A/N: Hi all! So, I've been missing in action from this site for awhile now, and I humbly return with a new chapter! Yes, after all this time, I have not abandoned this story. However, creative writing hasn't come easy to me these past few years, which have been filled with some difficult challenges and personal loss. I want to thank everyone who has reached out to me in the interim with some very nice messages about this story, which I do plan on finishing! (I actually have a lot more written, but not yet ready for readers). During this crazy time of Corona, I got back into writing fiction and realized just how much I still love and miss it. I'm hoping this new chapter might be a nice distraction for someone, cause I know reading is one thing that keeps me sane during this time! I had made some friends on this site who I miss, and I hope some of you are still around :)

So, here's Chapter 29! This chapter has some dark themes, but also some comfort and romance.

Amanda stamped her feet to keep warm in the bluster outdoors, feeling as unruly and angry as the March winds that whipped around her head and rattled the panel of hospital windows behind her. She gripped her cell tightly, thumbs hovering above the screen but not texting, and stared at her blank message to Olivia. She had thrown a fit at the nurse's station until someone had finally agreed to retrieve her phone from lockdown, her heart hammering with anticipation at hearing Liv's voice. But, after arguing her way outside so that she could use her cell during half-hour lunch, Amanda refused herself the phone call she had wanted so much. How pathetic, to interrupt her Sergeant's hectic and likely harrowing day on duty to report that she couldn't even make it through a few hours at Bellevue Psychiatric.

So, instead of calling Olivia, Amanda stood there shivering on the patch of grass next to the ambulance bay, swallowing a couple of times to keep back tears. She scrolled away from Olivia's name and back to her list of contacts, selecting another number on a whim before texting a message.

The nurses here are bitches.

Amanda took a few stabilizing breaths, willing her heart to stop pounding, unsure what had possessed her to send the text. As she went to slide her phone back in her coat pocket, it buzzed with a return message.

MEOW! Hiss! Raaaawwwrr…..

Amanda choked on a laugh, typing a response back to her former psychiatric nurse Are those supposed to be angry cat noises?

When Tanya had given Amanda her personal cell number, encouraging her to call or text if she had questions about therapy techniques (or if she wanted to "chat Hello Kitty"), she had saved the contact in her phone as her own kind of "thank you" to the kooky nurse who had taken care of her during a rough time. She had never expected to actually call or text the number.

"Yes. Cause wow. You sure sound mad. What's wrong, hon?"

What's right? Amanda texted back.

You. You are A-Okay, alright by me. Go ahead and type out everything that's bothering you. I got my whole lunch hour.

Amanda snorted at that one. You'd be on lunch for much longer than that.

This time, the phone buzzed in her hand, the twang of her ringtone startling her. Amanda hesitated before answering. "Hey. Try not to piss me off, okay? Psychiatrists, psychologists, nosy nurses…I'm over ya'll."

"I know, know. We're a pain in the ass," Tanya chuckled.

"I may be outpatient now, but this place is still like prison. It was a fight to leave the unit even for one goddamn break. I'm done with people checking in every 5 minutes to make sure I'm okay, being pushy as hell." She recalled the snippy words of the nurse manning the desk on the unit. "You wanna stay here and process what you're feeling or run out the door?" she had quipped when Amanda gasped out the need to get some air and make a phone call.

"Yeah, I get it. Some try the tough love approach. They think a little push will get you to process things, start working through the trauma. That's not always the best way to do exposure therapy, though. You're supposed to feel safe, go at your own pace."

Amanda sighed and swiped a windblown strand of hair out of her eyesight. Exposure therapy. Talking about the evidence-based approach to trauma during her intake with Dr. Siefert this morning, Amanda had immediately stiffened on that same sofa where she had wailed and sobbed in Olivia's arms after confessing that Patton had raped her a half-dozen times. The premise of her therapy, Dr. Siefert had reiterated, was to learn to re-experience her trauma and its triggers instead of engaging in avoidance behaviors—drinking, gambling, self-harm, overtime at work. The more she tried to throw herself into all those things, to forget or pretend, the more the trauma loomed bigger and bigger in the background, becoming increasingly threatening and unavoidable. Though it would be painful and terrifying to confront all that had happened to her, Dr. Siefert acknowledged, ultimately the pain of the trauma would lessen by facing it head on.

"Let's try a little experiment," Dr. Siefert had said, his eyes appeasing, smile benign. He glanced at Amanda's clenched hands, aware of her tension. "Suppose I told you not to think about something—let's pick something safe. Say, a slice of chocolate cake. I want you to do everything in your power not to think about that cake or imagine any details about it—how many layers it is, the texture of the frosting, how it smells and tastes. Don't let yourself feel hungry or imagine yourself taking a bite. I want us to try this for one minute straight—do your best to not think about or react to chocolate cake."

Amanda had snorted at the ridiculousness of the exercise, refusing to close her eyes as Dr. Siefert suggested. Fine. This would be easy. She would think of nothing but Olivia Benson, the woman she loved. Her gentle hands, strong physique, sexy curves…that dark, wavy hair that Amanda longed to sift through her fingers. Intense, mocha-brown eyes that made her insides melt. Melt like chocolate …eyes like chocolate...better than chocolate cake.

"Fuck," Amanda grumbled into the phone after giving Tanya a rundown of the exercise. "I didn't last 10 seconds. My mouth watered."

"Because you were thinking of chocolate cake or Olivia?"

"Both," Amanda admitted, and they laughed. She certainly hadn't been amused when Dr. Siefert watched her wring her hands at the first thought of the forbidden, asking her at the end of the exercise, "So? You thought of chocolate?" His voice had been infuriatingly serene, knowing.

"What did you tell him?" Tanya asked.

"I told him I thought of vanilla," Amanda said flatly, using the exact same tone in which she had responded to her psychiatrist.

Tanya sputtered with laughter. "You are bad," she chided.

"I'm not about to actually admit the truth to a shrink," Amanda mumbled. "Not on the third visit, anyway."

"He told you the point, didn't he? Of the exercise?"

Dr. Siefert had, completely nonplussed by Amanda's sarcastic response. "So, you did your very best to not think of chocolate cake, and instead you tried to focus on vanilla. You probably put every ounce of your energy into thinking of vanilla so you wouldn't allow yourself to think about anything remotely related to chocolate. You tried, hard, to distract yourself with how vanilla smells and tastes. And, driving your thoughts, even if you weren't always aware of it, was a voice saying, 'Don't think chocolate, Don't think chocolate.' So really, all the while, chocolate is still there at the back of your mind, something taboo. It suddenly has all this new importance and influence because you are trying so hard not to think about it, and you tell yourself you shouldn't think about it," Dr. Siefert had explained. "I know this little exercise probably seemed silly—I'm sure you are wondering why we're bothering with this. But it's the same when you try not to think about trauma. You tell yourself you need to move beyond what happened, to leave it in the past to survive, and you exhaust yourself trying not to think about it. But the more you tell yourself that you shouldn't think about something, the harder it is to clear those thoughts from your mind. You fixate on work or push away the feelings that the trauma brings up with a drink or gambling, and all the while the traumatic events take on this whole new level of significance and are always there, still waiting to be processed. When you try to avoid trauma, it becomes more than something that happened to you-it's something you carry with you."

What Amanda didn't understand about Dr. Siefert's example was that for those initial years in New York, when she threw herself into learning how to first survive, then thrive and succeed as a Manhattan SVU detective, she hadn't let herself think of Patton at all. This was still a sticking point for her.

"There was a time I didn't carry it," she had argued back. "When I joined SVU, I was able to leave what happened behind in Atlanta. If you pretend something didn't happen, after awhile, it's like it never did," Amanda said, echoing what she had said to Fin when telling her partner about the first rape. "If I could leave it behind once, I can do it again. I know I can. Why wouldn't I work to do that in therapy, instead of reliving something I can't do a damn thing about now?"

"You're very good at pretending, aren't you?" Dr. Siefert said gently, sidestepping her question. "You work so hard at it. You do everything to make yourself numb, to not let yourself think and feel. A person can only do that for so long."

Amanda paused for a long moment after summarizing the conversation to Tanya, heartbeat quickening in consternation as she thought over the doctor's words. Her friend graciously broke the silence. "Let's be taboo!" she burst out. "I know a great café-kinda-place over by Manhattan General that serves—you guessed it—probably the best damn slice of chocolate cake you've ever eaten. If you want, we can meet up there after my shift sometime, stuff our faces, and talk more about this stuff one-on-one. Some patients with PTSD that I've had did really well with exposure therapy. I know it may suck for now, but I've seen it work."

"If you're gonna propose chocolate…" Amanda grumbled…"Sure."

It turned out that Amanda wasn't the only person who had reservations about re-exposure to trauma. She discovered that in the middle of their next group session on the unit. The hour had started out uneventfully enough. Most of the groups that Amanda had attended that day, led by nurse practitioners, promised to be a lot less intense than individual therapy. Actually, Amanda found, if weren't for annoyingly attentive staff members who insisted that everyone "participate" in some way, she didn't mind the groups all that much—they weren't all that different than Gambler's Anonymous meetings, really, and some of what was discussed was at least practical. Their morning groups had included relaxation and deep breathing techniques to calm anxiety; there had even been a yoga session offered, though the poses were much more restorative and gentle than Amanda preferred, on flimsy, donated yoga mats.

In and of itself, there was nothing overly threatening about this afternoon group either, at least not at first. They were talking about how to recognize common trauma triggers. The information started out basic, with the nurse leader defining the word "trigger" and what it meant-how it could be a sensation, memory, thought, or location that brought back the traumatic event. Things became more uncomfortable when she passed out worksheets to the group of 15 or so women and men in the room, asking them to make a list of all the things that had triggered their trauma in the past and then brainstorm a grounding or centering exercise that might help calm them in the face of those triggers.

Amanda sat stiffly in her folding chair, clicking her pen. Consciously thinking about her triggers might send her hurtling back through time right into Patton's office. Her triggers were so unpredictable lately; the most mundane, everyday occurrences could leave her paralyzed with fear. Amanda's mind began to race. She knew what had caused flashbacks and memories in the past—but what might set her off next? This exercise made the world feel unsafe.

Evidently, others in the room felt the same way-there was a lot of nervous foot tapping, fidgeting, and heavy breathing. When Amanda heard a sniffle and a sharp intake of breath, she looked up from her blank sheet of paper. A woman sitting a few seats down from her in the circle was visibly shaking, her pale, pinched face streaked with tears. She was a wisp of a woman, small and slender, and her crying made her look almost childlike. She wasn't even bothering to look at her worksheet, which she had wadded into a paper ball.

Considering that Amanda felt like ripping her own worksheet in half, she found herself unable to take her eyes off the young woman, her chest tightening as she watched her fellow patient double over and wrap her arms around her middle, strawberry-blonde curls obscuring her face. That did it for Amanda. She cleared her throat, loudly, not bothering to preface her thoughts or pull the group leader aside.

"I'm not sure this exercise is really productive," she announced in front of the room. "This might put people in a bad place. " A couple of heads shot up; Amanda could feel several pairs of widened eyes on her.

The nurse, who had been leafing through papers attached to a clipboard, looked up, bushy black eyebrows raised. She was the same nurse who had snapped at her for wanting to use her phone earlier, and Amanda did not care for her.

"Excuse me, but if you have a problem with the worksheet, you can decide not to fill it out," the nurse said, pursing her lips. "But please refrain from commentary. Others are trying to concentrate on this exercise and are here to get the most out of the group, Ms. Rollins. "

"Asking people to think of what triggers them is a trigger," Amanda shot back. "It might bring back things unnecessarily."

"Which is why we are giving you the tools and skills you need to live with the triggers," the nurse replied. "The triggers can't be avoided in real life-we can't run away from them. The point is to know our own minds and identify cues and stressors that interfere with our lives. This exercise may cause some discomfort, yes, but a little effort is called for here."

The woman with the balled-up worksheet let out an audible sob. Amanda let the nurse have it, then. "How dare you presume that I and every other uncomfortable person in this room are not putting in effort? Do you know what anyone here has been through? Or the kind of disgusting, depraved acts that go on every day-how many people are brutalized? Beaten? Raped? Do you know the things I've seen?" she snarled. Her face blazed with heat.

"If you are going to raise your voice and disrupt the entire group, you can see yourself out and go sit in the TV Room or the Meditation Room, Ms. Rollins."

"It's Detective Rollins," Amanda said, her throat smarting as she delivered her title. "Detective Rollins of Manhattan SVU." She stood up and tossed the worksheet on the metal folding chair, then her pen with a clang, before walking out of the group.

Amanda did not go to the TV room or the meditation room-she wasn't about to obediently slip off to one of the institutional, assigned patient areas and go sit in a chair like she was in time-out. Instead, she headed straight to the nurse's station and rapped on the glass partition loudly. The nurse behind the enclosed counter, a corded phone to her ear, gave Amanda a fierce glance and held up one finger. Amanda huffed, tapping her foot in agitation, until the nurse had disconnected the call and slid back the window separating them. "Excuse me, but did you need something?" she asked, warily.

"If you could please get my things," Amanda said through clenched teeth, "I'd appreciate it. I think I'm going to make this a half day, get home."

"You plan to leave?" The nurse said, brows knitting. "You do understand that a full day's attendance is required for you to participate in partial hospitalization, or you forfeit your spot? You can't just pick and choose what hours you're attending. I'll need to notify your psychologist so he can discharge you."

"I'm not feeling well. You're telling me if I go home early, I forfeit the whole goddamn treatment program?" At this point, that would have been fine by Amanda, except she couldn't bear to disappoint Liv. She was doing this for Liv.

"I have a headache," she said, blinking back tears she didn't even know were there. "I had surgery earlier this month." She gestured at her head, which was truthfully pulsating.

The nurse's gaze softened. "Let me check your chart to see what you're prescribed. We'll get you something for the pain."

Amanda blew out a long breath while waiting for her medication, counting off the hours until 5:00, when her day here would be over. Once she had been given a pill, she paced the unit, snarling at the other nosy staff members who kept asking her why she wasn't in group, if she needed something additional for anxiety. Finally, the session ended, and the other patients streamed into the common areas, conversing with nurses or slumping into vinyl hospital chairs to flip through TV channels or wait silently for the next scheduled activity.

Amanda stopped pacing when she reached the TV room and noticed the crying patient from group watching her, looking even more small and slight because she only took up a fraction of the armchair where she sat. Amanda's wild blue eyes met her teary gaze. Willing her heart to be still for a moment, she approached the woman and took the chair adjacent to her. "Hi," she said hesitantly.

The woman's lips were parted and trembling, like she wanted to say something but was overcome. "Hi," she finally whispered.

The two women sat in silence for a moment, Amanda's new acquaintance wrapping her arms more tightly around her knees, which were drawn up close to her chest. She looked off at the TV for a moment, then turned back to Amanda with wide eyes. "You're a police officer who works with victims?" she asked, voice hardly above a whisper.

"I am…I was," Amanda faltered. "But something happened years ago that caught up with me, and now I'm here." This time, it was her voice that was barely audible.

"Do you ever think about it?"

"Pardon?" Amanda asked.

"The worst part of what happened to you. Do you ever let your mind go there?"

"I don't—" Amanda stumbled for words, caught off guard at the forward question. Her body went cold all over.

"That's the eventual goal of therapy," the woman said in a hushed tone, shaking her head, her curls bobbing slowly with the motion. "To actually think about the most fucked-up part of whatever happened and learn to accept it. Sometimes I can't decide on the most disgusting…the most horrible… part of what he did to me," she stammered, her eyes glassy and unfocused, as if she didn't even see Amanda. "What about you? Can you choose a worst moment?"

Amanda stood up. "I think I'd rather not discuss this," she mumbled, her palms cool and clammy with sweat. She was incredulous with herself for letting this woman upset her, with how her voice was shaking. Detective Rollins would have known how to respond, had seen people in far worse distress. She would have ready words for the victim, and she could listen to the most graphic and horrifying details, a calm, steady presence for people in need of justice and protection. But she wasn't Amanda the detective any longer. She was Amanda the victim, Amanda the patient.

Amanda needed to be alone, and the bathroom was the only place she could think of in a hospital setting with no privacy. She charged ahead unseeing and nearly collided with a nurse, who put up both hands to keep Amanda from falling. She instantly drew back, most certainly not wanting to be touched right now.

"That woman over there... she's pretty triggered," Amanda said, jerking her thumb towards the patient curled in the armchair. "You might want to go check on her." And quickly, without waiting for a response, she maneuvered around the concerned-looking nurse.

Her footsteps to the bathroom were rapid until suddenly Amanda staggered and gasped, her gait becoming stiff, awkward. She was terrified, because with each step she took, she felt a sharp, stabbing pain between her legs. She stumbled on her way down the hallway at one point, having to brace herself by putting a palm against the wall. Sweat beaded her hairline, and her stomach somersaulted, over and over. Amanda clapped a hand over her mouth. Somehow, she managed to reach the women's room just in time, collapsing inside one of the stalls to retch into the toilet.

Amanda heaved and heaved. When her stomach was done forcibly emptying itself, she slumped backward against the closed stall door, gasping for air, the tiled walls of the restroom actually shimmying before her eyes. The vomiting had jolted her out of the moment she had been reliving; there was no longer a searing, shooting sensation where her thighs met. Still, as soon as she was able to stand, she pulled down her jeans and underwear to check for bleeding. Nothing.

A hushed whimper burst past her lips, her hands trembling as she examined herself. Her fingertips trailed one inner thigh, brushing against raised, palpable scar tissue. She moved to examine the skin on the opposite leg, an identical jagged, pink line coursing inward towards the most intimate part of her.

Amanda shuddered at the twin scars, hand resting low on her belly, just before the small patch of blonde curls at her center. There was scar tissue elsewhere, too, but she didn't examine it. She couldn't go there, couldn't imagine the worst of the worst that had happened. She tugged her jeans back up to hide the space between her legs, gasping for air over and over, the bathroom echoing with soft, involuntary cries.

The rapping on the guest room door intensified, growing firmer and more persistent instead of stopping at a few light taps. It was the third time that Olivia had knocked, so it was unlikely that Amanda could get away with pretending to be asleep again.

"Amanda? You okay? I don't want to invade your privacy, but I need to know if you're alright. Can I peek in on you?"

Amanda groaned beneath the covers, trying to muster the strength to lift her head. She'd been awake, but dazed, every bit of energy having drained from her body after the incident in day hospital. A nurse had found her crumpled over the toilet bowl, breathing hard between swallows as she tried in vain to settle her stomach. The staff took pity on her, allowing her to crawl into a hospital bed for the rest of the afternoon. As soon as a cab had dropped her off at Olivia's that evening, she had immediately curled up under another set of blankets and hadn't risen from the daybed since. Olivia's knocks, even Frannie's snuffling at the crack of the door, had all been ignored.

As the knocking persisted, Amanda finally spoke. "I've just been sleeping, Liv," she lied, her voice a pathetic croak.

The door creaked open a sliver. "You've been in there all night, honey. I've already put Noah down. Why don't you come out for a bit and have a bite to eat? I ordered a pizza earlier, but you slept right through dinner. I can heat you up a slice or two."

"I'll pass, Liv, but thanks," Amanda mumbled. She debated telling Olivia to go away, licking her dry lips, trying to formulate more words.

The door opened the rest of the way, the illumination of the hallway a startling contrast with the darkness of the guest room. A bleary-eyed Amanda heard the rapid clicking of toenails, and barely a second later, she let out an oomph as one over-enthusiastic pit bull bounded into the room, launched herself onto the bed, and landed square on her stomach. "Jesus, Frannie," Amanda groaned.

"Would you mind if I come in? I don't want to invade your space, but I'd really like to see you. I promise I won't take Frannie's approach."

Amanda shared a feeble laugh with Olivia as Frannie began slathering her chin with ecstatic kisses, snuffling her neck, and generally getting all up in her owner's face. Loathe as she was to admit, she wanted Olivia even more than she wanted to be alone. "Yeah, that'd be fine," she conceded. "At least you asked first," she crooned through clenched teeth as she scratched behind pointed ears, speaking in the ridiculous, sing-song voice she reserved for and around her pet. Her heart hurt at shutting the dog out of the room, but she didn't trust that her fists wouldn't go flying in the middle of some nightmare.

"Okay, hold tight for one sec. I'll be right back."

Amanda wriggled out from under Frannie, trying to at least look alive for the woman she loved, embarrassed by her tangled hair and the likely darkened circles of her eyes. She obliged her dog with a belly rub, absentmindedly running her fingers through coarse fur as she waited for Olivia to come back. A few minutes later, the other woman emerged with a plate of peach pie in each hand.

"So, because you've decided to skip meals, I'm stooping to a new low in this apartment and bringing you pie in bed," Olivia announced. "You gotta eat at least a little something to keep your strength up. You're recovering from a major head injury, remember? I know you hate me nagging you to take care of yourself, but if the situation calls for it…" Olivia trailed off, fixing Amanda with a pointed stare.

"No fair, bribing me with Grandad's peach pie," Amanda said. She licked her dry lips and swallowed; her throat felt full of gravel. "We might as well go all out, if we're gonna do dessert in bed. What about a glass of milk to go with that?"

"I can get on board with that," Olivia said. "A little more nutritional value definitely wouldn't hurt." She balanced the two plates beside the vase of flowers on the nightstand as Amanda snapped her fingers at Frannie and delivered a stern "hey," the dog having wasted no time in hopping down and trotting straight towards the food.

Before leaving the room, Olivia leaned in to press a firm, lingering kiss to Amanda's forehead. "Stop making me worry, Rollins," she ordered in her no-nonsense sergeant voice. Amanda's heart quickened as Olivia pulled away. Copy that," she said, scrunching up her nose in a failed attempt to hide a smile.

When Olivia returned with something to drink, Amanda swallowed the cold, creamy milk with long, almost desperate swallows. She realized (and hoped to good God that Olivia wouldn't do the same) that she was parched and lightheaded. Going without so much as a sip of water all evening hadn't been the best decision. She couldn't help herself and nearly drained the glass. Olivia observed her closely with plate at the ready, the other woman practically one step away from feeding her a forkful of pie. Liv was in total mama-bear mode, and Amanda didn't totally hate it.

She accepted her plate and raised her eyebrows in challenge. "So, we gonna do this right or what?" she said, flopping fully back against the pillows and using her stomach as a placemat. "You brought two plates of pie in here, and I'm not about to eat both myself."

Olivia sighed and shook her head, pursing her lips, this time the one trying to hide a smile. She feigned extreme reluctance, very slowly picking up the second plate from the nightstand.

"Don't worry," Amanda said. "Frannie'll be more than happy to lick up any crumbs that get on the sheets." She pointed her fork at the dog, who had plopped down on the floor at Amanda's command but was staring at the dessert with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Let's try to refrain from getting crumbs or dog slobber on the bed, shall we?" Olivia replied. Amanda laughed out loud at how gingerly she turned around, hoisting herself up onto the bed in slow motion with her plate in a vice grip to prevent any specks of food from flying. Olivia sighed and leaned back, sitting close enough to Amanda on the bed that their thighs were touching. Amanda could feel the warmth and proximity of the other woman, her faint scent of vanilla intermingling with sweet peaches as she raised a forkful of pie to her mouth. Her heart thrummed.

"Mhmmm," Olivia moaned appreciatively, closing her eyes, and the sound practically drove Amanda crazy. She took her own bite of pie with gusto, letting the sweet taste roll around on her tongue. "Glad to see my baking helps you to loosen up a little, Liv. Wait till I'm able to make you a pie with fresh peaches," she said, feeling heat creep up her neck as she watched Olivia lick the tines of her fork clean in appreciation. No denying it; she wanted in on that tongue action.

After a few moments, Olivia caught her staring, her eyebrows raising in question. "God, I want to kiss you," Amanda blurted.

"Finish eating and then we'll see," Olivia said with a wink, and Amanda had no problem polishing off the rest of her dessert in record time, heaving a dramatic sigh at Olivia's leisurely bites, the frequent pauses to blot her mouth with a napkin and how neatly she scraped her plate clean of crumbs and sticky filling. Finally, pie eaten, plates put aside, Olivia guided Amanda into her arms, pulling her in close for a slow, soft kiss.

She feathered back Amanda's hair, tucking more flyaway strands behind her ear. "Was that worth the wait?" she teased, smiling, but Amanda caught a slight quiver in her voice, a subtle note of self-consciousness. In answer, she leaned in to envelope Olivia with both arms and mouth. Amanda's hands traversed the other woman's back in a reverent caress as she indulged in more kisses.

For a few blissful minutes, neither woman pulled away, equally immersed in the other. Eventually, though, Amanda leaned back, her heart pumping hard and fast. She was dizzy with desire, and could feel her control slipping, which scared her, forcing her to disengage. Being physical was not something that she had ever given much thought—men came in and out of her life, and they had dated and flirted and fucked. None of that ever filled a void. None of that ever made her feel like this.

"Hey," Olivia crooned, ducking to meet her averted eyes. She removed the hand threaded through Amanda's hair and grazed her check with a soft, questioning knuckle. "You okay?"

"My heat is pounding, Liv."

"Oh, honey, what happened? Tell me. If I did something that made you uncomfortable, then I'm sorry. Maybe I should go, give you space."

Amanda shook her head, latching onto Olivia's arms with an almost frantic grip. "No, no, I want you so badly. " Tears of longing and love welled up and overflowed.

"Easy, take it easy."

Amanda reached out for Olivia, who took her in her arms. She clutched at the weave of her striped sweater, trying to steady her shaking hands. A whimper reached Amanda's lips before she could stop it, and there was no filtering her words, either. "I want you to stay with me, Liv. I want to be with you so much it scares me."

"Shhh, I know. I want to be right here, too. Just relax, sweetie. You're already processing a lot, so I don't want you getting too worked up. Just take it easy; I've got you." Olivia settled back against the pillows, cradling Amanda against her chest. "There you go," she murmured as Amanda let out a long, ragged breath, slumping against her from the day's crushing lows and breathtaking highs. Olivia's fingers sifted through her hair in a calming caress, and Amanda could hear the steady thumping of the other woman's heartbeat beneath her ear. She was close enough to be one with the rise and fall of Liv's chest.

For several minutes, both women were quiet. Amanda felt Liv kiss her hair, the other woman leaning her head against hers to deepen the intimacy between them. "I get the feeling that today wasn't easy," Olivia murmured to her, cheek resting against Amanda's bent head. "You even hid away from Frannie, so I'm thinking that you may have had a tough time."

Amanda was pulled into the flashback of that afternoon, feeling a lesser but still-perceptible stabbing sensation where her legs met. She jerked involuntarily with a sharp, audible intake of breath, hands scrabbling and clutching at Olivia in her moment of panic. "Hey…hey. What's the matter, Amanda?" Olivia's arms tightened around her in alarm.

"I can't talk about it, Liv," Amanda said, when she found her voice. It sounded alien and garbled in her ears.

"Okay, okay. It's okay. I gotcha."

"I'm sorry," Amanda gasped.

"It's okay. Shhh." Olivia hushed her, caressing along her back, whispering and murmuring words that Amanda struggled to interpret but knew were meant to soothe. She gripped the other woman's clothing in a desperate attempt to stay present. Intuitive to her needs, Olivia held her tightly, anchoring her in place so that the current moment didn't completely slip away.

"You with me, honey?" she whispered, once Amanda's breathing slowed and softened a bit. She rocked gently, stroking Amanda's cheek to keep her grounded.

"I'm here," Amanda managed. "Please just hold me."

"Of course," Olivia promised. They lapsed into silence for a little while.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk?" Olivia gently ventured. "It might help you to share what's on your mind instead of keeping it all bottled up."

"Liv, I just can't," Amanda pleaded. She shuddered against an onslaught of more tears, not wanting to completely spin out.

"Okay. I'm here to listen if and when you're ready."

Amanda didn't respond, because she likely would never be ready to talk about her worst moment. To hell with Dr. Siefert, Tanya, and all the in-your-face nurses. Some things should never be exposed to the light. She started trembling, so Olivia tucked a blanket around them both. Cocooned against Liv in a soft blue comforter, Amanda was eventually able to regain some focus. She tilted her head to look at Olivia, who seemed troubled, her gaze solemn and inward.

"How are you, Liv? How was your day?"

Olivia quickly returned her attention to the woman in her arms, running a hand through Amanda's hair. "My day? Well…" she trailed off, then let out a hefty sigh.

"I feel ya," Amanda said, and both she and Olivia snorted with laughter. "This day needs to be over already."

"Agreed."

"So, what happened today? I hope the precinct isn't swamped while I'm useless and out of commission."

"Amanda," Olivia admonished.

"What? I'm concerned. Did you have court again today? That predatory bastard's trial seems to be prolonged," she said, her chest tightening at the reference to Professor William Mackey. "You look tired, and if I was a functioning detective and member of society, then…"

Olivia leaned back, shifting Amanda slightly to gain her eye contact and attention. "Amanda, we've discussed this. The precinct isn't your concern or priority right now. I'm not discussing details about any cases with you."

Amanda bristled, pulling out of Olivia's arms and moving away from her on the bed. With effort, she swallowed her usual snarky comeback, a decades-old defense mechanism in the face of feeling vulnerable. Her ability to do so was a testament to her feelings for Olivia. In choosing not to lash out, she felt a surge of shame in the absence of her usual anger.

"Liv, I get it, okay?" she said, no heat or defiance behind the words. They just sounded strangled, desperate. "I get that I messed up, that I'm benched from the squad and can't be a part of things right now. I'm sorry. It's just not an easy thing."

"Sweetheart, is that what you think? This isn't a disciplinary action. It's time off, for you to recover and take care of your health. You didn't do anything wrong, and what you're going through isn't your fault. This leave will give you a chance to get past what happened and feel better. I know how hard you work, and all that you put into the job, but right now, I want you to put all of that into yourself."

Amanda didn't even know how to begin to do that, but she didn't admit as much to Olivia. "Okay, okay. I'll try my best not to fixate on work. I know that you can't tell me anything about the damn Mackey trial, or any cases, but I want to know about you." She pressed her fingers to her sinuses and closed her eyes, desperate to stop more tears, beginning to think with no small amount of terror that she didn't know the right way to feel anything anymore. She hated how every nerve ending felt exposed all the time, how every emotion left her reeling, including her love for the woman sitting on the bed with her. "I want to know how you are and how your day went. I want to hear every detail, and not just about today. I wanna hear about all your days, ya know? Even the ones that can be summed up with a sigh."

Liv chuckled and gave Amanda's knee a gentle squeeze, a cue for her to meet Olivia's eyes, which were glinting with amusement. "Well, alright then. Feel free to investigate, Rollins, but I'm not sure that my life is quite as interesting or satisfying to hear about as you think. You really want to hear every detail?" she teased.

"A thousand percent yes," Amanda said, deadpan. "I wanna learn all about you and how you're doing, every minute of the day. I like to be in the know."

"Oh, honey," Olivia said. "This is a little ironic coming from someone who hates opening up."

"Yeah, yeah," Amanda said, waving her hand in mock dismissal. "So, I don't practice what I preach."

Olivia chuckled, her smile unguarded.

"So, Liv, please tell me," Amanda pressed. "I know certain specifics are off limits, but I'd really like to hear about anything you wanna talk about. Cause I hope you're doing and feeling okay." And to show Olivia just how much she meant that, Amanda resumed her previous closeness with the other woman to seal her words with a kiss.

Olivia responded back gently, letting Amanda guide the contact and choose when to pull away.

"Hmm," Olivia hummed thoughtfully as Amanda looked at her with rapt eyes. "Honestly, today was pretty typical. It's just that so many days, they run you down, you know? You're in the courtroom hoping that one bastard gets put away, but you know that it isn't a sure thing, that the system is flawed. And while you're putting all your energy into doing that, another person is coming into the station to report. That's the job, but some days can be harder than others, especially when you have people in your life that you so badly want to protect." She trailed off, gazing deeply at Amanda, reaching out to smooth her cheek. "As much as you wish they hadn't been hurt, it happened," she whispered. Amanda's heart thudded at the indirect but meaningful words.

"This job is about the most horrific things that people do to each other, and that does color the way I look at life," Olivia continued, her voice strained. "I've been in Special Victims for over a decade, but in some ways, this role is much harder now. I have Noah to think about. I have a child in my life who I love so much. I would do everything to protect him, but in a world like this, I really wonder how much I can do." Olivia's eyes were misty, and Amanda swelled with the desire to take her tears away, even though Liv was more comfortable showing emotion than Amanda herself, the Sergeant of SVU a model blend of strength and softness.

"Yeah, but this world has you in it, Liv, "Amanda blurted. She felt a warm blush on her cheeks, realizing that in most any other context, she had a low tolerance for these kinds of sappy, sentimental statements. But, the words felt true and sacred, her heartbeat thudding in her earnestness for Olivia to understand how wonderful, beautiful, perfect she was. What have I become? A hopeless frickin' romantic. She reached for Olivia's hand and squeezed it tightly for emphasis. "So Noah, he has a pretty good shot, you know."

"I appreciate that, Amanda, though you might be giving me a bit too much credit here," Olivia said. She raised their linked hands to kiss the back of Amanda's knuckles.

"Um…have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately, Olivia? Do you know who the heck you are?"

To Amanda's incredulity, the tears in Olivia's eyes slid free, and her choked laugh was one of disbelief. She pulled Amanda in close. "Like I said, too much credit." But Amanda knew differently—she could spend her whole life trying, and never give Olivia enough.