Title: Relapse

Author: KalenCaelli

Pairing: Amanda Rollins/Olivia Benson

Rating: M

General Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, I simply borrow them from Dick Wolf, play with them, and put them back a little worse for wear but much, much happier.

Author's Disclaimer: EXPLICIT SEX! Have I got your attention now, okay good. Now that everyone has automatically zoomed into the seventh line on the screen, more or less, let me please announce the following. I make no apologies if you are reading this story expecting anything but sex to happen (It's rated M, for crying out loud), and so if anything remotely about that bothers you, please send me a self addressed stamped envelop and $100 and I will mail you a very pretty card and a dozen chocolate chip cookies. With my condolences.

Author's Note: This project is really the fault of three people – Sheepish, Carrie Underwood, and AgapeandZoe, in that order. Sheepish, because she wrote about a concept that I absolutely loved, and that was the idea of Amanda and Olivia turning to each other for comfort throughout the last several seasons of the show. I blame Carrie Underwood because she wrote this little song called "Relapse" (Song, meet story, story, meet song), that I listened to and said "WHO WROTE THAT FUCKING SONG ABOUT AMANDA ROLLINS AND OLIVIA BENSON" (Yes, in caps, just like that). And you can blame AgapeandZoe because even though she only wrote my second favorite ship (Sorry you Cabenson lovers, but Rolivia is my first love), she gave me a nudge off this cliff and this behemoth was born. It was supposed to be a one shot, which turned into a three shot, and now my mind is in production talks with my muse for a potential sequel, side arcs, and merchandising (with a third of all proceeds going to the author's wallet 'cuz she broke).

One final thing...Noah, Jessie, and Frannie don't exist in this universe, though I may possibly bring them in play in a sequel. I just can't see either woman going out for booty calls with any of the aforementioned. Sorry dog lovers. My shih tzus aren't speaking to me, if it makes you feel any bet...oh, now they want food.

If you haven't listened to the Carrie Underwood song, seriously, go listen to it. Download Spotify, or Apple Music, or Pandora, whatever, and listen to it. It's pretty fucking amazing.

February 2016

Amanda isn't supposed to be here.

She isn't supposed to be outside her door, hand poised to knock, body shaking, mind racing with pent-up emotion and need.

After the last time, Olivia had practically thrown her out of the apartment, insisting that this could no longer happen, as if this is some type of contagious disease. Even though this wasn't supposed to mean anything in the first place. Just meaningless sex between two consenting adults. No strings. No talk of relationships or futures or feelings. Just two people finding release and escape from the harsh reality that they faced on a daily basis.

Sometimes she even stormed out of her own volition, her relationship with Olivia built on a delicate balance of wary respect and contentiousness that seemed to follow them even as Olivia rose through the ranks from detective to sergeant and now lieutenant. They push each other's buttons. They challenge each other. But ultimately, at the end of the day, they need each other.

Amanda knocks on the door, listening as the silence gives way to the sound of footsteps padding across the living room floor. There is a pause as they near the door, however, a moment's hesitation. Then a muffled sigh as a chain is removed, locks turned, and the door slips open, the taller, curvier form of her boss appearing in the door frame. Even in a pair of black yoga pants and an off-the-shoulder purple sweater, Olivia is gorgeous. Her long brown hair is twisted up in a bun and messily clipped into place, loose tendrils tucked behind her ears.

She is sorely tempted to reach across the threshold and loosen that bun, dragging her fingers through hair she knows is smooth as silk.

"What are you doing here, Rollins?" Olivia is clearly annoyed, because she not only knows why Amanda is here, but she already knows she'll participate.

Amanda's eyes slide from Olivia's to the glass coffee table where her boss' laptop is open next to a half-full glass of red wine. The nearby bottle is half-empty, a silent reminder that the pornography case they'd just closed affected them all pretty deeply. Cases involving children always did, and this one was especially bad.

"Rollins?"

Blue eyes met brown. "I just needed a place to go." That she was hiding from her own demons, that persistent, niggling urge to head to one of her old gambling haunts, to lose herself in the smell of stale cigarettes and taste of alcohol – the slick feel of a fresh deck of cards on the scratchy felt of a blackjack table – was left unspoken.

"And so you chose my place?" Olivia deadpans, hesitation and resistance radiating from her body. They have been down this road so many times. Sometimes Amanda initiates it, sometimes Olivia. But it always ends up in the same place.

Amanda swallows, her throat dry. The possibility that Olivia would refuse her has crossed her mind, but she hasn't come up with a contingency plan. She tries for teasing, arching an eyebrow, a wry smirk curling the corners of her lips. "You have company?"

Olivia's frown deepens into a scowl. "Don't you have someplace else to go? Fin's place, or Carisi's?" A beat. "A meeting?" She steps back, making as if to close the door.

If only all addictions were so easy. But they didn't make Twelve Step programs when your addiction is a person.

Amanda quickly slips a hand through the opening, resting it on the white painted doorframe, the door itself coming to a halt less than an inch from her hand. She fights to keep the panic from her throat, knowing that if the door closed, this thing between them would be over. "Please. Liv."

There had been relatively few rules when this thing between them started, most of them unspoken.

"I thought I told you this could no longer happen."

Yes, she'd been told. But she's never been much of a rule follower since joining Manhattan's special victim unit and sees no point in starting now. Not to mention Olivia violates her own rules almost as often as Amanda does. "But what do you want?"

Olivia hesitates, indecision etched across those sculpted features, door opening a sliver more. There was one iron-clad rule that has never been tested, never been violated – either one of them could walk away from this at any time.

Cerulean blue eyes meet chocolate brown in a long, silent pause.

The door eases open, finally inviting Amanda inside.

November 2011

Malone's was a bar that every cop knew about, and one of the first places Amanda found herself spending her free time after joining the Manhattan Special Victims Unit. Going home alone was still dangerous — the circumstances behind her abrupt departure from Atlanta a little too fresh, the trauma a little too real.

She should be thrilled, elated even, that they had solved the case. Gia Eskas was finally getting the justice that had so very long been denied, her uncle behind bars, another pedophile off the streets.

Maybe if Gia was exceptionally lucky, he'd get shanked while he was at Rikers.

So why didn't she feel better?

Lifting the rim of the glass to her lips, the blonde tossed back the amber liquid, feeling the harsh burn of the whiskey as it slid down her throat, tapping her fingers twice on the counter, urging the bartender, Tom, to bring her another.

Had that been two, or three? It was hard to keep track when she was tipsy.

Once again, Amanda found her thoughts migrating back to Atlanta and to Kim, wondering if she was finally managing to stay out of trouble. Kim ... who was so very much like Gia, and because Amanda was not much older they wouldn't listen and by the time anyone did listen to Amanda about the abuse going on underneath their very noses, the damage had already been done. Amanda spent the rest of her childhood and teenage years protecting her little sister, bailing her out of trouble, cleaning up her messes while her father ran and her mother drank and Patton...

No. She wouldn't go there.

Blue eyes slid along the length of the scarred and knotted surface of the bar, resting on a familiar figure. Amanda wondered how she had missed the fact that she was not alone. Taking her freshly refilled glass, Amanda slid off her barstool and migrated towards where her colleague was nursing a bottle of beer, unfocused brown eyes locked onto the TV in the corner.

At one point in time, before she had left Atlanta, Olivia Benson had been her role model. But the older woman had hardly rolled out the welcome mat for Amanda and her fellow rookie Nick Amaro. Granted, Olivia had been adapting to the fact that she'd just lost her partner of twelve years, but it had still been demoralizing.

"This seat taken?" Amanda set her glass down on the counter next to Olivia, the brunette startling at the unexpected company. She hadn't bothered to change out of her pale peach shirt and brown slacks, and based on the fact that Olivia was wearing the same navy blouse and grey pants she'd worn earlier, Amanda guessed she had come straight from the precinct as well.

"Rollins," there was a hint of annoyance at the unexpected company, annoyance that was quickly masked behind layers upon layers of carefully schooled emotion. Olivia dipped her head towards the stool on her right, the older detective arching an eyebrow at her blonde colleague. "What brings you here?"

Amanda took a sip of her drink, resting her forearms on the bar. "Same as you. Trying to wind down after a tough case." Trying to erase the image of Kim's face superimposed on Gia's body. Trying to erase the feel of his grubby little fingers as she offered herself to him if he would just quit touching her little sister. "I guess my apartment was a little too quiet." There, easier to change topic, to forget. It wasn't like she'd had a lot of time to make friends. Amanda's fingers drummed a relentless rhythm on her right thigh. "What about you, Olivia? Anyone to go home to?"

Olivia snorted, taking a long sip off her beer. "Do this job long enough, Rollins, and you'll find that there are two types of men out there — those that are turned off by what we do and those that are turned on by it. Don't bother trying to chase the former and run hard and fast from the latter."

Amanda polished off the remainder of her whiskey at the same time Olivia finished her bottle, the two women each raising their hand for another round. Misery apparently loved company.

"Kind of makes you wonder how you can trust any man out there," Amanda trailed her finger along the rim of her glass, her cerulean gaze leveled on the melting ice. Though they'd only been working together a couple of months, Amanda knew about the shooting that happened less than a month before she came on board. Knew that Olivia's partner had left without explanation, ending one of the longest-lived partnerships in the SVU.

Knew about the rumors that insinuated there was something more than just a partnership there. Knew there were also other rumors that instead paired the brunette with Alex Cabot before she left to go work in Africa.

"There are few good ones out there." Olivia's tone softened, almost wistful. Amanda wondered if she was thinking about Elliott. Taking another long drink of her beer, Olivia regarded Amanda solemnly, "What about you, Rollins? You had time to start seeing anyone yet?"

Her bookie. Somehow, Amanda knew that Olivia would be less than impressed if she knew that particular vice, so she shook her head. "Would be nice though, having someone to go home to after a case like this. Hell, even a mindless fuck would be nice. Anything to forget for a couple of hours."

Did she really just say that? Maybe she'd had more to drink than she'd thought. And could Olivia's eyebrow arch any higher? As the heat suffused her cheeks, Amanda hurriedly added, "Don't tell me the thought hasn't ever crossed your mind, Liv. Pick up someone at the bar, take them home, have some kick ass sex for the sake of it."

Chocolate eyes darkened as Olivia looked away, drinking from her beer, ignoring the question. A long string of expletives ran through her mind, Amanda pursing her lips together, wondering if the tentative inroads she'd made past that iron shell had suddenly disappeared because she'd gotten a little too personal, too real.

Amanda had admired Olivia from afar well before she'd put in for a transfer from Atlanta. From her ridiculously high case closure rates to the commendations and accolades praising her work with victim's rights groups, Amanda placed the brunette on a pedestal long before they ever met.

Was it stupid? Yes. Ridiculous. Yes. But it was what it was.

Then the word came that Elliot out in his papers, and Amanda watched as a light went out in those brown eyes.

Maybe Amanda would have felt the same way, in Olivia's shoes. Twelve years was a long time, for any partnership.

These days Olivia was all business, rarely cracking a smile even as the rest of the squad began coalescing into a new normal.

"I'm not gay, Rollins." That steely gaze swiveled over, pinning Amanda with its intensity.

God, was it possible to die of embarrassment? Amanda wished the floor beneath her would open up and make her disappear.

"Never implied that you were," Amanda countered, her heart thudding so hard she could practically feel it hitting the wall of her chest. Taking another sip of her liquor, "Never believed in labels much myself." Wondering if she even dares to ask.

As good as her poker face was, Olivia's was even better.

Amanda polished off the last of her glass, deciding this would be the absolute last time she'd drink with Olivia, drumming her fingers on the counter as she tried to get the bartender's attention for her tab.

"So if we're going do this, we need to have a few rules." It took a few moments for Olivia's words to sink in, Amanda's nervous tapping grinding to a halt as her eyes shifted around to meet the brunette's. Had she actually heard her right? Did Liv just say what she thought she said?

Olivia's lips were pursed together. "I don't date coworkers, Rollins, and I'm not looking to get into a relationship. This is a one time thing. No staying the night."

Oh shit. She did.

"One time, no nights," Amanda echoed back, blinking, her thoughts moving fuzzily through her head, like fog. Both women fell silent as the bartender delivered their tabs.

"Absolutely no one can find out about this." There was a nervousness that belied this second request, Olivia's eyes darting around the room as if a camera crew were going to jump out of the shadows and start filming. Each woman threw down their credit cards on top of their tabs, easing the way for a quick getaway if need be.

Amanda suddenly wished she'd ordered another round. She didn't have nearly enough alcohol in her system to be discussing this.

"No one will hear about it from me." Amanda was fairly certain that if anybody found out her body would never be found.

"This isn't about feelings," a slightly pained expression crossing Olivia's features before slipping behind that ever-stoic mask. Amanda wondered if that slight tell had anything to do with Stabler or Cabot. "Please don't try to make it otherwise."

"Geez, you really know how to make a girl feel special," Amanda quipped, ignoring the subtle stab of hurt that contrasted her outwardly flippant demeanor. She must have been stupid for ever wishing, for hoping, that there could be more between them.

Maybe this was what had to be. All that could ever be. And maybe she was selling herself short. But right now, in this moment, she didn't care.

"Okay this was a mistake," Olivia muttered, olive cheeks flushing darker as she slid off her bar stool, her black wool winter coat draped over her arm, intent on leaving before Amanda grabbed her arm.

"I'm sorry, it was a joke," Amanda placated, gripping just firmly enough to prevent the brunette from making a quick escape into the snowy night. Brown eyes shot daggers at her, tugging. "A bad one." Amanda hastily amended, and the tugging stopped. "But I understand. Just meaningless sex."

"And either one of us can walk away at any time." Olivia's tone was glacial, though she no longer pulled against Amanda's grip.

"Is that what you want to do?" Amanda's arm dropped to her side, her gaze never moving from Olivia's own. "Walk away?"

Warm brown eyes met cooler blue in a silent battle of wills.

"Grab your coat, Rollins. I'm driving."

Only later would it ever occur to Amanda the irony behind Olivia's final rule. Because if it was always going to be just one time then there should be no need to have a rule about walking away.