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wandasaura · 2 months ago

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STAY ALIVE (REPRISE)

summary — after your girlfriend takes the one thing from you she promised she never would, the only person you think to run to is olivia

warning(s) — mentions of rape, sexual assault, previous rape, alluded to ptsd, anxiety/panic, mentions of blood, domestic abuse, physical abuse, angst/hurt, comfort, protective liv and rollins, mentions of sonny carisi, fin is lowkey ur work bestie, alludes to mommy issues, pet names, physical contact, mother-figure olivia benson, unfortunately two hamilton lyric reference

authors note — olivia benson returns? with more angst and more comfort? amanda rollins features? read part ii here

Your heart hammers in your chest. If you bring this to her, it’s real. Your palms are clammy, they’re shaking. Your entire body is shaking. You can hear Fin’s voice down the hallway, in the break room where Sonny left donuts, it’s gravely and low — far away. It reverberates against your muscles like they’re panes of delicate glass. The sensation of him cutting right through you feels like it did when you’d accidentally zap the tip of your finger in time with the metal tweezers during operation. It’s jarring, unexpected. It startled you.

Your hand is trembling now. You can’t bring this to her, but she’s the only place you thought to go. You don’t want to drop this on her — on Amanda and Sonny, Fin and Kat, — but it gets laid on SVU anyways the second a cotton swab touches the laceration on your cheek. She raped you. You’re the special victim now.

A knot forms in your belly, the reflection of your sunken eyes and temporarily discolored face in the reflective pane on her office door is sickening. You’ve been shaking for a while. It’s not new. Your fingers had started going when he’d gotten mad over a wine glass. Your jaw had started when a fistful of your hair was snagged and guided into the brick fireplace you’d once tenderly decorated with stockings. Your knees… maybe the force of her shoving you down onto them before she’d unzipped her pants had shattered your kneecaps. You can’t be sure. The only thing you feel is blinding cold or blinding scorching heat ripping deeper into one of the many bleeding wounds on your body.

“Hey, can I help you?” Your body goes rigid when a familiar voice cuts through the office. You love that voice. That voice has become like a sister to you in the years that you’ve been at svu. That voice sends fear coursing through your body. This is real. This is real. This is real. She raped you. She took the one thing from you that she promised he wouldn’t. You know who it was. Of course you do. Thirty-nine percent of sexual violence is committed by someone you know. You just had to fall into that category.

You don’t know how you’d gone unnoticed for so long. Everyone here was so perceptive, yourself included. If the officers at the front didn’t catch someone upon entry, someone on your team did, but it could’ve been half an hour that you’d been standing in front of Olivia’s office, unable to force yourself inside, and unapproached by a Detective — a colleague, friend, mentor. These people were your family, and you’d never wanted them to see you like this. Like another one of the people they’re burdened and empowered to aid. It’s a rewarding job, one that you all do graciously, but its taxing, and you're personal. You’re not self absorbed to know that this will rattle the precinct.

Amanda’s hand sweeps across your back, and you might’ve jumped ten feet into the air with the way you recoiled so automatically, your bruised bones that felt like jelly beneath blood puffed skin aching at the quick motion. Your hair fell away from your face, the hoodie that you always wore overtop of your work clothes slipping off your head until Rollins could see you — identify you.

“Oh, sweetheart.” She cooed, that southern drawl at the forefront of her concern as her eyebrows drew inward. Her fingers flexed, her left hand reaching for her hip; an unconscious response that sparked when she and Carisi let themselves be pulled together. You swallowed thickly, panickedly bouncing between her concern filled blue eyes and the phone strapped to her belt. In an instant, both of her hands were cradling your face, pulling your jaw one way and then another like a frazzled mother. She was a mother. Billie and Jesse were so lucky to have her. Your heart sinks at her concern. It can’t fall much farther than it already has today.

Amanda’s knuckles rap on Benson’s door before you can even process that she’s pulled you into the warmth of her embrace and tucked you beneath her other arm. “Liv,” She speaks firmly, but it lacks the usual depth of her beacon when she’s truly in Detective mode. This isn’t Detective Rollins that's guiding you into a disclosure, it's Amanda; the woman who has become your sister in the years that your lives had been so intertwined.

“Oh, my god.” Olivia gasped when her eyes flickered up to find Rollins’ at the door curiously. You stood meekly at Amanda’s side, your gaze set on the floor even though the blood smeared across your favorite hoodie was evidence enough of some kind of assault. Olivia didn’t need many more context clues to figure out what the nature of the assault was as her eyes scraped across the purple handprint peeking out from the collar of your button-down.

You hadn’t even gotten the chance to undress from last night’s shift.

“M-My, I— I—“ You stuttered, your teeth sinking into your lower lip when it became evident to yourself and the women around you that you weren’t in any position to lead the conversation right now. Olivia nodded, setting her reading glasses down on the mound of paperwork that had accumulated since the start of the week.

You didn’t flinch so hard when Olivia’s hand swept across your back, guiding you over to the couch beneath three windows. The blinds were pulled shut, but you could recognize Kat’s figure pacing by her desk as you sat down. Amanda closed the door before she joined you and Olivia on the couch. Neither woman expected you to realize that your eyes watched Amanda carefully, on edge that she’d flee unexpectedly.

“Alright, sweetheart, can you tell me what happened?” Olivia asked softly, keeping a hand on the small of your back where there was thankful a patch of fabric clear from blood. She would’ve handled the bloodied garment regardless had it been stained, but keeping her hands clean was an honored bonus in this line of work.

You opened your mouth to respond, but a sob caught you off guard, tumbling out of your mouth and into the relatively empty office. “She raped me.” The words came out between you beginning to hyperventilate and release another broken sob. “My girlfriend.”

Olivia nodded, letting you sit with that information for a few seconds before she prompted you with another question. “Okay. What else can you tell me? What do you remember?”

In that moment, beneath the soft current of her comfort extended like the pillowy feathered wings of an angel, you couldn’t be a victim. The switch that was always there in the back of your mind flipped, and every sense that hadn’t been overruled by searing pain remembered where you were, what you did for a living.

You cleared your throat, mucus pooling on the back of your tongue that you swallowed thickly. The texture of silicone still irritates your lips, the ghost of a memory vibrant enough to pull you beneath the tide of stimulation like it was still happening. Your tongue poked out to lick at your lips, and although your shoulders squared, you didn’t pull away from Rollins who had found a way to hold onto your leg without you realizing when she sat down on the opposite end of the couch. It kept your knee from shaking, bouncing up and down as anxiety ate away at what remained of your strength. “I, um, I went home last night. Late. Sonny and I got caught up at the corner, he showed me pictures of the girls from over the weekend, because I couldn’t stop by…” Your eyes flicker to Rollins, begging her to believe you, to remember that you always come over on Saturday, but last week you’d been unable to for one reason or another.

“Yeah, yeah I know.” Rollins nodded, her hand brushing hair off of your cheek. You're not even sure when that happened. When it had fallen out of the rats nest at the back of your hair and slipped into the blood still freshly weeping from your tender wounds. “Alright, so you and Sonny got caught up talking, what happened after that?”

“I went home. B-Back to my apartment.” You stumbled over your words, flashes of last night coming to you quickly, disorientingly. “Um, s-she was already home from work, or maybe, m-maybe she didn’t go. I, uh, I never really got the chance to ask. I put my bag down on the couch and she was in the kitchen. You can tell when she’s mad. Her shoulders cave in, and she puts more weight on her left leg than her right. And, and, she… she was so mad, and I didn’t know why, until she threw a wine glass at the wall. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” You crumbled, your eyes damp, willing tears to fall, but they’d seemingly dried out. You’d cried yourself dry.

“This is not your fault. None of this is your fault.” Olivia’s voice was firm, just like it was when she talked to any victim, regardless of whether you had reason to believe they were guilty of something equally relevant in a case. But, that courage that she extended like an olive branch — like it didn’t chip away at fragments of her happiness in the middle of the night — caught in the back of her throat with heavy emotion. You weren’t a kid. You hadn’t come into the station requiring to be handled like one or overseen like one, but you were young. Only a year out of the academy and already being thrown at her feet with pride disguised as something else, something intimidating that would dissuade you, unravel your true intentions and fit with Special Victims.

You hadn’t let Olivia down for a second, and in becoming her rising star of the squad, she’d gotten to see your softer side. Like how you cry with a victim when you don’t think any of your team is around to watch the tip of your nose quiver. And how you get down to any kid's level, regardless of their anger and how that anger was channeled irrationally. She recalls many scratches and bite marks adorning your forearms on a particular case, but by the end, you’d be the only one the child had wanted when they rushed off the stand in hysterics. She’d taken you under her wing. Guided you when she’d seen how you let this job affect you. You’d become something of another kid to her, though you were sufficiently less expensive then Noah, even if you pinned your tab on her after every night out.

“Does she…” Amanda swallowed, seemingly unable to say the words that were at the tip of her tongue. Even if you didn’t realize it, your body was in fight or flight mode, and all that you were concentrating on was disclosing your assault to Olivia before you passed out, a throbbing in your head from when she’d thrown you into the bedroom door prominent and blackening. Your vision is blurred with black pearls, though nothing is as iridescent as the glimmer of twinkles between the black dots whenever your gaze dances to the lamp on Olivia’s desk. “Does she hit you often, sweetheart?”

You don’t know when that started. Whenever you broke down, Amanda resorted to calling you some variation of a pet name that dulled the ache in your heart just enough to force you into clarity again. You noticed that she fell that to strategy sparingly, but let it run rampant with you. You could assume it all came back to the relationship she had with her sister — you’d had many conversations about how she saw you as a kind of second chance — but you’d never asked, but you didn’t want it to stop if it was something she was unaware of. Amanda Rollins was not unaware of how slivers of your broken heart healed whenever she showed you she cared, but she’d let you think she was. That was just the shit sisters did when heart-to-hearts sounded unappealing and unnecessary. Whatever Rollins' reason was, it had prompted Olivia to indulge in the same affections. Though, you think Benson inevitably would’ve let her walls down around you regardless. She was horrible at hiding her soft spot, even when Fin declared favoritism in a meeting tauntingly.

“Yes.” The words are hoarse as they pass your lips, but you don’t let yourself deviate from what you’re here to talk about. You swallow dryly, in desperate need of water, but you can’t wash away the evidence that’s slapped across your tongue and your throat. You know the drill. “S-She raped me in the bedroom. On the bed. T-The sheets are pink. The, the, um, the straps in the closet. S-She threw it there before she stormed out. Um, I, I— I passed out after that. My, my u-underwear’s, um, it’s my pocket— she, um, she left them on, but I… I couldn’t, I couldn’t walk in here in them… I—“ You dissolved into tears, and Olivia didn’t hesitate to pull your face into her chest, careful of the cuts that leaked crimson liquid.

Olivia held you for a couple minutes while Rollins stepped out of the room. The only reason she’d been able to sneak out was because Olivia had replaced the weight of her palm on your thigh, keeping that one knee steady the same way Rollins had before the blonde crept into the main room to inform the squad. She knows where your girlfriend works, she knows where your apartment is, all of them do. They know you. They’ve all gone to incredible lengths to know everything about you that you're willing to share. Fin could tell Benson your coffee order off the top of his head, even though he adamantly denies remembering that you like low-fat soy milk, vanilla cold foam — not syrup —, and one (specifically one) extra scoop of ice.

“I know, I know.” Olivia conceded, patting your blood damp hair. Her face met an uncomfortable sheen of concern when her digit twitched, aware of a certain thickness that coated rings and knuckles. “Did you hit your head?” She asked softly, pulling away from you only to inspect your pupils. “Can you follow my finger, sweetheart?” She holds a finger in front of your face, or maybe it’s two, you’re not sure, but you do as she asks only to be met with a sigh of displeasure. “Alright, we need to get you to the hospital. The squad car will be quicker. Sirens and lights.”

“N-No.” You choked out, aware of what that meant; implied. A wounded officer. Sirens and lights to seal the reality. You were raped, beaten, already victimized and striped of your dignity, you couldn’t swallow your pride enough to continue letting it happen. You’re a New York City Detective; a Special Victims Detective, you know every step to avoiding this, how had you let it happen? “No, no, I-I’m fine!” You weren’t fine, not at all and you knew it, but somehow that was the only defense you could find that would explain your apprehension to her. Somehow, Olivia saw through you either way.

“No dispatch. Just you, me, and Rollins. We‘ll relay only what’s necessary to Kat, let Fin take the reins in detainment and interrogation. This stays close until it can’t, I can promise you that. Rollins probably already called Carisi, a warrant is probably on the way as we speak. But we cannot do anything about that until we help you. So, let me help you. You’ve done it before, I know you can do it again.” She encouraged, her fingers tickling the wrinkled skin of your shin. Your quivering lip keeps the pale patch distorted and red, and Olivia hates how her eyes continue to drift to the monument of sadness on your face.

“I-I’m so sorry!” You sob, breaking down, losing any kind of grip on your emotions as the adrenaline waned and was replaced with whatever traumatic response your body could force out; right now it was apparently hysteria. “I’m sorry! For forgetting what you taught me! I shouldn’t have let it happen! I-I should’ve stopped it! I h-had my gun, a-and my taser, and I’m a d-dective and she’s a-a-a fucking shelf stocker b-but I froze and I shouldn’t’ve! N-Not again!” There it was. The root of your frustration, your inability to accept where you found yourself. Olivia froze, her hands on your face becoming stones for a single second before she melted and held you tight, like you were just as young and malleable as Noah — like she could still rewrite all the trauma before it impacted you emotionally and mentally forever.

“Again?” Olivia had to ask, because she needed to know if this had happened before, if you were only disclosing now because it had left you physically marred. You wouldn’t have been able to hide this. Not from her. Not when any excuse never would’ve explained the mark on your neck of all the injuries that littered your once glowing skin. Olivia had complimented you yesterday, knowing you’d been down a rabbit hole of moisturizers that could combat the budding Spring weather in New York. Today, she couldn’t even tell that the dry redness on your cheeks had cleared up, the blood splattered nad caked onto your skin concealing any kind of recognizable progress.

“I was twelve.” You whisper, because after years in her Unit, beneath her command and her angel-like affection, you’d learned where her brain wanders when answers are left unspoken. “Not her.”

Olivia nodded, because that’s all that she could do. She needed to call her babysitter. There was no way she was leaving you until you got that discharge slip from the charge nurse, and even then she’s sure her and Amanda will duke it out over who you stay with while you heal — neither one is going to let you back at that apartment until your girlfriend has either been arrested, or moved out and far from Manhattan at all.

“You have all of the control now.” Olivia reminded you, shying away from her typical promise of it all getting better at some point, in some way. This will never go away, the first account never went away, it ruined relationships, destroyed opportunities, left you feeling so impossibly boxed into an alleyway at points, but… it did lighten. You didn’t feel so shackled anymore, but part of you could credit that to getting away. You’d gotten away from home, from your family and the connections to your attacker, built a new life, one on the mission to become a police officer. You’d surpassed the biggest dream you’d ever had already. What else did you have to push yourself toward? “I’m with you, at every step of the way. You’re not alone, not anymore, sweetheart.”

Before you could respond, not that you had the words, or the capabilities, the concussion you assuredly had beginning to get the best of you, Rollins burst into the room. “Cap, Fin’s got a warrant.”

“Send him and Kat. We’re going to Mercy.” Olivia nodded, “I need to call my babysitter.”

“I already called her. Sonny’s taking the girls to his Moms. I’ll text him to meet us there.” Amanda nodded, rounding the couch to approach you. You hadn’t even realized Olivia stood up, arranging her blazer over her shoulders until the buttons of her blouse were hidden away. “Hey, sweetheart,” Amanda caught your attention, slowly easing her touch onto the small of your back until she could guide you to stand. “There we go, take it easy.”

Your vaguely aware of Amanda directing Rollins where to guide you, but in a moment of clarity, all you registered were the faces of officers and secretaries in the precinct watching you be walked out, their whispering words haunting your already terrorized mind.

“With me, sweetheart. All you need to do is stay with me and Rollins until we get you to Mercy. I know you can do that.” Olivia stepped up beside you, blocking your sight until fresh air broke across your face.

“We’ve got you.” Amanda promised as she guided you into the squad car, climbing into the backseat with you while Olivia climbed into the drivers seat, pulling off onto the road before Rollins had even gotten the door closed all the way behind her body. You didn’t have anybody the first time. It had been a long walk to clarity in solitude, but with Olivia’s radio buzzing in the center console, left untouched despite the chaos of New York City, and Rollins actively pushing off her duties as a mother to a toddler and an infant, you felt like you had a real chance this time; a chance that wasn’t defined by your own persistence, but by the family you’d found.

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itwasrealtome · 2 months ago

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RUNAWAY

Olivia Benson x fem! detective reader

⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

ANGST & FLUFF | Olivia Benson x fem! detective reader | Masterlist

Summary: During an investigation, Y/N, the youngest member and most athletic detective of the unit, pursues a suspect who flees from them. But a collision with a car injuries Y/N who finds solace in Olivia’s presence.

A/N : I don't know what to really think of this one. It was lying around in my drafts. So here it is.

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Manhattan wasn't built for racing.

Amanda had gone back and forth on the issue–her arguments backed up by those unpleasant washing-machine sensations rolling around in her belly–before finally settling on that conclusion. It wasn't the most scientific observation, sure, and it certainly didn't account for all the reasons she currently felt like she might lose her breakfast, but it was comforting in its simplicity. Easier to blame the narrow, over-congested streets and the suffocating crush of cabs, delivery trucks, and coffee-fueled cyclists than the real reason for her unease.

Which, as much as she hated to admit it, was Y/N.

The youngest detective in their unit drove like she had something to prove. Or maybe like she thought physics was more of a polite suggestion than a law. Y/N's hands were tight on the wheel, knuckles pale with pressure, but her expression was all laser focus and cool determination. She leaned forward just enough to suggest she was ready to merge her body with the engine and take full command of velocity itself.

Amanda swore under her breath as the SUV jerked through a tight corner, one tire kissing the curb before Y/N straightened them out again.

—I swear, kid, you missed your calling as a getaway driver.

The detective didn't respond. Her jaw was clenched, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes, sharp and unblinking, were locked on the black sedan cutting through the traffic three car lengths ahead.

—She's not even breathing, the blonde muttered, one hand gripping the oh-shit handle above her door. Tell me she's breathing, Liv.

Olivia didn't look over. She was in the passenger seat, one hand braced against the dashboard, the other curled around her phone as it buzzed with updates. Her expression was unreadable—calm, composed, the way only Olivia Benson could be while flying down Delancey Street at borderline-illegal speeds.

—He's heading west on Delancey, she said, her voice clipped but clear. Units are converging near Bowery. He's not going to get far.

Y/N's fingers flexed on the wheel, shifting gears with a practiced, almost effortless flick.

—He won't make it that far.

The SUV jolted again as it hit a pothole hard enough to send Amanda momentarily airborne in her seat.

—You know, she grunted. For a city where people pay twelve bucks for a sandwich, you'd think they'd patch the damn roads.

—Less commentary, Y/N snapped, barely glancing in the rearview. More eyes.

Amanda raised both brows.

—Well, excuse me for trying to keep my organs where they belong.

—She's got eyes, the captain cut in, her voice cool and steady, but her gaze flicked sideways toward her young protégé for half a beat.

Amanda bit her tongue but leaned forward between the seats, trying to get a clearer line on the car they were following. The suspect's vehicle swerved sharply, clipping the corner of a food cart and sending a scattering of aluminum trays and shouts into the air. He was panicking. They had him rattled. He was going to run.

—There! Rollins pointed. He's bailing.

Up ahead, the sedan skidded to a sloppy stop at the curb, the rear fishtailing slightly before the driver's door flew open. The suspect didn't wait–he was out and moving before the tires had stopped turning, disappearing into a stream of pedestrians without so much as a backward glance.

—Go left, Olivia barked.

Y/N didn't hesitate. She jerked the wheel hard, cutting across the intersection and mounting the sidewalk with a jolt that sent a chorus of pedestrians scattering. Tires screeched in protest as she bounced them back onto the road, bringing the SUV to a stop so fast Amanda's seatbelt dug hard into her shoulder.

Before the vehicle had even fully stopped, the youngest was already throwing the door open.

She tore across the pavement like a bullet fired from a cannon, weaving through startled pedestrians and skimming past lampposts with inches to spare. Her boots hit the concrete with solid, echoing rhythm, the kind of confident, unrelenting pace only a body trained for speed and power could maintain.

The suspect had a good head start, but she was closing the gap–quick, focused, her braid whipping behind her like a signal flag. She didn't look back. Didn't need to. She knew Olivia and Amanda were behind her, but the chase had narrowed into a tunnel of instinct and adrenaline.

The man ahead barreled through the front door of a narrow brick building wedged between a laundromat and a shuttered deli. Y/N followed without hesitation, slamming her shoulder into the door as it swung wide under her momentum, echoing hard against the frame.

Inside, the stairwell smelled of dust and old sweat. The walls were lined with peeling paint and dented mailboxes. The detective didn't slow down. She heard the thudding footsteps above her, and she took the stairs two at a time, muscles burning as she climbed. Her lungs expanded with sharp, determined breaths, eyes flicking upward to catch the flick of a jacket disappearing around the landing.

She reached the third floor just as the door slammed ahead of her–an apartment maybe, or a hallway access. She pushed through and found herself in a long corridor lit by flickering overhead lights, doors on either side, most of them closed, one of them swinging slightly from where the suspect had shoved through.

—Y/N!

Olivia's voice echoed from below, strained and slightly winded, the command still present beneath the urgency. But Y/N couldn't wait. She ran. Her heart thudded in her ears as she followed the banging noises of the suspect knocking into walls and furniture, careening his way through the maze of the building.

He was desperate, and desperate men were dangerous.

She reached the end of the hallway just as he slipped through a stairwell door and disappeared downward. Without breaking stride, she pushed through after him, taking the steps down with the same speed she'd used going up.

Behind her, her captain was in pursuit, her breathing heavier, her stride strong but tempered by years of chases and a body that no longer obeyed the same way it once did. Amanda followed, swearing under her breath, boots slapping against the concrete. They were both experienced, both tough as nails, but they knew Y/N's pace was something else–fueled by youth, drive, and maybe something deeper, something to prove.

By the time their protégé burst through the back door, she was only seconds behind him. It flung open into a narrow alley behind the building, and the air hit her face cold and sharp. She saw his shoulder disappear to the right, and she pushed herself harder, muscles screaming in protest as she sprinted after him.

Trash bins blurred at the edges of her vision. Her feet pounded through puddles left by the morning rain, and a dog barked from an open window somewhere above. The suspect reached the edge of the alley and darted into the street without looking, and Y/N didn't think–she just followed.

Benson came out the back door not ten seconds later, her chest rising fast, lungs burning. She caught sight of her detective just as she hit the corner of the alley and vanished into the open.

—Y/N!

Her voice didn't reach in time. She ran, ignoring the fire in her legs, Amanda's footsteps behind her sounding just as strained. She hit the edge of the alley and skidded to a halt, just in time to see the blur of movement–Y/N stepping out into the street, a car hurtling toward her from the cross traffic, the driver's horn blaring too late.

Then came the sound—louder than anything. A dull, horrifying thud that seemed to fold the air in on itself.

The young woman's body hit the hood and rolled, crashing to the pavement with a sickening crack of limbs and bone. Time splintered. Olivia's heart lurched so violently she forgot how to breathe. Amanda cursed loud and panicked behind her, sprinting forward as if her sheer will could undo what they'd just witnessed.

The captain's legs moved before her mind could catch up. She ran across the street, weaving between braking cars, the world narrowing down to the motionless figure crumpled at the curb.

Y/N lay on her side, eyes closed, face pale, her braid now damp with grime and blood. One leg was twisted unnaturally beneath her, and her chest rose and fell in shallow, trembling gasps.

Olivia dropped to her knees beside her, the sound of city noise falling away under the thudding in her ears. The world shrank to the young woman sprawled on the pavement—Y/N's blood-streaked temple, the harsh rise and fall of her chest, the tremble in her fingers as she tried to push herself up. The brunette reached out instinctively, one steady hand pressing gently to Y/N's shoulder to still her.

—Hey–no, no, no. Don't move, she said, her voice low but firm, the kind of command wrapped in care that only she could deliver. Stay down, Y/N/N. I've got you. Just breathe.

Y/N blinked hard, lashes sticky with grime, her gaze struggling to focus through the haze of pain.

—The–he ran, she gasped, a line of blood curling at the edge of her lip. Her words were ragged. He got away.

—No, he didn't, Olivia said quickly, shaking her head. Her hand shifted to brush damp hair from Y/N's forehead, careful, gentle. Amanda's got him. He didn't get far. We've got him, sweetie. You did your job. It's over.

Y/N tried to turn her head but winced, her whole body tensing as the pain surged again. Her leg, Olivia noticed now, was clearly broken–swollen, bent at an angle that turned her stomach. There was more–bruising around her ribs, abrasions on her arms–but it was the way the woman's voice trembled when she whispered "How bad is it?" that hit the deepest.

The oldest paused for a breath, her eyes scanning the injuries again, her brain already cataloguing damage. But what her detective needed wasn't triage. She needed something solid to hold onto in the swirl of fear and pain closing in around her. So Olivia softened her voice, let her hand curl around Y/N's.

—You're gonna be okay, she said. You hear me? You're hurt, yeah–but help's coming. I've already got paramedics on the way.

She reached with her free hand to her radio, her fingers sure and practiced despite the weight in her chest.

Central, this is Captain Benson. Officer down. We need a bus at Clinton and Stanton, now. Female detective, mid twenties, struck by a vehicle. Conscious, but we need medics on the scene ASAP.

She released the call, never once letting go of the hand. Y/N's eyes fluttered shut for a second, her brow tight. Olivia could see her fighting against it–against the pain, the fear, the instinct to get back up and keep moving even when her body was crying out in protest. She squeezed her hand gently.

—Stay with me, she said, her voice a quiet tether. You don't have to be strong right now, okay? Just stay still. Let them take care of you.

Sirens echoed in the distance, and Olivia allowed herself to exhale slowly, her body still leaning protectively over the young detective. Across the street, Amanda had their suspect pinned against the side of a parked van, his hands cuffed behind his back, his face pressed to the metal. She looked over once—just once—and met her boss' eyes. A silent exchange passed between them. The blonde gave a short nod. The bastard was going nowhere.

Olivia turned her attention back to the injured woman, whose breaths had grown shallow and uneven. Her hand was still curled in hers, grip weak but desperate, like she was clinging to the edge of something she couldn't quite name.

—How's the pain? asked the captain, her voice low, steady, trying to sound like the calm in the storm.

Her eyes searched Y/N's face for truth, for tells. The latter gave a breathy laugh that caught in her throat, shaking her head slightly against the pavement.

—It's... not that bad.

Her lie was too thin to even pass as a joke. Her jaw was tight, the corners of her mouth twitching like she was biting back something real.

Olivia tilted her head slightly, leaning closer.

—Y/N/N.

Y/N blinked hard, once, then again. Her lips parted, and for a moment it looked like she might hold her ground–but then she gave in. Her voice cracked on the words.

—I can barely feel it, she admitted. My leg. I-I don't know if it's because the pain's so bad it's gone numb, or if... She swallowed, her eyes flickering to the brunette's face and staying there. Or if it's because all I can think about right now is looking at you. Focusing on you. Just... staying with you.

Olivia felt something twist deep in her chest at that–fierce and protective, almost unbearable. She squeezed Y/N's hand, her other palm resting lightly above her heart.

—You're here. You're doing great, sweetie. You're not alone, okay? I've got you.

Y/N gave the barest nod, her lashes fluttering. Olivia took a breath and gently asked: "Can you move your toes for me?"

There was a beat of silence. the detective's eyes flicked downward, like she was willing her body to obey, and then she gasped out a breath.

—Yeah, she whispered, relief rushing through her voice. Yeah, I can.

—That's good, Olivia said, brushing her fingers across the woman's forehead again, pushing back sweat-damp hair. That's really good. That means something.

But then the youngest tried to lift her head, craning to see the damage to her leg. Her torso twisted with a sharp inhale, the movement small but dangerous.

—Hey-no, no, no. Don't. Don't look. Not yet.

—But I need to-

—No, you don't, Olivia cut in, gently. What you need is to stay still until the paramedics get here. Let them take care of you. You don't need to see it. I promise you, okay? I've got eyes on everything.

For a moment, Y/N looked like she might argue–but then her body sank against the pavement again, the weight of exhaustion finally starting to catch up. She trusted Olivia. Always had. And that, more than anything, was enough to make her let go of the urge to control what she couldn't fix.

The sirens cut through the narrow street seconds later, their rising wail a strange comfort. Benson turned slightly as the ambulance squealed to a halt, its back doors flying open before the wheels had even stopped turning. The paramedics poured out like a wave, a blur of navy uniforms and urgent voices.

Y/N blinked up at the sky, wincing as the medic leaned in with a flashlight, checking her pupils. Another knelt by her legs, assessing the damage, his movements brisk but careful. One of them pressed a syringe gently against her arm, his voice low and calm.

—You're gonna feel this kick in real quick. It's just something for the pain, okay?

She gave a sluggish nod, her eyes already glossing over, her jaw relaxing as the drug seeped through her system. Her breathing slowed, the tension bleeding out of her limbs, replaced by a drowsy kind of calm. Her lips parted as if to speak, but whatever she was trying to say came out slurred, barely a whisper. Olivia crouched nearby again, her eyes never leaving her.

—M'fine, she mumbled, though the slur in her words betrayed just how much adrenaline had been holding her together.

Olivia leaned down and brushed her fingers lightly over her cheek again, a soft gesture meant to ground her as much as soothe.

—She's gonna be a little loopy for a few minutes, one of the paramedics told her, reaching into his kit for a stabilizer brace. We had to start something strong. That leg's broken in at least two places. Possible hairline fracture in the hip, too.

—How bad is it? Liv asked, her voice low but tight, all business wrapped around a barely concealed thread of fear.

The paramedic glanced up at her, pausing just long enough to show he understood this wasn't just a procedural question.

—The break's clean. Messy, but treatable. We'll know more after imaging, but she's lucky. No spinal signs. She's responsive. She can move her toes, which is good. Very good.

—And the head injury?

—Mild concussion, from what we can tell. We'll monitor for swelling, but she's lucid. She's got good reflexes. This could've been worse, Captain. Much worse.

She nodded, a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding slipping free. Relief didn't flood her exactly–it edged in slowly, cautiously, like it needed permission. She glanced back to Y/N, who was mumbling something incoherent, her brows furrowed under the weight of confusion and drugs. Amanda appeared behind her then, jogging over with her hair pulled loose from the chase, face flushed and drawn.

—He's in custody, Amanda said, breathless. Uniforms are taking him downtown. Little bastard didn't get more than two blocks before I caught him trying to blend into a crowd.

Olivia stood, her arms crossing tightly, eyes flicking back to Y/N's form as the paramedics began easing her onto a backboard.

—She moved fast, she murmured. Too fast.

Amanda nodded grimly.

—He panicked when he saw her gain on him. Swerved into the street. Didn't even look.

The sound of velcro straps echoed sharply in the quiet that followed. Olivia took a step closer as Y/N was lifted gently onto the stretcher. Her hand hovered near her shoulder before brushing it lightly, grounding them both.

—She's gonna be okay. She's tough.

—I know. But sometimes... tough doesn't mean unbreakable.

•••

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