Amanda Rollins smirked with snide pleasure as Nick Amaro skidded his chair backward. It clattered as he rose to his feet, the angry swipe of his arm causing his glass to drop and shatter on the sports bar floor.
"Ahh!" Rollins crowed, triumphant. She giggled with the relief of feeling right, and the whiskey she'd been downing.
"You know what?" Nick fumed, but Amanda was still trying to stifle her laughter, offering a weak apology. "I'm gonna do what A. J. Martin should'a done: walk away."
Amaro grabbed Amanda's glass from the bar, drinking the contents in three gulps as he stalked to the end of the bar. He slid the empty glass back onto the counter, and then was gone out the door. Deflated, Amanda sunk slowly back onto her bar seat. She was a little embarrassed, now, and not nearly drunk enough to want to be drinking alone. Taking a deep breath, she decided she would order a drink and stay long enough to regain her dignity.
If that was possible.
When her whiskey was up, Rollins vowed to keep her eyes on the bar, and go home when the drink was gone. Deep in a daze, her hands were around the highball glass when the voice of her Lieutenant got her attention. Amanda turned, finding Olivia at her right side at the bar, looking curious.
"Hey. You okay?" the brunette asked, "I just saw Amaro blow out of here, looking pissed. What happened?"
Amanda's cheeks pinked anew with embarrassment. "Oh, ah – the case, I think? Botherin' him . . . unless it's Maria. Not sure."
"Ok." Liv shrugged it off and signalled the bartender to bring a glass of red wine.
"Speaking of this case," Amanda went on, "did Barba say how he thinks it's goin'?"
"It's anybody's guess right now," Liv answered. "Defense is working hard to get A. J. sympathy - and to paint me as a hypocrite," she muttered, sipping her drink.
"How's that?" Rollins raised an eyebrow.
"On cross, Calhoun came at me over Nick, for getting him back on the unit."
Amanda shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing.
"I'm just . . . pissed," Olivia sighed, "because it's not the same thing."
"It's not?" Amanda echoed, working to keep her tone neutral.
"Of course not. Nick lashed out at a perverted creep who fantasized about murdering kids! Not his wife for being jealous."
"They both sure have a temper, though," Amanda said, her whiskey burning a pleasing line down her throat.
"Yeah, well, so did my old partner – but he would've died before he laid a hand on his wife or kids."
Amanda considered this for a moment, still feeling mildly guilty for pushing Amaro. Her Lieutenant had no idea that she had blackmailed Wilkes' wife to get Nick set free, which is when he landed in anger management. Olivia probably also didn't know that she and Nick had been sleeping together, off and on, for a while. Although, if pressed, Amanda would have to admit that she no longer knew what she was chasing in it.
"I dunno," Amanda grimaced, "it could just be th'South in me, but . . . I just feel like we're overstepping, here." She finished her drink and called for another.
"You don't see Paula as a victim?" Liv asked.
"I'm not saying that. I just think even victims should have the choice. It's been clear from the start that Paula Bryant doesn't want to be doing this."
"She had a choice," Liv said firmly, "right up until that tape came out. Our unit has to be responsible for the public impressions we allow; it's the price that comes with keeping up with social changes."
