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“I was…” She sighs, tongue feeling heavy, words hazy inside her brain. “I mean, ‘s not like I could tell anyone what happened, ha.” She spits out a laugh, a bitter one, the kind that rises up like bile through your chest, burning, and bursts its way into the world, unwelcome. “Imagine that, Chief’s shiny blonde good girl, crying rape at the sex crimes unit, sure that would’ve gone over great. Sure Sam’d just be all, ‘Hey, ‘Manda, you don't have to lie ‘bout him, it's okay. So what, he was unfaithful, it’s not a big deal sweetheart, it's natural to have feelings for a boss’, yeah, I don't, hah, I don't think so.”
She shakes her head, licks her dried lips that aren't used to so much talking. Feels her stomach churning, feels the nerves that move to the background when Nick’s around, dampened but still there. Some sober part of her brain tells her she’ll regret this conversation when she wakes up, but a deeper part, a needier, lonelier part, is grateful for the darkness in the room, the stillness in the air, the whiskey loosening up a few bolts on that shut door between her and the rest of the world.
Things with Nick are far from perfect, but if nothing else, he has the decency to refrain from bringing it up in the morning, to keep these secrets unspoken between them when she can't handle putting a voice to them, locking them up in the safe inside himself. She knows that he cares, though god bless him, he's got a funny way of showing it sometimes. He’s gotten better about pushing, sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, and while he’s definitely been overly cautious and dangerously close to pitying, lately, she can tell he's keeping it down, respecting her need for control over her own story. She doesn't really know how to thank him for it, but she appreciates it all the same, and she thinks he knows that. Hopes he does.
“I didn't… know how to deal with it, you know, at the time. Spent months tellin’ myself it didn't matter, that since, you know, since I offered, I really didn't get anything I didn't expect, you know, maybe it was a lil’ rougher than I’d wanted but I did tell him, I even brought it up first, so. Thought that’d make it go away, you know, thought I'd be fine and go on with my life. Thought tellin’ myself it didn't matter would make it not matter. But, uh,” she lets out a watery chuckle, blinking quickly a few times, because crying in the darkness is all well and good until someone sees a tear. “Well, you know, obviously that didn't work so great. I was gettin’ real deep into gamblin’, thrown into debt and thrown back out over and over, probably drinking too much on top ‘a that, but, like. I had to get through during the day, you know, couldn't just make a scene at work or anything, didn't wanna be that girl. Had to deal with things somehow, and, uh, you might have noticed that talking isn't always my biggest strength, so. Kinda dragged myself along for a while and transferred up here when I could. Didn't think it’d follow me, I gotta say, but. It is what it is, even when what it is makes ya wish it weren't.”
She runs a heavy, tired arm through her hair, taking in a deep, slow breath. Feeling the hints of a begrudging calm settle inside her rib cage somewhere, thanks to Nick’s scent in the air, on her sheets, next to her. She’d get shot again before admitting it, of course, maybe more than once, but sometimes you just need a good-smelling man in your life, alright, no shame about that.
Shame about other things, well. That didn't leave quite so easy.
“It's, you know. I'm okay, these days, honestly, I’ve had years, I'm dealing with it, really, I am. It's just… Hard.” She feels her voice crack, can hear the shaking behind her words, and if she was just a smidge more sober, or a bit less exhausted, she'd have the energy to be embarrassed about it. Granted, if she was either of those things in the first place, this conversation wouldn't be happening at all, and her tears would be where they've always been, alone, kept between her and Frannie. She shakes her head, lightly, a reminder to keep it together. “It was harder, but… It's still hard.”
She feels, more than hears, Nick take a deep breath in beside her. Feels the bed creak as he stretches almost imperceptibly on his inhale, feels the rush of his exhale on the side of her face, brushing against her hair. She tenses, expecting him to offer some kind of Nick-typical platitude, an “it's okay” or an “it's not your fault.” Not that those are bad things to hear, necessarily, but it's like. She just wants to be treated normally, doesn't want to be looked at like some part of her is broken. The whole thing with Patton went down before she ever met the squad up at SVU, she's the same she's always been here, doesn't need special treatment now, or ever.
To her surprise, he stays silent. She can practically hear him thinking, can sense the sympathy and protective anger that often rolls off of him in waves, but he doesn't voice it. Just when she thinks that maybe he’s not going to do anything, and that maybe that's a good thing, she feels the bed dip as he shifts onto his side. Feels a warm hand settle lightly on her waist, flattening out over her stomach, pushing slightly on her left side as though asking her to turn over, too. They're not much for cuddling, usually - it’s happened on occasions, when they both have their guards down, but their relationship is largely made up of arguing, rather intense sex, falling asleep in the same bed but not touching, and strictly not acting as though it's anything more, despite a fiercely strong current of care running underneath everything they do - but if she were the type to say that she needs a hug, then it's possible, maybe, that this would be a time when she would say such a thing. And that maybe, possibly, Nick is the first person she’d go to. Maybe.
So she does shuffle on to her side, lets Nick pull her close up against him. Focuses on his breath, slow and sleepy, exhaled against her neck. Focuses on his steady heartbeat against her back. Lets herself enjoy being held, being cared for, just this once. It’s nice, she thinks, as the rhythm of his breath and the calm of the embrace lull her closer to sleep. Feels safe, feels like… it feels different, this time, from their previous occasional cuddles. It's not a post-sex snuggle and it's not a casual cuddle while watching TV, it's not something they’ve overthought yet, it's just… nice. It's just theirs. Two humans, breathing in time, offering support through the shit storm that is life. Clinging to each other because they need it at least as much as they want it. It's both so much more and so much less than anything they've done before - more because it's so intimate, so full of feelings and raw vulnerability, full of unspoken words and an ability to sense what the other needs; less because it feels natural, feels right, like if you stripped away all of the layers of pain, of betrayal, of broken families and failed relationships and plans and hopes and dreams gone wrong, and just existed on a free, open plane, this is exactly where the both of them would end up.