Chapter Text
Dirt in the Carpet
"Hey." As they re-entered the parking lot of Piper Hill's apartment complex, Captain Benson turned to her detective—now second grade—and gestured for her to stop her pursuit of her Jeep. "Can I buy you that drink we never got to have?"
"Oh, Liv, I got a sitter on the clock again." Amanda beckoned towards her car, bouncing on her toes, just aching to make a run for her getaway vehicle. After a case like this, she just wanted to go home, tuck all three babies in, four if she included Frannie, and take a scorching hot shower to wash off the grime of the day.
Olivia wasn't going to give up so easily, however. She'd promised her subordinate—and friend—a modest celebration of her promotion, and it wasn't often the SVU captain actually got to make good on her promises. The least she could do is take some pressure off the other woman's evening. They were both single mothers, hardworking officers, and good people. Olivia often found herself thinking that Rollins deserved a break. "Okay, well how about you grab Mason and the girls--Frannie too--and come have dinner with me and Noah?"
"Well," Amanda acknowledged with an extended shrug, realizing that if she were to decline the offer, she'd have to lie to her boss, something she tried not to do as a general rule. Or she could tell the truth—that she was an anxious mess—but that seemed even less astute. So, it left her with accepting the invitation as her only option, which the more she thought about, didn't sound half bad. Noah and Jesse hadn't had a play date in quite a while, and Amanda was in desperate need of spending some time with someone who didn't require a plea deal in order to go to bed at night. (As in, "If you go to bed now, tomorrow we can have ice cream after dinner." Jesse had since decided that she no longer liked ice cream, but Mason was a quitter and usually ended up fast asleep by the time Amanda finished her sentence.)
"It doesn't have to be a big deal," Benson argued, sensing a rejection coming her way. "I'll order some pizza, I can put on Frozen for the kids, maybe we can discuss something other than…." She trailed off, gesturing vaguely with animated hands. "Amanda, it's been forever," was Olivia's closing statement, one last attempt to appeal to the blonde as a friend, knowing the detective's cold exterior was melting.
"It has been a while," the woman conceded, nodding. "Okay, that sounds good, Liv. Thank you." She pressed the unlock button on her key fob, her bouncing toes ready for takeoff. Maybe she could get in a quick shower before sending Sienna home.
"Oh, and Amanda?" the brunette called over her own car, both women preparing to enter their vehicles.
The detective opened a red door, holding it as she addressed Benson. "Yeah, Cap?"
"Bring the kids' pajamas."
When they arrived at the correct apartment, Amanda pulled the diaper bag further onto her her shoulder, placing the hand that wasn't holding Billie's car seat on top of her other daughter's blonde head. "Alright, go ahead," she said to Jesse, whose new favorite pastime was knocking on doors.
Several seconds of incessant knocking later—which had been joined in on by Mason, who wanted to do everything like his older cousin—the Rollins family heard Olivia's voice from inside. "It's open!"
It's open? Amanda thought to herself as she opened the door. That's not a safe thing to do. What if I wasn't me? What if I was—No. The detective chastised herself, shaking her head. There was no reason to ruin a perfectly good (light-hearted) evening with…SVU talk.
"Jesse!"
"Noah!"
Within seconds, the two were wrapped around each other in a Benson/Rollins swirl, Mason and Frannie eagerly joining in as Amanda stretched sore muscles, shifting Billie to her other hand
"Here, let me take that," Olivia insisted, taking the baby's diaper bag off the blonde's hands, placing it gingerly on the floor by her living room couch. She wordlessly invited Rollins to sit, outstretching her arms towards Billie. It had been too long since she'd seen the babbling infant. "What kind of pizza do Jesse and Mason like?"
Said children were tumbling on the floor with Noah, already saving someone—a princess?—from a bad guy—a Hans action figure? Amanda made a mental note to teach these kids better games. "Mason likes cheese. Jesse is weird; she likes mushrooms and olives—What?" the confused detective interrupted herself at her captain's wide-eyed look.
Olivia leaned in and whispered quickly, as if she were sharing state secrets, "Don't say the 'O' word in front of Noah."
"Oh," the younger of the two mouthed, eyes lighting up in realization. Both women turned to the little boy, hoping he hadn't heard. Thankfully, he was too busy getting a speech from Jesse about how "princesses can save themselves from bad guys too, No-uhhh."
Amanda shook her head fondly at the commotion, grateful she'd given in to Benson's not-quite begging. "Just cheese is fine then." She pulled her phone from her pocket. "Let me do it," she said, frantically hitting buttons just as Olivia put her ringing cell to her ear.
"Liv, I—" she began to protest, being cut off by the older woman holding a pointer finger to her lips.
"Shh, I'm on the phone," she scolded jokingly, succeeding in her attempt to prevent the blonde from insisting she pay for their meal.
After they'd eaten, Jesse taking a break from pizza in order to belt the entirety of "Let It Go" into one of her crusts, Olivia suggested to the kids that they have a sleepover. Amanda wasn't surprised; the captain had instructed her to bring the kids sleeping clothes. But for some reason, she was a little surprised that upon her lament at not bringing adult-sized pajamas with her, the always-prepared cop offered up some of her own.
Quickly, once baths were finished, Jesse offered to show Noah "how a real princess builds a fort—it doesn't even need a knight!" And the three little ones scampered off giddily into Noah's bedroom, Rollins following quickly behind in order to ensure they actually went to sleep. Liv was happy to rock Billie in her car seat, the baby sleeping soundly after absolutely demolishing a delectable meal of strained peas and bananas.
When Amanda eventually exited the bedroom, Benson held up a can in offering. "You drink beer, right?"
The detective plopped herself down on the couch next to Olivia, sighing heavily as she took the beverage from her captain. Tonight seemed like a cheap beer kind of night. "Yeah, why not?"
Semi-awkward chatter began between the two women—"Have you heard from Kim?", "How's Cassidy been?", "Kat reminds me of you", "Carisi's been on edge"—but eventually, Olivia sat up further, running her hands nervously down the smooth fabric covering her thighs. Amanda felt it the moment "Liv" was turned off and "Captain Benson" was turned on. Here it comes.
"Have you gone back to therapy since...?" The unspoken ending to the question lingered uncomfortably in the air. Besides being completely exhausted and the night-time bringing on the type of anxiety she didn't wish to share with Olivia, the other reason she had wanted to avoid this type of socialization with her captain is that the two women hadn't properly hung out in a non-professional setting since her abduction, and there would no-doubt be questions. Honestly, Rollins was pleasantly surprised that her supervisor had been able to wait until all was quiet in the apartment before starting in on the third degree.
Amanda knew the brunette was expecting an unequivocal "no," but the detective wasn't ready to make such an explicit admission. "To have a flashback during therapy? C'mon Liv, not even you could think that's actually a good idea." Guilt washed over her at the involuntary grimace that momentarily marred Olivia's normally stoic features. "Sorry, I didn't mean that as an insult."
"I know." Olivia was aware of the blonde's complicated history with seeing a therapist, and even though she'd been trying for years to get her subordinate to regularly meet with a mental health professional, obviously Bucci's actions while Amanda was in Dr. Hanover's office weren't going to help her cause.
"No, really, I'm sorry, Liv. I lash out and get defensive when I feel vulnerable."
"That's understandable, Amanda. Vulnerability hasn't always been your friend." Why did the Benson-level empathy hurt? Amanda wasn't deserving of this type of compassion. She wasn't special; she wasn't entitled to anything more than anyone else was. And after living in this world for nearly forty years, Rollins had learned that what she was entitled to was exactly nothing. "You haven't always gotten a positive outcome from opening up. You suffered a major trauma—no doubt while you were discussing another major trauma. No one questions the significance of that."
Olivia observed her most senior detective gazing off into the distance as she spoke, silence settling in around them for a few moments, the pregnant quiet charged with a certain uneasiness before the blonde muttered several—seemingly—unrelated words. "Sometimes I wonder what it's like."
"What what's like?"
"Knowing the person who hurt you is going away," Amanda answered, turning slightly towards the woman she'd like to see as a confidant. "That there's at least a little justice. I mean, do these women we notified tonight actually feel any safer? I can't imagine that I would."
"You're not talking about Bucci anymore." It wasn't a question. Both women knew Frank Bucci was in Rikers, awaiting trial, or—if his attorney was smart—a plea deal. But there was someone else who hurt Rollins, someone who caused irrevocable harm to her psyche, who would never have to live in the same prison she did each day.
"Maybe I do need to go back to therapy." She released a singular chuckle, but it held no humor. When her boss said nothing, the blonde took a sizable gulp from her can to fill the silence, swirling the amber liquid around on her tongue as if she was drinking something classier than Pabst Blue Ribbon. Her sock-cladded feet absently rubbed themselves against the beige carpet below them as the seconds ticked by, Billie's gentle breathing and Frannie's snores the only sounds in the room. "Man, you're like a vacuum cleaner, Liv."
"I don't follow." Being an SVU detective for more than two decades, Olivia was used to keeping track of less than linear narratives, but this statement was enough to puzzle her.
Amanda kept her eyes glued to the floor beneath them, noticing how her off-white socks matched the off-white carpet. "Suckin' up the dirt out of the carpet of my life."
The brunette leaned forward again, gently taking the almost empty beer can from Amanda's icy fingers. Maybe she should stay relatively sober for this conversation. "Okay….Can you tell me more?"
Amanda almost laughed at how easy Olivia switched into investigator mode, with the soft voice and kind dominance over the conversation. She would have laughed, actually, if it hadn't been so unnerving. "You make me talk. With your you-ness. You know that, Liv." She clicked her tongue when the older woman waited for her to continue. Alright, maybe she had to be more direct. "The things that happened to me—they're dirt. I—" she gestured with both hands to herself "—am the carpet. You—" She pointed at Olivia, feeling absolutely foolish pantomiming a vacuum cleaner roving over the carpet in her boss's apartment. "You—vroom, vroom—are the vacuum cleaner." Benson was obviously fighting a losing battle with herself, trying but not succeeding at resisting the manic laugher creeping up her throat. But Amanda had started this ridiculous story, and now she had to finish it. "You suck the dirt out of me. Gently and with compassion, granted—" One last defeated shrug, and then, "—but yeah." A sheepish smile turned the corners of her lips upwards as she painstakingly waited for Liv to react—at all.
"That may be," Olivia inhaled deeply, "the most…creative metaphor I've ever heard."
Both women erupted into a fit of giggles, the release of tension needed after the drama of the past several days. "Yeah, good thing I decided to be a cop. Wouldn't have succeeded in poetry, I don't think."
As quickly as the laughter had started, it ended, Olivia scooting even closer to the detective that was almost achieving her goal of keeping their conversation far away from what they actually needed to discuss. "You know, Rollins, I hear you say it to survivors all the time, and sometimes I wonder if you ever take a moment to listen to yourself speak. Holding all the negativity in—the trauma, the abuse, what have you—just allows it to fester. Healing happens when you talk to someone who understands. And Amanda—"
The blonde looked up to a pair of hands outstretched before her, a silent invitation of support, an offer without any pressure. Slowly, intentionally, she watched Olivia's earnest eyes as she allowed their fingers to connect. The older woman gave her detective a melancholy smile, nodding her head as both women decided to no longer let it fester.
"—I understand."