A/N: Would've had this posted sooner, but I was trying to get the playlist in order. Surprise, surprise, it turned out to be longer and more involved than just a "short write-up," lol. If you're interested in checking it out, it's included at the end of this chapter on AO3. Also, I'm dipping my toe into the world of TikTok (yeah, I know, right as it's about to burn to the ground, shh), mostly me doing random Mariska-related vids, and I want to try incorporating my Rolivia fics somehow. Not sure what to do, though, so I'm looking for suggestions. Video responses to reviews? Dramatic readings of scenes? Send me some ideas, y'all. (P.S. User name is crystallinejen. There's not much there yet.) And, last but not least, the chapter. I'm afraid these final few are short and sweet. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless, and I hope everyone's having a nice Memorial Day (or just a nice Monday if you're not in the states.)

Chapter 63.

Say Anything

. . .

"So . . . "

Olivia had been awfully quiet since they left the restaurant. The only activity coming from her side of the Jeep was the drumming of fingernails on a plastic takeout lid. Sounds of a woman either deep in thought or deeply pissed. She gave a noncommittal hum that didn't clarify her mood much at all, and with her head turned to the window as she gazed out on the passing city, it was impossible to catch a glimpse of her face.

Stifling a sigh, Amanda eased off the brake and coasted through a green light. "I guess you're still pretty mad at me, huh?" she asked, trying not to sound as sulky as she felt. She'd thought dinner with Evie had gone pretty well, once they got through the initial awkwardness (and Amanda's underhanded strategizing); in fact, when they weren't all having flashbacks to the worst, most traumatic moments of their lives, it had been damn near enjoyable. Evie really seemed to have gotten through to Olivia. Or maybe Amanda was just seeing what she wanted to see again. It wouldn't be the first time.

Contemplative, Olivia left her hanging for a few more seconds, though she finally turned her head, bringing her face into view. "Pretty mad? No. I was upset at first. You know how much I dislike surprises, particularly surprise reunions." She cocked her head and an eyebrow, but her manner was . . . could it be . . . somewhat playful? "But I have to admit, it was good seeing Evie again. That she's doing well. Thriving. She's one I was always sad to see fall through the cracks. Especially knowing what she went back to."

"I know." Amanda reached over and gave Olivia's knee a light squeeze. "Me too." She let that settle for a moment before asking, "I did good then, huh?"

Olivia returned the touch, her fingers, warm and tender, curling around Amanda's wrist. She held it loosely, lovingly, stroking the inside with just her fingertips. "You did, but I'd still prefer you approve it with me first, next time. In case you've got any more special guests lined up for me in the future."

Damn, that was an almost eerily prescient guess. The time and date weren't set in stone with Dana yet, but Amanda had contacted the federal agent, and dinner plans were in the works. She would make sure to discuss it with Olivia in advance, of course, but for now it could wait. Evie had stirred up enough emotional distress for a day or two; after that died down a little—then Amanda would tackle the Dana Lewis situation, or rather, finesse the hell out of it until Olivia came around to the idea of forgiving the other woman.

If nothing else, maybe being in the same room with Dana for a while would help rid Olivia of the recurring nightmare where the agent was a Mengele-type who cut her open and dissected the fetus inside her womb.

She had woken from that one in a cold sweat a few times swearing she could still hear the baby's cries ("Its skin was pinned back with those dissecting pins, like the frogs in high school biology," she related tearfully). Amanda never had the heart to remind her that, according to New York law, a fetus wasn't a baby until it took a breath on its own, and something that small ("no bigger than a newborn kitten") wouldn't have the lungs for breathing or crying.

"Copy that," Amanda replied, careful not to add anything that implied she didn't have more special guests waiting in the wings. She might fudge some things here and there, but she seldom lied to her wife anymore if it could be avoided.

When sufficient time had passed, the cabin of the Jeep gone quiet again, Amanda stole another glance at her pensive wife. She tapped her index finger on the steering wheel in time with the turn signal, nibbled the inside of her cheek, tried to postpone longer, couldn't. "Penny for your thoughts," she said, a pinch too cheerful. That, and she disliked the phrase, now that it brought to mind a certain perky, blond therapist: penny/Penelope, thoughts/psychology.

It was all a little too cutesy for Amanda's liking.

Olivia didn't seem to notice the connection, however, and she gave one of the rich, deep sighs that meant there was a lot going on in that pretty head of hers. Generally, though, it was a promising sound. Full of purpose. "I was thinking about . . . fearlessness. You remember the necklace I used to wear that had that on it?" She fingered the pendant she wore now, rotating the children's names round and round.

"Yeah, I do. Kinda miss that old thing."

"Me too." Olivia placed the tiny rose-gold pillar against her chest, caressing it with her fingers like a postulant with a rosary. "Not the necklace so much, but what it represented to me. Back then, I thought I was that: fearless. Or at least I strove to be. Then Lewis— well, I lost it for a while after that. I think you brought it back to me, you and the kids, just having you all by my side, loving me and pulling me through. But those men . . . "

Those men and that woman. Amanda mentally resurrected them, lined them all up on the road ahead, and mowed them down one at a time. The crunch of bone, the blender-like cranking of flesh and blood. She could paint the street red outside their building with those motherfuckers, in Olivia's honor. Not as romantic as John Cusack holding a boombox over his head, but the sentiment was similar: I haven't given up on you. I'll never give up on you.

"You'll find it again," Amanda said, and cleared her throat when the words came out hoarse. "Your fearlessness. The kids and I aren't going anywhere, we'll help you get it back, same as before. Stronger, even, because we all went through the fire together."

It made Olivia unbearably sad whenever her attack was mentioned in conjunction with its impact on the kids, and sure enough, her already tremulous smile began to fade away like summer flowers. Amanda made a last-minute decision right then, her desire to keep Olivia happy outweighing her damn stubborn pride. "I been thinkin', too: fearlessness would be a great name for your foundation. The Fearlessness Foundation. Has a nice ring, don't you think?"

Sadness melted into realization, brightening Olivia's face as if the clouds had parted for the sun. Albeit a weak, tentative shine. "Does that mean you changed your mind? About retirement and the foundation and you taking my place at work—all of it?"

That was overstating it just a little, but dinner with Evie had opened Amanda's eyes to the potential she'd been too all-fired averse to see before, in Olivia's grand design. She'd seen exactly how Olivia was going to heal herself, by participating in the healing of others. "It means I'm . . . coming around to the possibilities. Slowly but surely. I'm still not crazy about the idea of not having you with me at work every day, and not being able to look out for you there, but the way you were with Evie, the way she was with you? That's what you're meant to do, Liv, in whatever form it takes. Cop, founder, or otherwise. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't want you in a safer line of work."

"Yes. It would give me more time, too—for the kids, for you, for . . . life—and I've come to realize lately just how precious that is. I've got to keep doing what I love, yes, but I can't let it consume me anymore. My family has to come first." Olivia brought Amanda's hand up and kissed the back of it soundly. "And I have to be here to make sure it does."

The sweet moment lasted until they were parked in their usual spot in the garage. Just as Amanda keyed off the ignition, her good mood faltered at the sound of one hoity-toity name.

"What about Alex Cabot? Will you be able to accept her as a patron, or in another leadership role, if she agrees to be part of my endeavor?"

Amanda took a deep breath before answering, then another. "No," she said, on exhaling. She couldn't swallow it and pretend she'd be fine, not about this. "I can't promise I'll ever be okay with her sticking her nose— I don't like the idea of her being around you. Or throwing her nepo baby money at your feet."

"Amanda—"

"But. I'm willing to compromise if you are."

"How so?" Olivia asked cautiously.

"Pool resources. Don't be indebted to her, not completely, anyway. We can put up some of the money ourselves, and there's lots of other people who'd be happy to contribute, I bet."

"Oh? Who, for example?"

"Evie." Amanda had wanted to finesse the suggestion a little more, so it didn't get turned down right away, but she felt amped up now that she'd started. If Olivia was half as passionate about the project as Amanda was beginning to feel, then it was meant to be, and Amanda better get onboard, or risk alienating her wife and taking away something that could help her heal. "Way she talks, she's got plenty of money to spare. And as much as she admires you, she'd probably jump at the chance to help you out."

As expected, Olivia was already shaking her head. "I can't ask that of her. She's got her little boy to think of, she wants to go back to school, and she'll have a wedding to pay for, eventually."

"She's only thinking about going back to school, and you know that rarely happens, especially when you've got a family. The fiancé's not hurtin' for money, and she said she and the boy have more than enough. Heck, if you're worried about her struggling, appoint her to your committee or board or whatever a foundation has." Amanda made a mental note to research the topic later; if she was going to offer input, she damn well better learn the terminology. "You know she feels strongly about rape laws and how the cases are handled. She's got the young and hip thing going on too, so she'd probably be able to reach that demographic pretty well."

After thinking it over for a few seconds, Olivia gave a wry crook of the lips. "Are you calling me old and unhip, Detective?" she asked, more of her old self peeking through. It only lasted a moment, but it replenished Amanda's spirit as well as any morning hike or burst of sunshine.

Grinning, Amanda squeezed the ticklish spot above Olivia's knee, once and lightly. "No, ma'am. Just sayin'. You gotta admit you're not the most social media savvy lady on the block. 'Member the other day, when you asked me how to post a gif? And if you want to stick to behind-the-scenes work, you'll need someone who's comfortable in front of the camera to be your spokesperson. I think Evie fits the bill."

"What if she says no?" Olivia asked. A sincere question rather than a challenge.

"Then we'll ask someone else. You've helped a lot of wealthy people over the years, darlin'. That Luna chick who runs We-B-Well; the child actress who accused Amaro of assault—what was her name, Tensley?—she made her big comeback with that slasher movie franchise a few years ago. The little girl whose parents are friends of Rita Calhoun. And Jenny, the girl who was in child porn. She got all that restitution money. That's probably a million dollars or more right there. A few hundred thousand at the very least."

Olivia listened to the list with mild bemusement, not refusing, but not jumping at any of the options either. "Are you suggesting I hit up past victims to pay for a foundation that's intended to support victims? Call me crazy, but that sounds . . . somewhat unethical. As a captain and as a human being."

"You wouldn't be 'hitting them up' for anything. You'd be offering them a chance to give back in a way that benefits people who've been through similar trauma. To make a difference in someone else's life. It's the same thing you want to do. And I bet they'll feel as strongly about it as you do." Amanda was only guessing about that, but it wasn't unusual for people who had been victimized to want to help others like them. Occasionally you got the vics who cared nothing for anyone else's pain than their own, but that was rare. "If nothing else, it'd be good for Luna's and Tensley's images. Rich people love to donate. And if you're worried about asking as a cop . . . well, if you retire, the rules regarding civilians won't apply to you anymore. And if you're still uncomfortable doing it, then I'll ask them for you."

"I'm not sending my wife to do my dirty work," Olivia said, the tame delivery removing some of the sting. Again, she wasn't totally rejecting the whole idea, just certain parts of it. Good sign. "And I'm not going to invade Jenny's privacy, ever. That poor girl deserves to be left alone. But . . . I will consider the others." Stress on consider.

Fair enough, Amanda thought. She would file Jenny as a last resort, as she had with the dinner date, and only try reaching out if everyone else fell through. Everyone else, including: "What about Dana Lewis? She's not filthy rich like Cabot, but she's got some coin. You don't own a vacation home in Connecticut if you're scraping to get by. It's not like she's got family to—"

"I'm not asking her for a dime."

Amanda stifled a sigh. She'd seen that one coming, but had hoped she might be able to finish her pitch before it got denied. "What have you got against that woman, darlin'? I get that she deceived you, but how can you forgive Alex for literally breaking the law and trying to take you away from me, and not forgive Dana for what she did undercover? How's it any different from Alex being in witness protection all that time?"

"Alex didn't choose it. For her, it was a matter of life or death. And she came to me beforehand, made them let her tell me she was alive. She had to leave her parents, her colleagues, her entire life, but she still picked me out of everyone . . . " Olivia's voice faded, a vaguely guilty look passing over her face, as if there was cause for shame in her adamance. "She never played me for a fool the way Dana did. Maybe it's just my stupid pride, but I hate that Dana tricked me in my own house, in front of my squad, in front of you. Alex didn't even try hiding her crimes from me. It was like she wanted to get caught."

That was exactly what the former ADA had wanted, in Amanda's opinion. For her old pal Olivia—her strong, beautiful, dynamic, indomitable old friend—to see her being the bad girl, to pursue her and be drawn into her shady operation, in hopes that Olivia would toss aside years of upholding the law to be her partner in crime. She wanted Olivia to choose her over the job, and she'd lost. What scheme would she cook up in that bottle-blond head of hers next, if Olivia gave up the job and obligated herself financially to Alex?

"And Dana . . . she saw, Amanda. She saw the livestream, and afterward in the hospital, the way I was . . . At least Alex has never seen me like that." Olivia's hand shook as she gestured outward, the all-encompassing that. She brought it up to make another point, but it quickly fell when strong emotion wouldn't allow for elaboration.

Scooping the hand up, Amanda brought it to her chest and clasped it against her heart. "Okay. Okay, I get it. We'll put Dana on the back burner for now. I, um, I do think it might be good for you to talk with her, though."

"Not about money, just talk," she added hurriedly, when Olivia started to object. "You got her built up in your head as this adversary who revels in your misfortune and thinks you're some kinda chump, but darlin', it's not true. She cares a lot about you, and I know she doesn't view you as being any less than you were before all this happened. It might help you to see that for yourself, and to see that she's the same old Dana Lewis too, not a big scary ogre or a cackling witch. You know, demystify things so they're not as . . . inflated."

The pursed lips either meant Olivia was turning it over in her head or she was pissed and about to tell Amanda what she could do with her psychoanalytical bullshit. "Well," said the captain, drawing the word out, "I can't make any promises either, but I will think about it. Now, can we go upstairs and rescue our babies? Daphne's probably got them all lined up, watching her reenact the Eras Tour. Again."

That was just an excuse to end the discussion—their kids were all Swifties and begged for stories about Aunt Daph's three-night extravaganza in Philly ("Don't roll those eyes at me, Mandy Lou, the woman dives into the frickin' stage!")—but Amanda decided to let it slide for the time being. She'd pushed her luck with the Evie situation; better to back off until Olivia had recovered from that reunion before attempting another. "Yeah, let's cut her off before she starts the full ten-minute version of 'All Too Well.'"

As they were stepping into the elevator, Olivia asked, "She's not going to show up 'unexpectedly' on our doorstep tonight, is she? Dana?"

Amanda tucked a tiny smile behind her lips. She had a feeling her wife and the G-woman would be catching up pretty soon, if Olivia's one-track mind was any indication. "If she does, it'll be her doin'. I haven't set anything up, and I won't, unless you want me to."

Olivia nodded, without giving a definite answer either way. She pushed the button for the sixth floor with her middle finger and stood back to watch the numbers overhead climb. "Fearlessness," she said thoughtfully, when they were halfway there. "Hmm."

. . .