When the knock at the door came, Rollins caught her breath. Her stomach clenched as she wondered if either Sam Reynolds or Patton were reckless enough to come to her home. Amanda stood up from the couch, her eyes scanning nervously for her service revolver.
"Amanda, it's me – Liv. I know you're in there. Answer the door. Please."
It was then that Amanda noticed Frannie, gazing at her from her pillow, serene. Amanda let out the breath she'd been holding and swiped at her tear-streaked face - her futile attempt at hiding the fact she'd been sobbing since she got home, her face marked with mascara. With a perfunctory glance through the peephole, she swung the door open.
"Hey, Lieutenant," she mumbled, not quite looking at her.
"Amanda," Liv sighed, swaying on the doorstep with the want to cross the threshold. "Lindstrom called me. He said you never showed, and I –" Olivia's hands fisted her hips. "I was worried about you."
"I'm fine." It was her smoothest lie; she always could wear it like a second skin. I'm fine, Momma – it wasn't Kim's fault. It's fine, Daddy - you'll win big next time, I just know it. We're fine.
"You're not fine, Amanda," Liv rejected, and Rollins winced at her broach-no-denials tone. "Can I come in?" Amanda turned from the doorway, shrugging as she walked back into her living room. Liv shut the door, trailing after the younger woman. "If you won't talk to Lindstrom, could you at least try talking to me?"
"You a shrink now, too, Lieutenant?" Amanda sank onto her couch, not seeing the narrowing of the brunette's gaze. Leaning forward, she clasped her hands together between her knees, focusing her own gaze onto the coffee table.
Olivia had already taken inventory: Rollins' swollen eyes, the mascara tracks, the half-eaten takeout on the coffee table. She held back her frustration by letting out another sigh, then slowly lowered herself onto the couch next to her. "I know what it's like, to not want to be a victim, Amanda. Trust me. But this – everything you've been doing for the last five years – has clearly not been working for you.
"You are a great SVU detective," Liv stressed, "and you know better than anyone that this isn't something that gets better by avoiding it, or by running."
Rollins scoffed. "You think that's how I ended up here? Runnin'? From Patton?"
"Patton is . . . " Liv struggled, and Amanda could actually hear her superior's jaw as it ground over the name, like grit in a fine cream. Rollins' mind supplied some of the things that she'd become accustomed to hearing in Atlanta: the boss, a fine man, a good husband, an accomplished . . . "A monster, Amanda. Patton is a pathetic excuse for a cop, who preys on women – and I know that you don't run from men."
Amanda desperately wanted to believe that, but wasn't convinced it was true, especially when it came to the Deputy Chief. Men were easy for her, pliable and able to be worked to her advantage – usually. With Patton, she hadn't really seen it coming, and as much as she reviled the idea of being any kind of victim, it was her loss of control that had hit her hardest.
"Cragen recruited you because you're good at what you do, but I would kick your ass, Rollins, if you ever spoke to a victim the way you keep talking about yourself."
Amanda's nervous energy forced her to her feet, and she found herself repeating what she'd told Fin: "Patton never put a gun to my head. I . . . I knew what I was getting into."
Liv stood, took a step toward Rollins, and Frannie shifted where she lay, letting out a snuffle. "Amanda he ra-"
Amanda held up a hand, her heart pounding. "No. Don't." Her vision blurred, her eyes filling with more tears. "Liv." It was a plea. "He didn't . . . " she shrugged, looked away. Her chest was starting to noticeably heave, and she closed her eyes.
