Amanda Rollins had thought she was well acquainted with rock bottom. She had hit it numerous times, after all. Once, when lying beneath her deputy chief in a seedy motel room back in Atlanta, and again when dropping to her knees before Declan Murphy in an illegal gambling club, to name but a few. But now, today, this was a new low. Although not being forced to perform sexual favours for men twice her age, rock bottom was standing looking her colleagues in the eye, knowing they knew too much. Usually, all of her sick, shameful secrets were wrapped up within her, for her eyes only.
The bruise to her right cheek bone burned, a scarlet letter, a public declaration of her weak will, a display to all of her usually well masked, rotten core. Both Nick and Fin's eyes had wandered to it briefly this morning before they grunted a reluctant greeting in her direction. She had sat down gingerly at her desk, her right hip aching, bruised from where Declan's blow had thrown her half way across a room, to land hard on an unforgiving floor.
When Amanda had arrived back at home last night, feeling raw and sore in more ways than one after Olivia had torn her apart in her office, she had been surprised to check her phone and see '1 new message from Olivia Benson'.
It had been short and to the point when she had opened it: Desk duty.
Amanda had slumped against the back of her apartment door to close it, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. It was more than she deserved, really, knowing Olivia would rather have transferred her to another unit with immediate effect. She had shrugged out of her coat, and shed the rest of her clothes en route to the bathroom. She had lost track of how long she had stood immersed beneath the almost uncomfortably hot water of her shower, her pale skin glowing red with a heat she wouldn't turn down. The pain numbed her, taking the edges off the harsh corners of the last few days.
"Rollins?"
The pit of her stomach dropped at her boss's voice, pulling her back to the present. She had barely switched her laptop on, and already Olivia had come out of the office to find her. The last thing in the world she had the strength for was another round with Olivia.
"My office," her sergeant instructed.
Panic grabbed her by the throat. What if Olivia had found her way to transfer her out? Reluctantly, Amanda rose from her chair and walked slowly – delaying the inevitable – into the small room annexed on to the top of the squad room. She could feel everyone's eyes on her, but she kept her gaze low. Olivia breezed to her chair with an air of confidence and superiority, and sat down behind her desk, removing her glasses and resting them atop a pile of precariously stacked files.
"Close the door, please," Olivia requested, and Amanda followed the instruction, standing with her back to it in case she needed to make a quick exit. "Amanda, I am not going to bite you, come over here and sit down," Olivia indicated to the chair on the opposing side of her desk.
Amanda eyed her boss, and then the chair with suspicion, as if worried it may burst into flames should she sit on it. Olivia's tone was neutral, but her use of Amanda's first name rather than a short, sharp "Rollins!" placated her slightly, and she walked to the office chair opposite Olivia. It was only when she sat down did she wonder if she was being lulled into a false sense of security instead. Amanda wished she had left her hair down instead of clipping it messily to the back of her head. She wouldn't mind hiding behind it right now. Briefly, she looked into Olivia's eyes before diverting her gaze around the office, taking in the familiar surroundings unnecessarily, knowing she wasn't hiding her discomfort in the slightest.
"Look at me," Olivia instructed in the same neutral tone, and although hard to do so, Amanda fixed her blue-eyed gaze on Olivia. "I want to talk to you-"
