A/N: Hey y'all. TW: This chapter takes a dark turn and will deal with some PTSD/flashbacks to what happened when Olivia went undercover at Sealview. Aaand this is where the story gets a little messy (or, messier). Also, I have a paper due next week + I really want to finish my Rolivia/Amanda thread on Twitter, so I can't promise a new chapter right away, but I'll do my best. Thanks again for the comments and the kudos, it brings me so much joy!
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CHAPTER 4
It was a good plan.
A good, simple but solid plan.
At least she thought it was, two minutes ago when she watched Amanda disappear out the door, with Frannie, (definitely not her girlfriend) prancing next to her.
Two minutes ago, she was still in control. Playing it cool and casual while watching the other woman greet her pup, holding out the leash and laughing at Frannie's excitement.
Two minutes ago, there was no fidgeting, no constant glances thrown at the notebook, left on the coffee table.
It was a good plan; Amanda walks Frannie. Amanda gets them something to eat. And meanwhile, Olivia waits.
"I don't know about you, but I'm starving and I don't think we should be doing this on an empty stomach." The blonde detective said while attaching the leash to Frannie's collar. "You make yourself at home and I'll get us something to eat while I'm out."
Yes. Good point. A good plan.
It's just that-
She might've opened the notebook.
And she might've read the first three pages.
And, well. She's not in Amanda's living room anymore.
No, right now, Olivia is in a cold, dusty basement. Forced down on the ground by Lowell Harris.
She's begging, pleading. Wide and terrified eyes moving around the cramped space as she cries, screaming for help.
And then, some unknown, unfamiliar feeling of defeat. That feeling of being completely overpowered, by a man. Something she has never, neither on the job or as a civilian let happen before.
The worst part about it, as strange as it might sound, isn't how he's trying to force himself inside of her mouth. No. The worst part is being down here, while he's up there.
How he has all the power, while she has none.
Her own screams stand as a harsh reminder, a cruel awakening, that in the end, she's just a woman, now part of a statistic. Another victim, and definitely not the hero.
By the time she realizes what's happening, she finds herself curled up on Amanda's couch, face buried in her hands and eyes shut tightly, occasionally sucking in air as reality mixes in with the past.
She fights it, she really does, but she's on that mattress now, feeling helpless and so, so alone. But more than that: Stupid. Too eager to prove that she's tough enough for her badge. Even after all this time, there's still that pathological need to prove herself. To be worthy.
In the span of a few seconds, however, he has reminded her that she's just another woman that he can abuse and use however he wants. She's his property now, and even as she fights, kicks and screams, there's still that faint voice in the back of her mind, telling her to just give up.
Give him what he wants.
No.
No.
And then, out loud. "No."
It's essentially that sound, the sound of her own whisper that makes her lift her head, the ache in her chest, the prickling sensation on her face, making her realize that she's currently on the tail end of a panic attack.
As if she was just caught red-handed, she clears her throat and wipes at her face, overwhelmed by a sudden embarrassment even though the apartment is still very much empty.
Her colleague really didn't lie back in Christine Baker's apartment; Girl sure loves her blankets. So she grabs one, covers herself with it, clinging to the soft fabric, like Harris is still trying to get her clothes off.
Focus, she tells herself, and breathe, hugging herself while staring blankly ahead. Until her eyes land on the coffee table, and then on the very reason why she's here, like this. The notebook still laying there, the black leather and the stories it holds mocking her from three feet away.
Stretching out a leg, she uses her foot to push it down on the floor. Pretending, for now, that it doesn't exist.
It can exist later, after Amanda returns. When they have food in their system and the energy needed to do a full psychological analysis of Christine Baker's life, and possibly, why that life ended.
Falling back against the cushions, she stares at the ceiling, concentrating solely on getting her breaths under control. Reminding herself that she needs to get her shit together before Amanda comes back. That she absolutely can not allow Amanda to see her like this.
You're here.
He can't hurt you anymore.
You're safe.
It creeps up on her then, when those shallow gasps turn into a somewhat rhythmic inhale and exhale, that she actually does feel safe here.
Maybe because the apartment, a clear contrast to that godforsaken basement, holds some kind of homely scent, sweet and warm, like maple syrup.
Like her.
Despite the fact that there's still a tremble in her chin, like she could burst out crying at any moment, the smallest hint of a smile graces her lips as she fully takes in her surroundings.
She has to give it to her. Amanda is surprisingly neat, her apartment organized in some charming unorganized, Rollins way. It's kind of impressive actually, considering that the blonde has only lived in the city for less than a year. And yet, she has managed to create a home for herself. A home that doesn't just serve as a place to sleep and eat, but an actual home.
Definitely not a basement.
This must be the strangest girl's night she's ever participated in, she thinks then. Not that she has participated in many of those. But don't they usually involve wine, snacks, comfortable PJs and a rom com?
There might not be any rom coms or chick flicks tonight, but she suddenly finds herself very intrigued to find out which is the blonde's favorite. If she even has one.
So it's gonna be like this, huh?
You're just coming down from a panic attack, your first in years. And the thought of Amanda calms you down?
Interesting.
Nope-
She shakes her head while lifting her body up from the couch, refusing to acknowledge that any thoughts of Amanda have any impact on how she's feeling.
You're just confused. Tired.
David Fucking Haden.
Ignoring the black notebook that now lies upside down on the floor, she rounds the corner of the couch, making her way down the hallway in search of a bathroom.
Just to splash some cold water on my face.
I'm not snooping.
The first surprise when she locates the room and slowly pushes the door open, is the pink, fluffy rug on the floor. She doesn't exactly know why, but there's something about the ultra feminine touch that makes her mouth twitch, realizing that yes, Amanda definitely has a favorite rom com.
But the second surprise, revealing itself when she's about to throw away a wet tissue after removing some mascara stains on her flushed cheeks, doesn't make her mouth twitch at all.
"I'm working out."
No, her mouth doesn't twitch, she doesn't move a muscle actually. It makes her freeze.
Because there, in the trash, she sees not one, but two used condoms.
"I'm working out."
Hastily, she throws the tissue on top, her mind suddenly replaying that conversation over and over again.
"I'm coming."
She knew it. Deep down, she knew it. After all, she's a seasoned detective, enough years on the job to recognize sounds like that. She just didn't want to admit it. Because, well… because it's insane right?
And there's thinking it, and then there's knowing it.
"I'm coming."
Jesus.
As the realization hits, mixed in with the physical exhaustion from both this day in general and the flashback that steered her into this bathroom in the first place, she clings to the sink, head bowed down.
Shit.
Shit.
I can't be here.
When she lifts her head to look at herself in the mirror one last time, she has already made up her mind; She has to leave, tell Amanda it's late. Come clean to Cragen about the notebook tomorrow morning and let him deal with the rest. She needs to be off this case. Amanda can work it with Nick, or Fin. And she will use any excuse in the book to avoid working with this woman who is currently taking up too much space in her head, living there rent fucking free.
She's already halfway down the hall, just a few feet away from the living room, when she hears it; The sound of keys being turned, Amanda's voice, mumbling something to Frannie as she enters the apartment.
Heart hammering in her chest, she moves again, only pausing her steps when she takes in the sight of two blondes; One human and one canine, making their way inside and towards the kitchen.
And then suddenly, in the blink of an eye, she forgets all about what just transpired here since the other woman left her alone. Forgotten is both the notebook, and the discovery in her bathroom.
Simply because she is once again faced with whatever it is that makes her feel so drawn to this new person in her life; A little disheveled looking with her stained sweatpants, hair messy from the wind outside, Amanda happily ruffles Frannie behind the ears before hanging her keys. It's just so… domestic, easy, beautiful.
But then, Amanda looks at her, and she is brought back to this, to here and now, and to the rush of emotions, good and bad, that's been causing absolute havoc on her system in the past twenty minutes. Or maybe since she called her this morning. Or maybe, since they shook hands in the squad room for the very first time.
"I'm coming."
Goddamnit, Rollins.
"Liv?" Amanda says, slowly placing the plastic bag of takeout on the counter, eyes trained on the woman standing there, in the center of the room, motionless. "What's wrong?"
"I just-" Olivia starts, folding her arms, only to let them fall down again before she moves. "I should go."
Eyes now narrowed and her expression confused, Amanda looks from the brunette to the floor where the notebook still lies. "Did something happen?"
"No-" She shakes her head, picking up her jacket from the couch, having no recollection of leaving it there. "No, I'm fine. It's just… It's late."
"Liv-" The blonde says, almost scoffs, hands rested against the counter. "Talk to me."
Oh, ok? You want me to talk?
About what? About how this case is taking me back to one of the worst experiences of my life? Or the fact that you got off while talking to me on the phone this morning? Or, maybe we should talk about how I promised myself I would never feel anything for a co-worker ever again and for some reason I can't stop thinking about you?
You want me to talk about that?
"It's nothing." Olivia shrugs, eyes moving from Amanda to the door as she starts making her way towards it. "I'm just tired."
"Liar." Comes the mumbled response. Barely audible, but loud enough for the brunette to catch it. So she turns, a little surprised to find that Amanda has moved too, almost blocking her way.
"What?"
"Please-" Amanda says, and this time she scoffs in earnest. "You're never tired when you're working a case." She glances over at the notebook first before taking another step in Olivia's direction.
"Well, I am tonight." She shoots back, mentally kicking herself for sounding so cold and rejecting. They have after all made some serious progress in their partnership today. Even if she needs distance right now, that shouldn't mean they can't keep things civil.
But speaking of distance-
"Liv-" Amanda says, her voice suddenly surprisingly soft, moving close enough to wrap her hand around Olivia's wrist. "What's going on?"
It's that damn physical contact. Oh, and those eyes. And that voice. Fuck, it's everything.
The sum of it all making her bow her head again, shaking it a few times and breathing out slowly.
"This case-" She starts, carefully weighing her words, all while keeping her stare on Amanda's hand, still very much wrapped around her wrist. It makes her wonder if Amanda can feel her fast pulse underneath her skin. "This case-" She eventually continues. "Reminds me of a case I worked years ago."
"In a prison?"
She nods a single nod, emotions once again building, finding it impossible to look at the blonde, in fear of breaking, again.
A soft hum that speaks of understanding and empathy fills the room before Amanda continues. "Wanna talk about it?"
Yes.
No.
I'm not ready.
But along with those thoughts she also realizes that she's not ready to leave either. She should. Hell, she doesn't know what she's dealing with here.
"I'm coming."
"You know what." She says, mustering up enough courage to finally meet those blue eyes looking at her with nothing but compassion. "Maybe I'm just hungry. Let's eat, and work."
"We don't have to." Amanda shrugs, finally letting go of Olivia's wrist, taking a step back. Telling her, without actually telling her, that the ball is in her court and that she's free to do whatever she wants.
"No, no-" Olivia mumbles, inhaling deeply before trying a smile. "I want to. I'm sorry, for being so off."
Tilting her head, the other woman mirrors the smile, responding with a soft spoken "it's ok." The tone, the words, all of it, hitting the brunette right in the chest. "Let's eat." Amanda adds, moving towards the counter again where she starts unpacking the boxes of thai food.
And there's that thing again. That domestic, easy, beautiful thing. That thing that makes it so easy to just lean back and watch her, to forget about her plan to leave and never think about this case, or this woman ever again.
"Rollins?" She hears herself say just as Amanda turns to grab two beers from the fridge.
"Hm?"
"What's your favorite rom com?"
Looking over her shoulder with an amused and somewhat questioning expression, the blonde closes the refrigerator door before handing Olivia one of the bottles. "I don't know if it qualifies as a rom com but-" She pauses for a moment, chewing down on her lip while opening her beer. "Thelma & Louise. Why?"
Smirking, Olivia shrugs, clinking her beer against Amanda's. "No reason."