"Can you go back to that detective you were five years ago and feel compassion for her?"
That's what Olivia had asked her, and the question had knocked the air from the blonde's chest.
Compassion. The hallmark of an SVU detective. It's what set her, Olivia, supposedly Amaro, and sometimes Carisi apart from other LEOs. It wasn't all about busting perps and finding evidence. Homicide wasn't expected to deal with the emotional wreckage of living victims, of survivors. It added a whole other dimension to the job, and Amanda would be lying if she tried to claim that wasn't why she picked this division of police work over her other choices. The woman held compassion in her body like a vital life source, and she offered stores of it to every survivor she encountered. She'd immediately felt empathy for Reese Taymor, a woman who could have been Rollins, who indeed was Rollins. If she could feel compassion for her, then why did her supply run dry when the detective searched for some to afford herself?
The truth is Amanda didn't feel compassion for the detective she was five years ago, and she didn't feel compassion for the detective she was today. She made the choice, albeit one of the dumbest choices she'd ever made, to enter that hotel room, to lie down on the bed, to spread her legs. She was a cop! She didn't say no. And she didn't even fight all that hard. She didn't understand why her sergeant felt compassion for her.
And she definitely didn't understand why she was now knocking on her door.
"Rollins, it's me. I'm just here to check on you."
Amanda didn't even look up from the container of ice cream that she cradled between her thighs, the cold numbness there soothing the aching desire to search for a local horse race or drive down to Atlantic City. "I'm fine, Serge," she placated flatly, sliding a spoonful of Cookies N' Cream between her lips. "I'm gonna go see Dr. Lindstrom soon, okay? I promise. Today just wasn't a good day," she called through the door as a head-splitting brain freeze grounded her to the present moment.
This was useless. Olivia wasn't going to leave, was she?
"Amanda, humor me." Great. She was being first named by her superior officer. That never ended well. "I would just like to see your face for a moment, please."
The younger woman grumbled softly, placing the semi-melted container of ice-cold comfort on the table in front of her and noting the dull ache the residual cold left against her pajama-cladded legs. Benson's words were gentle, but they weren't a request. "I'm comin', I'm comin," she relented, opening the door of her apartment and revealing herself to the insistent sergeant. "Look, Liv. I'm in one piece." She gestured to herself as if she were an object for-sale, an item on display. "You don't need to worry about me, okay? I'm gonna go to bed now."
The brunette jammed her foot in the door, effectively preventing Amanda from shutting it, unless of course she planned on breaking a few phalanges in the process. The detective's eyebrows narrowed in confusion. It wasn't like the sergeant to be so forceful. "Amanda, please." Her voice had gone softer now, the woman no longer disguising the pleading tone in her voice as chocolate orbs intensely gazed into cloudy blues. "I'm not going to make you see Dr. Lindstrom. It was inappropriate of me to try to force that on you. The last thing I want to do is take away your right to choose what you think is best for yourself. I just want to talk. Can I come in?"
Liv's foot retreated back into the hallway, giving Amanda the option of slamming the door in her face if that's what she wanted. But the blonde's heart melted. This is why Sergeant Benson was so good at her job. She gently stripped away each excuse Amanda would employ to refuse to let her in, and she meant every word she said. It was clear she only wanted to help. And the junior detective was struck by an undeniable feeling that she should let her. "Okay," she acquiesced, stepping aside and granting permission for her commanding officer to enter her apartment.
