-found charges, both of whom are suddenly, desperately, trying to appear much more sober than they are.
As we walk out into a fresh Manhattan night, we are reminded that summer is on the way, the streets are beginning to play host to people eating and sitting drinking coffee, not merely smokers huddled under heat lamps or bodies rushing through the cold to their next task.
She takes a deep breath, "I enjoyed that. It wasn't what I expected. I really feel like I got to know her better."
I completely agree, "Yeah, I dunno, it kindda felt like she was there in some way? It was sad but also a celebration..."
She smiles, but I can see the pain in her eyes.
"I still can't really believe she's gone" she softly admits.
"I thought we could save her..." I agree, as we sit into my car.
"Amanda, I'm sorry we haven't had a chance to talk, you know you can call me, anytime, if you need to?" I nod. "I can only imagine how hard this has all been for you?", she concludes.
How hard it has been for me? I can't believe she is worried about me. Her sincere concern for me, touches me deeply.
"Liv, I've gone to see that therapist, a couple of times..."
She turns to face me, "Amanda, I can't tell you how glad I am. How do you find him?"
"He's good Liv. I was really worried, especially talking to your therapist, but he didn't make me uncomfortable. He told me I could see him, until he could refer me to another therapist. He has someone in mind, he says he thinks it will be a good fit, I have an appointment with him in two days when he returns from overseas, but Dr. Lindstrom says I can talk to him while I wait, if I want to... "
"Do you know anything about your new therapist?" she asks.
I nod "His name is Dr. Whitford. He does a lot of work with victims of military rape, that's how he's overseas at the minute. I googled him...he looks about our age, he specializes in rape trauma."
She smiles knowingly "That makes sense, he sounds good. There is an overlap between us and the military...When I was assaulted before, I went to a support group for military sexual assault victims. My therapist, at the time, suggested it. It really helped, those women understood stuff that is pretty specific to us and them...Have you spoken to Dr. Lindstrom since we found Nadia?"
"Yeah I had an appointment made already, for the day after we found her. I wasn't going to go...I'm glad I did, it was hard but it helped..."
"Amanda, you are doing amazingly."
I feel like a child, my face reddening at the unexpected compliment, as I bask in her approval.
"I was sick after I finished interviewing Yates though" I admit tentatively, "when you came looking for me and Fin..."
"That doesn't matter, it was sickening. What matters is that you spoke to your partner, you didn't try to keep it all inside."
My questioning look is not missed "No Amanda, he didn't say anything to me about it. Fin would never betray your confidence. Fin kept my secret about my first assault. Even when he knew it would have been in my best interest, he didn't break my confidence."
I'm overcome by gratitude to my partner. His confidence in me, and his assurance that I was ok, had really been enough when she saw my tear stained face. I know he has my back, that he didn't tell anyone when he traced me down and I drunkenly told him some of the story about Patten, but knowing I really can trust him feels amazing. I can't help wondering what happened that he knew her secret, or who he kept that secret from..., but I don't need to know, knowing about her assault, about some of the feelings she has battled, is more than enough.
I'm worried I'm about to cross a line with my next question but I can't stop myself.
"How about you Liv? Have you spoken to someone? I can't imagine how hard it has all been for you?".
The anger I expected at me daring to question her is completely absent.
"It has been really hard Amanda. I've needed a lot of help. I have spoken to a friend, a lot. He has been amazing. I've told him things I never thought I'd admit out loud. I've also made an appointment to speak to Dr. Lindstrom again. It has brought up a lot. I know now how lucky I really was, I could so easily have wound up in a shallow grave like poor Nadia..."
I feel so honored that she would speak to me like this, as an equal. I know how difficult some of these admissions have to be for her. I know she is trying to be open and honest with me, so I can, in turn, be open and honest with her, knowing that she understands and isn't judging me.
"Have you ever heard us talk about Dr. Huang, Amanda? He's an FBI shrink, he used to consult with SVU on a lot of cases. He was pretty much part of the team. We spoke to him many times...usually department mandated, but not always. He's the one who referred me to Dr. Lindstrom after Lewis. I reckon the brass is going to mandate a shrink appointment for us all after Nadia. I pre-empted them so we don't wind up with a 'quack', George will be in to talk to us next week."
I chew my lip at this, uneasy at talking to a department shrink at the moment, hell, at any time.
"He's not your regular department shrink Amanda, which is why I chose him. He knows what we do. I know my old partner tortured him terribly, refusing to talk, saying things he shouldn't, ...but George took it in his stride, he probably could have ended all our careers at one time or another... Hell, even Fin might talk to him."
I laugh at this, unable to picture it but curious to meet the man who warrants such high praise from Liv.
I nod my acquiescence as Liv stifles a yawn.
"You must be exhausted Liv. Let's get you home. Has Lucy got Noah?"
"Mmmmm yeah I haven't been sleeping great. Yeah, she'll have brought him home and put him to bed hours ago now." She smiles proudly at every mention of her son, even now, in her exhausted state she can't help the wide grin that graces her face.
After I drop her off at her apartment, I head home. I sit in my living room thinking over our conversation, amazed at how comfortably I can now, have conversations that would have been impossible only a handful of weeks ago. It's still not easy, I definitely filter heavily, I chose certain words so carefully it nearly softens my experiences, but it is progress.
I think about my first appointment with Dr. Lindstrom, well the first one I kept...
Sitting in the waiting room for those few short minutes was painful. As I had done the first time, I found myself clinging to a throw cushion for dear life, fighting the urge to run or vomit. My heart hammering too fast in my chest, my breathing too shallow to be satisfying, everything went into slow motion. My own movements looked slowed down, as if on an old slow motion movie. I knew I had to be panicking, that these odd feelings were deep panic but it was so confused by the semi calm, absence of actual panic, that I began to think I may just be dying. If it got me out of that appointment I probably wouldn't even have minded too much.
I knew panic was the right description though when the door opened and he called my name. My fingers tightened unfeasibly around the throw cushion, my blood pumped so loudly in my ears, I almost expected to see my heart explode, I started to gasp for breath, not sucking enough in, no matter how much I tried, until I was breathing as fast as my heart was drumming.
I don't know what I was expecting but it wasn't for him to come over and gently kneel on the floor beside me, his soft voice calming me with assurances that I was the one that was 'in control', we could stay out here for as long as I wanted, everything we discussed would be in my control, and I was 'so brave' for coming to him. That was when the tears started, I didn't feel brave, I felt scared and ridiculous.
When I calmed down, he asked if I wanted to 'move into his office?', he reminded me that it was all in my control and I nodded timidly.
The barrage of searching questions I expected, didn't come, as he poured me a glass of water and sat down in an armchair, gesturing for me to sit too.
"Do you feel a little better Amanda?"
"I'm sorry..." I started to try to explain but he just brushed it away.
"When something really scares you and you do it anyway, that's bravery" he gently reassured me.
"Do you think you want to tell me what brought you to me?" he softly questions.
I knew this question was coming and I've spent a lot of time formulating and reformulating an answer. The question that I should have dreaded, puts me onto more solid ground. I anticipated it, I have almost prepared my answer, this doesn't seem like a bad place to start.
I took a few deep breaths, a few sips of water, prepared but still hesitant.
"My sergeant, Olivia Benson, suggesting I talk to you for a referral,..."
He just nodded gently in encouragement, as I found my voice.
"Five years ago, I was sexually assaulted by my Deputy Chief in my old police department in Atlanta." I'm proud of my words, even now, as I think back to them. It was what had happened. I didn't try to take on part of the blame or excuse him. I didn't dither; it was clear, direct and accurate. I do realize it was also slightly softer than saying he raped me, but I still really struggle to say those words even though I now know, it is what he did.
He nods again "Do you want to talk about that some more, Amanda?"
I shake my head quickly, terrified at the thought of having to go into it.
"That's ok. That's fine Amanda. We don't have to go into that now. So why did you come to me now?"
Somehow this question came out of left-field for me. I just didn't know how to answer it. It already feels like I'm failing miserably. All the old feelings of being unworthy and useless start to bubble up, but before they can take hold he softly clarifies, "Has something happened recently?"
I start to tell him about Reese's rape, her trial, how Patten implied to our history. It all starts to tumble out. Not in the broad strokes I had envisaged but describing feelings and details. As the words pour out I realize that even with all the conversations I have had, some of this has been locked away deep inside, and I feel relieved to be letting it out...
I think back to my second visit, after we found Nadia's body.
How numb I felt as I sat in the waiting room. How pointless it seemed.
When he opened the door, I just sat debating whether I should bother going in. He softly offered to talk out there for a while if I wanted, reminding me how everything was in my control...
I snapped back at him, telling him nothing was in my control, that we can't actually control anything important. He looked at me thoughtfully, "Has something happened, Amanda". I just nodded. He asked would I like to come in and talk about it and I found my feet carrying me into his office.
The story of Nadia's Chicago abduction, her agonizing drive to Manhattan, her excruciating, subsequent fate, spilled out uncontrolled.
He didn't ask stupid questions, or shove tissues at me. He mostly just listened. When he did ask a question, it wasn't a big 'meaning of life' question, it was something I could usually answer, quite often something that validated my feelings or clarified some little detail for me.
I still felt hollow, numbed by the horror of Nadia's death but more understanding of my own feelings. It was a terrible thing that happened, it had to affect me, none of my reactions were ridiculous. It might seem like a small thing, but it gave me permission to grieve for her. It helped me. It made me feel less guilty when the tears came, and it felt like the grief was ripping me apart. I had felt that she wasn't my friend, my close colleague, I hadn't even been there when she was taken, I had no right to feel the grief that rightly belonged to those much closer to her than me. My tears, though heartfelt, were deemed by me to be somehow disingenuous, because of my comparative unfamiliarity. A few gentle words from Dr. Lindstrom reminded me that I had searched for her, I had watched her family, her team, suffer through that search, I had done anything I could for them, for her. I had looked on her broken body in its sandy, shallow, grave with her family. I had shared their agony at being unable to save her. I wasn't a distant observer in their agony, I had lived a lot of it with them.
He didn't look shocked as I tearfully confessed to being smothered by guilt at being grateful it was Nadia we discovered in a cold, barely-covered, hole and not my sergeant, my friend.
He showed no sign of knowing why my sergeant would be at risk of such a fate asking instead "Why do you worry about finding your sergeant in a grave?".
I hadn't ever said the words out loud, there had never been a need to, we all knew how close it had been, but I found myself grateful to whisper the words that had been laying so heavily on me.
"Nearly two years ago, she was kidnapped, driven across the state, tortured, horribly assaulted, he did things...things I can't even imagine, we worked so hard to find her when we knew she was missing...but we didn't know she was gone for two days...she managed to get free and call us, we wouldn't have found her otherwise,...she could have been killed before we found her...he threatened to kill her...she could have died,...we could have lost her..."
"That sounds horribly close to what you just described happening to Nadia, Amanda. I don't see how you could not..."
His simple words easily, validating the worries that have been tormenting me. I think back to Nick's words 'The stuff that rolls around your head, it's too hard to know what is truly important, what is fear or anger, and what is just plain untrue...they help with that.' I think I'm beginning to experience that, and I don't feel as judged, as vulnerable, as laid out on display, as I had expected to feel.
I can't help but also remember his next words; 'They tell you that sometimes what you are feeling is a valid feeling, but the basis for it is false, and then they help you work through the feeling anyway...' I know that is still to come, the confused feelings I can't get rid of, the unending guilt at my own part in what Patten did...
I swallow the fear that rises as I imagine having to talk about what happened...
Call it what is Amanda.
Emboldened by my two short sessions I force myself to admit my reticence at using the word that is second nature at work.
No, not what happened, not the bad situation I put myself in, not my sexual assault...my rape.
I find myself saying the words out loud to myself. Sitting on my couch, with Frannie, I find myself repeating the word, "I will have to talk about my rape...I will have to describe my rape...I will have to relive my rape..."
And then the tears are back, plunging quickly down my face. All the strides forward I felt I had made, crumble as if they were taken on rotten, fragile, aged, dissolving, stones that could never have held my weight.
"Frannie, this is going to be so hard..." I tell my affectionate companion, "it's going to so hard...but I need to do it...I have no choice...I can't keep going like this..."