A/N: Ok, first of all; I'm so sorry for leaving this story hanging for so long. I normally don't do that, but whew. The last time I updated I was heading into finals, and in the middle of that, my grandpa got sick. He passed away a few weeks later and with funeral arrangements, finals and grief, I really didn't have the capacity to write anything at all. I then traveled across the world (literally) to celebrate christmas and new years, and while there I got sick with covid. Back home, and finally recovered, I'm feeling ready to write again, but it's been hard finding the right inspiration after losing Amanda/Rolivia on the show. ANYWAYS. For now, there's this. And hopefully it'll be a nice little surprise for the few people who are still reading Rolivia stories :)
…
CHAPTER 8
Day one, after leaving Amanda standing there alone on the roof, was easy.
Well, "easy", as in she didn't feel like screaming at the top of her lungs every two minutes.
Maybe it was the feeling of regaining some sense of control when she decided to walk away, or, because she decided to focus fully and solely on the murdered woman who now laid in the morgue.
Burying herself in work the second she reentered the squad room, her eyes stayed fixated on her screen for hours, searching through different lists of names and years and all the grueling detective work that yes, can be tiring, but also necessary.
Necessary, and sometimes, a good distraction. So she wouldn't look.
And she didn't. Not on day one. Not even when Cragen, with a hint of uneasiness in his voice, called Amanda into his office, and not even when the blonde exited twenty minutes later.
When Fin and Nick asked if she wanted to join them for lunch, she shook her head no. Knowing she had made the right decision when Amanda joined them instead. Hence, leaving her mostly alone and giving her the chance to breathe properly for the first time that morning.
So yeah, day one could've been worse.
And if she woke up in the middle of the night, hot and bothered, literally, recollecting blurred images of Amanda's lips and a vague sensation of her hands feeling her up? Well, that was out of her fucking control, wasn't it?
Day two? Bearable. Mostly because she found herself in the morgue for parts of it, discussing Christine's death with Warner, going over every single detail that might help them in any way possible. Then, both as a necessity and a good reason to stay away from the precinct, a visit to the fire department to get the official report. Not a single mention of her and Amanda's escapades a couple of nights prior, but definitely some disgruntled looks from the few people who had heard about it.
It did help a lot that this time she wasn't partnered with someone who makes her mouth go a little dry, who makes her head spin just by standing too close. Because no, Munch doesn't have that effect on her.
Maybe, just maybe, she even could've made it through the night without another improper dream if it hadn't been for the way she bumped into Amanda on her way out of the break room, the short and sudden interaction filling her nostrils with that same enticing scent she had registered in the blonde's apartment.
But, she did bump into her, and so, she found herself half awake at two in the morning, on her stomach, breathing heavily into her pillow, already on the cusp of release with a hand wedged in between her center and the bed. Too far gone to stop the inevitable, and frankly, too tired to care.
Then, day three.
And honestly fuck day three. Because either the universe really had it in for her, pulling practical jokes out of its gigantic universe ass, or, she was just that down on her luck.
It was hard enough knowing that today was the day of Amanda's psych evaluation with Huang. The department shrink picking at that very fascinating and equally intriguing mind to decide if she was up for the task or not. Possibly learning things about her that she herself is desperate to find out. Things she has no business knowing anything about.
It was hard enough dealing with this nosy, almost childlike mindset. And now, on top of everything else, that unwelcomed (but god, so sweet) orgasm that lulled her back to a state of restless sleep the night before. All of it with very nonprofessional images of her colleague flashing behind her eyes.
But, she stayed determined. Determined to not let her thoughts and feelings get in the way of the investigation, dedicated as always, to get to the bottom of whatever it was that happened to Christine Baker.
She did lose the battle of not looking when Amanda exited the meeting with Huang, the shrink following close behind with a serious expression. It was just too tempting to glance up, to see if there was something, anything, on her face, giving away a hint, a fraction of whatever was going on inside. But there, on her soft but somehow also defined features, Olivia found nothing.
So chalk it up to frustration, emotional or physical or whatever fits, but nevertheless, on day three, late at night and with the NYPD gym left mostly empty, she finds herself practically galloping on a treadmill.
Staring mindlessly at the screen telling her that she's been running for almost thirty minutes, She forces her brain to shut out anything that's not the case. Desperate to make sense of it all, working through all the different pieces of information they've been given over the last few days, ever since she called Amanda early on Sunday morning.
Christine Baker, 36, lived a quiet life in her apartment in Greenwich Village. Born and raised in Philadelphia, she moved to New York with her mother in 2006 after the death of her father. Seemingly not related to anything, they quickly learned that her mother killed the father in self defense after years of physical abuse. When the mother, Mary Baker, was found not guilty, the two of them wanted a fresh start, making the move to Manhattan.
And from what little information the squad could gather, it seemed like their fresh start was a success at first. Christine started working at a women's center, helping women like her mom. Protecting them in a way that she was never able to with the one person who was supposed to protect her.
Mary, still reeling after years of trauma and the subsequent murder, worked part time in a small grocery store close to their home. She was, according to the manager, "a quiet soul", but loved by everyone, and they were heartbroken when one morning, Mary didn't show up to work and later they learned that she had suffered a major stroke.
Here, the timeline got a little tricky, with various hospital records and former co-workers remembering different things, but that's when they were able to track down Christine's closest friend. Or, what used to be her closest friend.
Sarah Clark, still living in Philadelphia, cried silently on the phone when Nick told her that Christine had passed away. Then, after some comforting words, and some gentle coaxing, she told him what she knew about her friend's life in New York.
After the stroke, Mary stayed in the hospital for three weeks before she was moved to a nursing home. The conditions there, as Christine had described them, were "fucking inhumane". After a visit where she found her mother sitting in a pool of her own urine, she couldn't take it anymore, and made arrangements for her mother to move back in with her.
She eventually got a better paying job and hired a nurse that could stay with Mary when she wasn't there. But it didn't take long before both the financial stress and the emotional toll was getting to her.
Christine was raised to hide the situation going on at home, Sarah told them. Growing up together, she had no idea that Christine's father was abusive. And she only learned about it when he died. So when Sarah would ask her how she was managing, Christine told her everything was fine. That her mother was recovering and doing better. That they made it work.
It was only when Sarah decided to surprise Christine with a visit that she realized how bad things actually were.
"I almost didn't recognize her." Sarah told Nick. "She must've lost like thirty pounds, if not more, since the last time I saw her. And those circles under her eyes. Poor thing."
"So what happened?" Nick asked in return.
Sarah continued the story, telling him that she had taken Christine to lunch, telling her that she was worried about her, that she could see how she wasn't taking care of herself, how tired she was.
Christine broke down then. "It was the first time I saw her cry." Sarah said. "She told me it was too expensive with the nurses and the physical therapy, living expenses, hospital bills, and everything else. That no matter how much she worked, it just wasn't enough."
Without telling Sarah about the diary, Nick then asked if Christine was forced to place her mother back in a nursing home, which Sarah confirmed with a solemn "yeah."
"She hated it. But at least it was better than the first one."
According to Sarah, it worked out in the beginning. Which was also around the time that Christine started working at Bayview. With her mother back in a facility, Christine was now free to work all hours, but also free to have something that resembled a life, even though most of her free time was spent with Mary.
"But at some point she didn't want her mother to stay there?" Nick inquired.
"No." Sarah confirmed, telling Nick that after a seizure, it became clear to Christine that her mother needed better care. Mary was also showing signs of malnutrition, and with her ability to speak now very limited it was hard for her to communicate anything to her daughter.
"She became obsessed with saving up enough money to move her mother into a better home. It was the only thing she talked about, the few times we did talk. I offered to help, but she would get defensive then. I guess this was around the same time that our friendship took a hit."
Sarah proceeded to explain that when she became pregnant with twins, it was harder to keep in touch. She felt terrible about not checking on her friend more often, but hoped Christine had some friends in New York who could be there for her.
"But I should've known better." She mumbled, telling Nick that Christine was, like her mother, a quiet woman who never made friends easily. She didn't really trust anyone and had always been determined to manage on her own.
"Was she really murdered?" Sarah asked, whispering her question.
"That's what we're trying to find out." Nick had told her, not wanting to go into too much detail about the gruesome death that Christine had suffered. Sarah's guilt and grief was palpable, so evident in her voice that he just didn't see the point in making matters worse.
"Can you think of anyone in her life that might've wanted to hurt her?" He asked instead.
"No." Sarah said quickly, but then she went quiet for several seconds. "There was something." She continued hesitantly, telling Nick that the last time they talked, months ago, Sarah had jokingly asked Christine if she was drunk because of her slurred speech. Christine, who never drank, then told her it was the painkillers after an "altercation" at work.
"When I told her to be careful, and that it must be a scary job sometimes, working that closely with convicted felons, she told me that the inmates weren't the problem. But when I asked what she meant by that, she shut down, telling me it wasn't my problem. We didn't talk after that. I just… I didn't know what to say anymore."
So there it was. The heartbreaking tale of Christine Baker and her life. Still, even with the information provided by Sarah, Christine's former colleagues at the women's center, hospital records and some of the staff at Mary's nursing home, they weren't really getting any closer to figure out who had killed Christine, and why.
Which meant that Amanda's undercover gig was not only needed, but also justified.
…
When Olivia eventually slows down the treadmill, her face flushed from the workout, her mind goes to Mary Baker, and the look in her eyes when they told her that her daughter was dead.
She realizes then, with a growing lump in her throat, that maybe, as hard as it is to admit, it's worth it; Her racing heart, the nausea and restlessness she's feeling every time she imagines Amanda in that prison - It'll be worth it if they can catch the sadistic bastard who killed Christine and shattered her mother's heart.
And with the comfort of convincing herself that there's some justice to be found at the end of this, she steadies her breathing and steps off the machine.
…
There's something unnerving about empty locker rooms late at night and she makes quick work of drying herself after her shower, in the process of putting on her bra when she hears footsteps.
Freezing, she listens as the steps move closer, counting them slowly, one by one, as the room around her seems to be getting darker with every step she hears.
Suddenly, and without warning, she hears the unmistakable sound of a baton, that maddening clink, clink, clink, promising pain and a sense of deep helplessness. She blinks, telling herself that it's all in her head, but still, her body won't listen, and while holding her breath, she reaches for her service weapon, the Glock 22 that lies next to her badge and clothes in the locker.
Then, everything happens all at once; One moment she's grabbing the gun, heart thundering in her chest as she lifts it, pointing it towards the danger that is about to appear from around the corner. Next, she's staring into a set of blue and very confused eyes.
"Jesus-" The blonde half gasps, half whispers, taking in the unexpected sight in front of her. "Liv-" She goes on, noticing the lost expression on the other woman's face. "It's just me."
When Olivia seems unable to respond, busy processing what just happened, Amanda moves closer, slowly, reaching out to gently pull the gun from the brunette's hands.
"It's ok." Amanda says, trying a crooked smile, placing the gun down, before picking up the towel that has pooled around Olivia's feet.
"I'm sorry-" Olivia mumbles, shaking her head, suddenly overcome by embarrassment.
Repeating the apology, she fumbles for her clothes, pulling up her jeans quickly and doing what she can to avoid the other woman's eyes.
"You alright?" Amanda asks hesitantly when no explanation comes, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, unsure what to do, or say.
"Yeah." Olivia hears herself breathe a response that doesn't sound anywhere near convincing. "Sorry about that."
"No-" The blonde mumbles. "I was… I didn't mean to scare you."
After pulling a sweater over her head, Olivia finally turns, hoping that the room is dark enough to hide her flushed cheeks and the hint of tears.
"What are you doing here?" She asks, praying that the other woman is willing to let this go.
Nodding towards the bag that hangs from her shoulder, Amanda shrugs. "I swim here."
"You're a swimmer?" Olivia asks, clearing her throat, very much aware of the tremble in her own voice, and desperate to forget what she just did.
"Since I was four." Amanda answers, adding another shrug. "My dad taught me three things; How to swim, how to shoot a gun and how to hold my liquor."
Studying the blonde for a moment, she notices how the speed of her heartbeats seem to normalize, at least enough to feign normalcy. "Ever had use of all three things at once?"
"Not yet." Amanda snickers as she busies herself with opening a locker a few feet away. But just as she thinks she might be off the hook, and almost ready to leave, the other woman turns her head, her expression now a mix of soft and serious. "You sure you're alright? We haven't really talked since-"
"Has it been decided when you're going in?" Olivia interrupts quickly, noticing the hurt in Amanda's eyes, the immediate effect of shutting her out, again.
"Tomorrow." She eventually says, turning her focus back to the locker and starting the process of undressing. "Last night as a free woman."
Fuck.
She should tell her "good luck" or "stay safe", and leave it at that.
She should be able to gather her things and walk away.
But, her hands are still shaking, and this might be the last chance to talk to her in god knows how long. Plus, Amanda is now close to naked. There is that, too.
"Let's get a drink." She says, blurting the words out, almost following up with a laugh at Amanda's dumbfounded expression as she looks up, clinging to a towel while stepping out of her panties.
They're pink, Olivia notices, without really looking.
"Now?" The blonde asks, staring at Olivia first before glancing around the empty room, as if the woman standing a few feet away might've been asking someone else.
"When you're done swimming." Olivia says. "I'll text you the place."
And before she can change her mind, or wait for Amanda to respond, she hurries towards the exit, wondering what the fuck just happened. Wondering how much trouble she's about to get into.
…
Turns out a lot, probably.
Because when Amanda eventually steps into the crowded bar, her hair still damp, wearing that leather jacket that Olivia has noticed on more than one occasion, she is already two drinks in. And suddenly she finds herself wishing that she had suggested a drink at her place instead, away from people, from anything that can interrupt them.
Still, that might've sounded too presumptuous, or too eager. So a loud, crowded bar it is.
"Ok, I don't know how to say this without sounding disrespectful-" The blonde says, forced to raise her voice due to the music that fills the poorly lit room. "But isn't this place-"
"A little too young for me?" Olivia cuts in, smirking as she pushes the pre-ordered beer in Amanda's direction. "Didn't wanna chance running into the old boys club."
"Yeah-" Amanda scoffs as she moves to get comfortable on the high chair. "They can be a little…"
"Insufferable."
Getting a nod of agreement in return, Amanda raises the bottle and clinks it against the other woman's glass. "Well, cheers to my last night of freedom."
They fall silent then. Nursing their drinks as a new song blasts through the speakers, giving Olivia a moment to contemplate why she invited Amanda in the first place, why she's sitting here now, in an unfamiliar setting with a woman she barely knows. When her intentions remain unclear, she breathes a sigh of defeat, realizing that no matter what happens next, no matter what happens tomorrow, one thing is more important than anything else; Preparing Amanda for the dangers that lie ahead.
"You were right." She finally says, just as the bartender replaces their empty drinks with new ones.
"About?" The blonde responds, mindlessly chewing on a small handful of peanuts.
"About that case that I worked." Olivia mumbles before she inhales slowly, deeply, hesitating as her eyes eventually meet Amanda's. "The one in a prison."
And then, finally, four years after it happened, after trying to deal with it, forget about it, process it, Olivia tells the full story. Not leaving a single detail out in an attempt to shield herself or the person listening. For the first time since walking out of that basement, she doesn't fight the images that fill her head, but works through them, frame by frame. Registering the pain on Amanda's face, the sympathy she finds there, without letting it stop the words that keep flowing from her mouth.
Only when the story ends, when there are no words left, does she realize her glass is empty, forcing her to question her judgment, her ability to think clearly, finding that no, there is only relief in this moment.
"I needed you to know." She says, registering how warm she suddenly feels. "Before tomorrow."
Nodding slowly, Amanda seems to process the story as her fingers stay busy picking at the label on her bottle. When nearly a minute has passed, she turns fully on her chair, placing a hand on Olivia's knee as she leans in.
"I'll be careful." She says. "I promise." When Olivia stays silent, and while keeping their eyes locked, Amanda goes on. "And Liv-" She mumbles, moving the hand from the brunette's knee to her arm and then her shoulder. "I'm so, so sorry."
Catching herself, Olivia chews down on her lip when she registers the "it's ok" that's about to tumble out of her. Because it's not. Nothing about that was ok, and she knows that she's been downplaying it for too long, causing flashbacks to occur in the worst of situations, causing her to point a goddamn gun at her co-worker's head. It's not ok, and for the first time she doesn't feel the need to pretend that it was.
"Thank you for telling me." Amanda ads, giving the brunette a heartfelt smile as she squeezes her shoulder.
Before Olivia can respond, a tall stranger is suddenly crowding their space, making both women turn their heads in his direction.
"Here." He grins drunkenly, holding out two shots. "A gift."
Noticing how Amanda is about to tell him to fuck off, or something more charming than that, Olivia interrupts without thinking, grabbing one of the glasses.
"Now what did we do to deserve this?" She asks, amused by the perplexed look on Amanda's face.
"You're gonna dance with me." The stranger says, swaying a little on his feet.
"I am?" She teases before pointing to Amanda. "Or she is?"
"Both."
"How old are you?" Amanda asks then, straightening her shoulders while eyeing their new friend from top to bottom.
"Twenty two." He announces, almost proudly, making Olivia laugh while the woman next to her gapes.
"Oh, god." The blonde groans, leaning closer to Olivia. "That's basically illegal."
Now, it might be the alcohol (definitely the alcohol), or the fact that everything about this week has been nothing but pain. It might be that she's tired of pretending that Amanda doesn't do things to her that no one has ever done before. Or maybe she just wants to have a little fun for once.
Either way, she takes the shot, making Amanda's eyes grow wide from surprise before they narrow in confusion when she grabs the second glass from the stranger's hand, holding it out for Amanda to accept it.
"Here." She says. "Let's dance."
…
It's been years, probably more than a decade, since she last found herself on a dance floor like this one. And even then, she's pretty sure she was stone-cold sober, on the job.
This is not that. And there's a sense of freedom that comes with just moving to the music; Her tired muscles relaxed from the liquor, her weary mind comfortably numb. Her senses though, are very much on high alert, especially noticing how Amanda moves in front of her; Confident, but not overly so. Obviously tipsy, but in a charming, almost endearing way.
When their young suitor places his hands on Amanda's hips, clumsily swaying behind her, somewhat hitting the beat but not really, Olivia expects the blonde to react.
Instead, a smile grazes her lips, a mischievous smirk, as if they're doing something they're not supposed to. As if they both know that they're about to cross a major line, a line that has been drawn up time and time again; In Amanda's apartment, in a restroom, on the roof. And probably many times before that too, if she's being honest.
Reckless, Olivia thinks as she steps in a little closer, excusing her move with the fact that people keep bumping into her. Ignoring that sudden rush of possessiveness.
Absolutely reckless, she thinks when Amanda's hands find her backside, pulling her in, giving her no choice but to place her hands on the other woman's hips to keep her balance. Only then does she notice that the tall stranger is gone, spotting him a few seconds later, grinding against a smiling girl a few feet away.
"Looks like we lost our boyfriend." She says, leaning in to align her mouth with Amanda's ear.
"What a shame." Amanda jokes, inching her hands further down, moments away from fully grabbing Olivia's ass.
"Can we-" Stop? Get out of here? Call it a night? She really doesn't know what the end of that sentence was supposed to be, but it doesn't matter because a moment later, Amanda moves one hand to her neck, moving brown hair out of the way before she leans in, brushing her lips against the warm skin there. Definitely too innocent to be defined as a kiss, but too obvious not to mean anything it all.
She feels it everywhere, finding it impossible to keep moving, wanting nothing more than to grab the other woman's hand, pull her away from the dance floor and-
"Come here." Amanda says, doing exactly what she herself was just thinking, forcing her legs to move as they hurry across the floor, in the direction of the restrooms.
…
When she closes the door behind them, drowning out the music and the world outside, her eyes stay trained on the floor, leaning tentatively against the wall, as Amanda moves closer.
"Liv-" The other woman mumbles, her voice soft but still holding a tone of confrontation. "Look at me."
She does.
And she stops breathing just as Amanda inhales. Can see the rise of her chest, can feel it physically against her.
Goddamnit, she promised herself this would never happen.
Not because of Cassidy. He was a drunken mistake years ago when she was young and driven by other needs than she is now. Or, when she was too young to undermine the exact needs she has now.
She promised herself, when Elliot left. This could never happen again.
But, he was married. He was never hers. He was never pressed up against her like Amanda is now. And she somehow finds herself eternally grateful that he's not here anymore.
It's not that she doesn't miss him. She does. Sometimes it still aches just thinking about him, like grieving a loved one. Except, he's still out there, somewhere, alive.
Amanda is here, right here. Not married. Not taken by anyone else.
Plus, there's something about the femininity of it all; Her scent, her skin, her lipstick.
Sure, strong arms, a nice cologne, large hands wrapped around her waist, it has its appeal.
But her lipstick.
Wait-
She shouldn't be doing this.
There are so many reasons why she absolutely shouldn't be doing this. It doesn't matter that Amanda is single and hence, free and available. It's still a mistake. Something that can blow up in her face, especially now. A mistake she should avoid at all costs.
A mistake her entire being is craving right now.
"You weren't working out." She hears herself say, the music now just a constant beat around them, wrapped around them like one of the blankets in Amanda's apartment. "When I called."
She can see the hint of a reaction in the other woman's eyes, but no more than that. A hint. And even though she knows Amanda is far from sober, right now the blonde looks as clear headed as she's ever seen her. Ridiculously poised, actually.
"No." Amanda responds, her stare not wavering. No signs of backing down. Quite the contrary, as she steps in closer, hands moving to rest against the wall behind Olivia, trapping her there.
"Was it the first time?" She asks, fighting to hold onto their eye contact, to prove herself, maybe. But there's that lipstick too. So she loses the battle, glancing down at Amanda's mouth, slightly parted lips, ready to be ki-
"First time?" The blonde mumbles, interrupting her thoughts.
She looks up again then, determined to rattle the detective, if even just a little. To continue this game they're playing. Rule book nowhere to be found. "The first time I made you come?"
There. She got her. The lighting in here might be terrible, all neon and blurry, but there's a slight change in the color on Amanda's face. Darkening, a faint shade of red.
And then, finally, a response. Spoken so honestly, so openly and with that deep voice Amanda sometimes gets, sending shivers up and down Olivia's spine.
"No."
Jesus.
It hits her right between her legs.
Christ.
"Liv-" Amanda finally says, or rather breathes, moving her hands down to grab the lapels of her jacket. Moving just a little closer, and closer, until their lips are mere an inch apart.
"We can't-" Olivia mumbles, and she's shaking her head but her eyes are still very much glued to those lips; Inviting, made even more inviting when Amanda wets them with her tongue, tilting her head slightly.
"I know." Amanda nods, slowly. So slowly that it's barely visible, and Olivia isn't really paying attention anyway because a second later, the blonde has moved one hand to the back of her neck. No warning given as she uses the pressure there to pull her in.
And then; A sharp inhale through her nose, the smell of lipstick and that natural sweetness that is all Amanda. And parted lips. Not fully open, but open enough for them to fit together effortlessly, like they've been doing this for years.
And tongue, teasing at first before it fully penetrates her mouth, making her knees buckle.
Her arms, her hands, act purely on instinct then, first locating Amanda's hips, then moving behind her and further down, and before she knows what's happening she's squeezing Amanda's ass, pressing their bodies together to the point where she's not quite sure where hers end and Amanda's begin.
There's a hand in her hair now, fingers tangled in her waves, but before she gets the chance to enjoy the sensation, there's a hand on her breast, and it doesn't matter that they're here, in a dirty restroom, in this godawful bar. Christ, she wants that hand between her legs. She wants her hand, her mouth. Right here, right now.
"I want you." Amanda mumbles, out of breath, the pad of her thumb brushing over Olivia's nipple, now straining against the thin fabric of her sweater, begging to be touched. The sensation makes her gasp, throwing her head back against the wall.
"Please-" She hears herself respond, whispering the word before moaning when Amanda's leg slips in between her own.
"Just-" The blonde says, interrupted when their lips meet again, groaning when Olivia's tongue fills her mouth. "Not here." She continues when the kiss ends, pulling back before lowering her head, shaking it. "Not like this."
As much as she agrees, and understands what Amanda is trying to say, the disappointment is immediate. Every living cell in her body is screaming for more. For them to forget about where they are and all the reasons why they shouldn't be here in the first place. She wants to take her home, and taste and touch her until the sun rises over Manhattan. To hold onto her and pretend that tomorrow is just another day, and not the start of something neither of them can predict the outcome of.
But instead, as she exhales slowly, she rests her forehead against Amanda's, nodding in a solemn agreement. "Be careful." She begs, catching the raw vulnerability in her own voice, making no effort to act like it's not there.
"I promise." Amanda whispers, their eyes meeting one last time before she moves, leaving Olivia behind, alone, wrapped up in a mix of relief and sadness and anxiety. Pledging that no matter what happens next, Amanda will make it out on the other side of this. Unharmed.