A/N: Hello! Thanks to everyone who left a comment after the last chapter, on here and on twitter :) It means so, so much to me and especially when I've made you wait so long for updates. I know this is mostly case focused, but necessary to move the story along. TW for violence.
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CHAPTER 9
"Have you ever been the victim of assault, of any kind?"
"No." She had said, quickly. And based on Dr. Huang's dubious expression, it was too quick.
To fix her lie, she followed up with a joke about that one perp who urinated on her that one time, and the other who slapped her with the strength of a five year old.
No. No assaults. Not a victim.
Except-
Except the time when she stepped in between her parents to stop them from fighting, and her father's fist landed against her ear instead of her mother's chin, where it was originally intended. She had cried, more from the shock than anything else, and he had looked at her, and then her mother, muttering something about "useless women", and walked away.
And except the time when she had dragged Kim away from her abusive boyfriend, her younger sister kicking and screaming as they made their way through the bar. It was just another regular night out until they reached the vehicle, because that's when said boyfriend, she can't even remember his name, came running after them. She managed to get Kim inside, but that was also the last thing she managed to do before she had an arm around her neck, pressed up against the door and unable to move.
"I'll kill you both." He growled into her hair and she had winced and tried to free herself, but it was pointless. He slammed her head against the side of the windshield, watched her slump down on the ground, and spat in her direction. "Fucking bitch." He said. And then, as she tried to make the world stop spinning, he gave Kim a grin and a wink, disappearing into the night.
Oh, and expect the time when-
No. She won't think about it. Can't think about it.
Her mother was a victim. Kim was a victim. She was just an unlucky bystander. Kind of.
And the other thing… Well, it simply didn't happen.
Not a victim.
So when the first punch comes, right in the gut, she can so easily rationalize the pain by thinking "I'm on the job. It's part of the job. This is not assault. I chose this when I decided to be a cop."
When the kick comes, expected but startling nonetheless, she tells herself that this undercover assignment was her idea. She walked into this, knowing that this kind of violence was most likely waiting for her on the other side.
"Hey-" She hears Nick say, as she tries to catch her breath and get up from the cold, dusty floor. "That's enough."
She knows she shouldn't, but she still glares at him, annoyed and frustrated.
You can't be soft in here, Amaro.
For obvious reasons she can't tell him that, so she lifts herself up, staring straight ahead, waiting for what comes next.
"It's your lucky day, Irwin." The guard says, the one with yellow teeth, the one everyone calls Pike, unknowingly using a name that doesn't actually belong to her. "New kid thinks you've had enough."
"New kid should mind his own business." She shrugs, coughing, still refusing to look at her colleague.
"Have you learned a lesson?" Pike asks, and she sets her jaw before she nods.
"Yes." She mumbles, adding a low spoken "sir" when he places his baton under her chin.
…
Lesson learned, and mission failed.
She couldn't help it, when it happened. It was basic instinct. And honestly the hardest part of being in here; The inability to do something, to stop the abuse. Not the abuse aimed at her, but the people around her. In this case, her cellmate MJ.
MJ, who's real name she doesn't know and probably never will, can't be more than eighteen. If she had seen her on the street, she would've guessed twelve.
MJ, who's reasons for being in here are unclear and kept hidden, cries in her sleep every night. And the only conversation, if you can even call it that, they've ever had, was on night two, when Amanda climbed down from the top bunk, kneeling next to MJ's bed, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"It's ok." She whispered, squeezing the frail shoulder.
A quiet cry, then a gasp, then MJ curling into a ball, begging Amanda not to touch her.
"Ok-" Amanda had responded, holding up both hands, leaning back to show MJ that she wasn't going to touch (hurt) her.
Minutes later, when she had climbed back up in her own bed, she waited and listened, wondering if MJ had fallen back asleep.
"Bad dream?" She tried after a while, counting seconds until a response finally came.
"Yes."
"Wanna talk about it?"
"No."
And that was it. After nine long days, that's the extent of their interaction. But still, she feels extra protective of this girl, who looks so young and so starved for love and affection. And starved in general.
So when the guards, Pike and Nick, entered their cell for an unannounced search, under the pretense of looking for drugs, she just couldn't not do anything.
MJ was quiet and cooperative at first, back pressed up against the wall as she watched the guards roam through their things, her eyes lifeless.
But then, Pike had pulled out a book from under her pillow, smirking his yellow smirk as he held it out in front of them.
"No-" MJ pleaded through a whisper, already knowing what he was about to do. "Please."
And then, a lot of chaos.
The ripping of pages first, MJ's whispers turning into shouts and screams, begging for Pike to stop ruining what Amanda understood must've been one of her most treasured possessions. Maybe her only possession.
Then, MJ was on the floor, and as she saw the baton held high in the air, Amanda stepped in, grabbing Pike's arm to stop the blow aimed at MJ's head.
"Stop!" She yelled, pushing at the guard, briefly locking eyes with a stoic looking Nick as she did. "Are you trying to kill her?"
"Hold her-" Pike said to Nick, and with a hard shove, she suddenly found herself trapped in her co-worker's grip, helpless as she watched MJ being lifted up from the floor.
"Gray!" Pike called out, holding MJ tight to his body as he waited for the other guard to join them. And when he did, Gray looked wide eyed, a strange mix of focused and scared.
"Take her down to Solitary." Came the order as Pike cuffed the young girl, her demeanor now resigned more than anything else.
And then, when they were left alone; The beating.
Lesson learned; Pike was a fucking sadist.
And their number one suspect.
…
She tries, tries so hard, to stay awake that night, to wait for MJ to come back. But eventually, sleep takes her, and when she awakes in the morning, her cell mate still hasn't returned.
Walking into the bustling dining hall, which undoubtedly sounds too fancy a word to describe this room, her eyes move around to see if MJ is there. She finds Nick first, and he gives her a subtle nod. It's barely noticeable but it still enrages her, just for how reckless it seems, as if that small movement of his head alone will blow their cover and ruin everything.
Looking away, she spots Eric next. Of course, to everyone else he's known as Gray. But she overheard him comforting one of the other inmates shortly after she arrived. The woman had been sniffling, talking about missing her children, including a son named Eric.
"That's my name too." Eric had said, his voice gentle and soft and such a stark contrast to how most of the other guards spoke.
But Eric doesn't notice her, and so he doesn't notice how Amanda's stare lingers.
Something is off, but she can't quite place it. He looks almost sad, lost in his thoughts, as if he could break down crying if someone were to utter a single word of kindness. But then again, she thinks, this entire place reeks of sadness, so who, if they still considered themselves human, wouldn't look like that.
There's no MJ, but she does find Kat and Ellie. So after getting her breakfast, she joins them.
Kat and Ellie, both convicted of drug related charges, are the only inmates she actually talks to. The only inmates she can talk to. But this, all of this, is a game of patience, the kind of patience that doesn't allow coming on too strong or coming off as too eager or nosy. So she gives them a mumbled "'morning" as she sits down. Pretending that getting her tasteless, shapeless breakfast into her mouth and down in her empty stomach is the only thing she cares about.
It's easy to pretend at first. They're talking about the commissary being out of tampons, and how neither of them have used a pad in fifteen years, and Kat makes a joke about forgetting how to use them and Amanda chuckles when Ellie follows up with a story about putting it inside out when she got her first period.
"Fucking hurt!" Ellie snickers around her spoon of yogurt.
"As long as they don't run out of pads too." Amanda adds, realizing then that she might be stuck in this place long enough for that to actually turn into a problem.
Contemplating her uncertain future while doing the math, she loses track of the conversation, her mind once again shifting to MJ; Where she is, why she hasn't come back yet, and who's with her.
That is, until Ellie says something that both demands and attracts her attention, forcing her to sit perfectly still, to not make a sound or make herself look too interested.
"Have you seen Baker around lately?" Ellie asks, scraping away at the small container before licking her spoon meticulously.
"Maybe she finally got a vacation." Kat says, shrugging her response.
"Girl definitely needed it-" Ellie continues. "She looked more strung out than my crackhead ex."
She takes her shot then.
"Who was Baker?" She asks, eyes moving from one woman to the other.
"One of the guards." Ellie explains. "Unlike the others, she's actually really decent. I like her."
"Me too." Kat adds, nodding in agreement. "She stopped Pike one time, when he was about to drag me to the hole. I hope she comes back soon. Lord knows Pike needs someone who can keep him from killing all of us."
The last part of that sentence is spoken through a whisper, and even though Amanda catches the sarcastic tone, she can't help it when her stomach flips. And then her heart sinks, simply because she knows Christine Baker isn't coming back, but she can't disclose that information, even though she desperately wants to.
Before she can follow up with another question that is not too forward and not too obvious, they're ushered out of the hall, sent to their respective work assignments, like sheep.
…
Her heart sinks yet again when she enters her cell later that night, finding it empty. God knows where MJ is right now, and what someone (probably Pike) is doing to her. It feels wrong, so painfully wrong, to be in a position where she can't do anything. There's no actual proof, no outcry, nothing to make her run to Nick, tell him that they got what they need for NYPD to raid this place, to put an end to the abuse.
Still, the conversation with Kat and Ellie makes her feel like she's one step, albeit a very microscopic step, closer. It's not much, but it's something to go on.
She's deeply absorbed in her own thoughts when she hears it; Steps, determined, moving closer, making her sit up in bed, eyes trained on the door, prepared for everything and anything. She knew she would be on high alert, constantly, while in here. But, she didn't know how exhausting it would be.
"Hey-" Nick whispers, and she lets out the breath she was holding as he closes the door behind him.
"Where's MJ?" She asks, whispering too, just in case someone is listening.
"Haven't seen her since yesterday." He responds, moving closer to her bed. "I asked, but I was told not to worry."
"Nick, you gotta be careful-" Amanda scolds. "You can't look at me, or defend me-"
"I know." He says, sighing, and she's relieved to find that there's no defensive speech coming.
"Tell the squad to look into Pike, and Gray." She tells him, without knowing why she included Eric.
"Amanda, they already did-"
"I know, but make them dig. Something's off, I just don't know what."
He nods, moving to leave before he stops, turning back to her.
"You ok?" Nick asks, gesturing vaguely towards her stomach. "After-"
"I'm fine." She says, adding a small, reassuring smile. But before he reaches the door, she whispers his name. "Can you bring me some super glue and some tape?"
"Are you gonna… glue and tape your way out of prison?" He jokes, and she grins then.
"Can you just get it?"
With a final nod, he leaves, only to return an hour later with what she asked for, slipping it into her hand without a word.
…
As far as distractions go, it's a nice, little project to keep her occupied until she feels tired enough to sleep. But just like every night since she first arrived, her mind brings her back the very moment she rests her head on the pillow.
Eyes closed, she replays it, repeatedly. Sometimes struggling to believe that it actually happened. But then she will get that feeling, that rush, as if she can physically place herself back in that bar, on the dance floor, and back in that restroom.
And holy shit. It really happened, didn't it?
She kissed Olivia. And Olivia kissed her back.
She touched her, felt her body come alive under her hands, pressed up against her. She heard her, had been almost giddy to learn that Olivia could go from a deep groan to a high pitched whimper in the matter of seconds.
It really did happen.
So why, when she thinks about it, when she closes her eyes at night, using the mental image of Olivia and that kiss to escape her cold cell, does she feel regret more than anything else?
Well, maybe not regret. Maybe regret isn't the right word.
If she's being honest with herself, it feels more like shame. That uncomfortable, almost nauseating tug in your stomach, the one you felt as a kid when you knew you had done something you weren't supposed to. Something you'd be punished for doing.
The thing is, Olivia had been so vulnerable with her. So beautifully, unexpectedly vulnerable. Had told her something she's pretty sure Olivia has never told anyone else, at least not with so much detail. And it wasn't just the disclosure, strange as it might've been there in that crowded bar full of carefree and careless people in their early twenties.
It was the look in Olivia's eyes when she pointed that gun at her. It was the constant fidgeting in her apartment. It was everything that had happened since they first started working this case.
And she, acting as carefree and careless as a college student in a crowded bar, had somehow, unwillingly, taken advantage of that. She had accepted the drinks, instead of asking if they should slow down. She had pulled her closer on the dance floor, instead of creating some space between them. And, subsequently, grabbed her hand and moved them somewhere private. Just because she wanted to.
The only solace, as insignificant as it might be, is that she was at least clear headed enough to not let it go any further. She can at least give herself that.
And then, as she goes over this, every single night, the biggest shame of all; The fact that she so wishes she hadn't stepped on the brakes, but instead lead them out of the bar, where they would've stumbled into a cab, and the kiss would've continued, and eventually, they would've fallen into bed together. She would've learned how Olivia's body comes alive without the protection of clothes, and how she sounds when it's just them, in a quiet bedroom.
God, how she longs for that right now. All while chastising herself for letting it go too far in the first place.
…
It must be the middle of the night when she wakes, because everything is dark and quiet and not giving any signs of it being morning already. At first, she's confused, wondering if she's still dreaming, but as the door opens and closes, that hard sound of metal against metal echoing through the room, she sits up, knowing for sure that she is in fact awake.
And MJ is back.
"MJ-" Amanda whispers, leaning forward, squinting into the darkness, trying to make out the contours of a body lying on the floor.
"MJ-" She says again, louder this time as she jumps down from the bed, kneeling next to the young girl, only then realizing that she's shaking. "What-" She starts, her hand lingering in the air just above MJ's hip, unsure if she's allowed to touch her.
"What did they do to you?" She finally asks, relieved when MJ doesn't jerk away or flinch or lash out when she finally rests her hand.
It takes a moment, a long one, before MJ finally lifts her upper body, slowly, until she's in a sitting position, her head still lowered, as if she's hiding it from Amanda's searching stare.
"Nothing." The girl says, her voice so distant, it doesn't even sound human.
"MJ-" Amanda protests, softly, ducking her head so their eyes can meet. "You're hurt."
Nodding, MJ keeps their eyes locked for a few seconds before getting up, moving towards her bed where she nearly collapses, curled up in the fetal position, staring blankly ahead.
Realizing that there's no point in pushing this tonight, Amanda opts for the next best thing, the thing that she hopes will get MJ to open up eventually. Or at the very least, bring her a small sense of comfort.
"I have something for you." She says, walking over to the bed, reaching up to grab the book from under her mattress.
Kneeling down again, she holds it out for MJ to grab, only it takes several moments for the young girl to actually do it.
"I fixed it." Amanda mumbles, adding a careful, hopeful smile. "It's not perfect, but it's fixed."
For a while, MJ stays motionless, unmoving on top of her blanket. But then, with a trembling hand, she reaches for the book, just as a collection of tears starts running down on her cheeks.
"Thank you." She whispers, holding the book close to her chest, giving Amanda not a smile, but something that resembles it, something that lets Amanda know what MJ's smile might've looked like in the past, years ago, before someone or something wiped it off her face.