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The precinct was its usual din — phones ringing, Velasco arguing with TARU about timestamps, Fin leaning over a report with his glasses perched on the end of his nose. Olivia sat at her desk, pen tapping against a statement she couldn’t seem to finish, her mind buzzing with the static of half a dozen cases.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen: PS 178 – Nurse’s Office.
Something cold gripped her spine. She answered instantly.
“Captain Benson.”
The nurse’s voice was urgent but steady: “Ms. Benson, this is the nurse at Billie’s school. She came in complaining of stomach pain earlier, but it’s gotten worse—she’s doubled over and vomiting. We’ve called an ambulance to take her to Mount Sinai.”
Liv shot to her feet, papers scattering off her desk.
“I’m on my way. Thank you.”
She ended the call with shaking hands, already moving. Fin looked up, startled at the scrape of her chair.
“Liv?”
“Billie. Ambulance. Mount Sinai,” she got out, her voice clipped, frantic.
Fin was already reaching for her desk, corralling the paperwork she’d abandoned. “Go. I’ll cover the board, tell McGrath whatever he wants to hear.”
Her eyes were wide, almost wild. “Fin—”
“Go,” he repeated, firm, steady. “She needs you.”
And that was all she needed.
⸻
The elevator ride felt endless, her reflection in the steel panels pale and tight. By the time she hit the garage, she was practically running.
In the car, her hands gripped the wheel so hard her knuckles blanched. The city blurred past — horns blaring, pedestrians glaring as she cut corners too sharp. She ignored every red light, siren in her head louder than anything around her. Every second stretched and snapped, her mind spiraling:
What if it was something worse? What if she wasn’t there in time? What if—
She forced herself to breathe, the way Lindstrom had drilled into her: in, two, three; out, two, three. It barely helped.
The hospital loomed, sterile and unwelcoming, but right now it was the only sanctuary that mattered. She pulled into the first spot she saw, slammed the car door without locking it, and ran.
⸻
Through the ER doors, the chaos of triage hit her — stretchers, monitors, the antiseptic tang. She skidded to the nurse’s station, breathless.
“My daughter. Billie Rollins-Benson. She came in by ambulance.”
The clerk barely glanced up before nodding toward curtained bays. “Room four.”
Liv’s heart lodged in her throat. She half-walked, half-ran, yanking the curtain back—
And there she was. Billie, so small against the white sheets, knees pulled to her chest, skin waxy and damp with sweat. An IV snaked into her arm, and she whimpered when a nurse adjusted it.
“Momma—” Billie’s voice cracked on the word, relief and pain tangled together.
Liv was at her side in a heartbeat, her hand on Billie’s damp forehead, bending low until their foreheads touched. “I’m here, baby. I’m here. You’re not alone.”
Billie’s hand clutched hers, surprisingly strong despite the tremors. “It hurts.”
“I know, sweetheart. I know.”
A resident was rattling off clinical words — rebound tenderness, appendicitis suspected, prep for imaging. Olivia heard them, filed them away, but right now all that mattered was Billie’s hot, shaking fingers wrapped in hers.
She fished her phone out, one-handed, thumb fumbling over the screen:
Mount Sinai. Billie. Possible appendicitis. Get here when you can.
Amanda’s reply came fast, jagged with panic:
Fuck. Mid-interview. I’ll get out. Hold her for me.
Olivia shoved the phone back into her pocket, bent to press a kiss to Billie’s damp temple.
“Your mom’s on her way. And until she gets here, you’ve got me. I promise.”
⸻
The beeping had been steady — too steady, too loud — but Liv clung to it like a rope. One tone after the other, keeping Billie tethered. She smoothed her daughter’s hair back from her damp forehead, whispering nonsense lullabies that were more for herself than for Billie.
Then, without warning, Billie jerked upright with a strangled cry, clutching her belly. The monitor went berserk — alarms shrieking, lines spiking and plummeting.
“Billie!” Olivia’s voice cracked.
Nurses swarmed like birds startled from a wire. “BP’s crashing—get Dr. Patel in here now!”
Liv was shoved back, pressed to the curtain as Billie writhed, sobbing, eyes wild.
And then—
“Amanda Rollins-Benson for Billie Rollins-Benson!” The voice was frantic, breaking. Amanda shoved through the doors, her hair half-fallen from its tie, her badge still at her belt, jacket barely on her shoulders. She caught sight of Liv’s face and then of Billie on the bed, and the world seemed to tilt under her feet.
“Oh my god. Billie—”
But before she could get close, the doctor snapped, “Possible rupture. Prep for OR now. Move, move!”
The bed’s brakes screeched, and suddenly Billie was being wheeled out from under them, down the hall in a storm of scrubs and clattering carts. Amanda lunged forward, reaching for her daughter’s hand, but the nurse blocked her.
“You can’t—sterile field, we’ll update you.”
“Mommy!” Billie screamed, voice breaking as she disappeared around the corner.
Amanda froze like she’d been gutted, the word echoing down the corridor.
Then Liv was there, catching her, arms around her before she hit the linoleum. Amanda clutched at her like she was the only thing holding her upright, her chest heaving in broken sobs.
“They didn’t even—she’s scared, Liv—she’s so scared—”
“I know. I know.” Olivia’s own tears blurred her vision, but her voice was steady, iron-hard. “She’s with the best surgeons in the city. They’ll take care of her.”
Amanda pressed her face into Liv’s shoulder, trembling so hard her teeth clicked. “I wasn’t here—I should’ve been here—”
“You’re here now,” Liv whispered fiercely, gripping the back of her neck. “And when she wakes up, you’ll be the first person she sees. That’s what she’ll remember. Not this.”
The hallway still hummed with the echoes of Billie’s cry, the squeak of wheels, the beeping fading down the corridor. Amanda stood there in Olivia’s arms, every nerve screaming, until finally her knees gave way and Liv guided her into a chair outside the OR doors.
They waited. Side by side.
⸻
Amanda sat hunched forward on one of the hard vinyl chairs, elbows on her knees, hands laced so tight her knuckles had gone bone-white. She stared at the sterile floor, eyes wild, as if she could see through walls to the operating room.
“She’s just a kid,” she muttered, half to herself, half to God. “She’s just a baby—our baby. What if—what if—” Her voice broke clean in two.
Liv sat beside her, one hand wrapping firm around Amanda’s shaking fist, the other smoothing over her thigh in steady, grounding circles. She didn’t bother with empty assurances—Amanda would see through them a mile away. Instead she whispered, low and sure:
“She’s strong. And they’re the best surgeons in this hospital. I wouldn’t let anyone else touch her. She’s going to be okay.”
Amanda’s leg bounced so hard it rattled the chair. “I should’ve been there—”
“Amanda,” Liv cut in, gently but firmly, squeezing her hand until Amanda finally looked up. “You can’t protect them from everything. You can’t stop life from happening. What you can do is be here now. And you are. She’ll know it.”
Amanda collapsed sideways into her, pressing her face into Liv’s neck, shaking with silent sobs she’d been holding back since the nurse pulled her away from Billie’s bedside.
Liv kissed her temple, kept her close, and with her free hand dug her phone out of her pocket. Her thumb shook, but her voice didn’t when Noah picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, buddy.”
“Mom? What’s going on?” His voice, deeper now at sixteen, still carried that sharp edge of worry she recognized from when he was small.
“Billie’s appendix ruptured. They’ve taken her into surgery.” She breathed through Amanda’s trembling against her shoulder. “Manda and I are at the hospital. I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“Jesse’s just getting out of school. Can you grab her, walk her home? Maybe pick up some pizza on the way—something easy.”
“Yeah. Of course.” He didn’t hesitate, just adjusted into the role she needed him to fill. “Is Billie… is she gonna be okay?”
“She’s in good hands. They caught it in time.” Olivia steadied her tone. “She’s gonna be okay.”
There was a pause, then Noah said, softer: “How’s Manda doing?”
Amanda’s muffled sob slipped right into the receiver, betraying her before Olivia could answer.
Noah exhaled, long and low. “That bad, huh.”
“She’s terrified,” Liv admitted. “She just needed to get here. She’s with me now. I’ve got her.”
“Okay,” Noah said, his voice older than his years, full of quiet steel. “I’ll take care of Jesse. You take care of Manda. We’ll all be okay.”
Liv felt her chest tighten with pride. “That’s my boy.”
By the time she hung up, Amanda had quieted to hiccuping breaths, her fists still clenched in Liv’s lap. Liv threaded their fingers together again, anchoring them both.
The waiting room clock ticked too loud. Nurses bustled past, their shoes squeaking. Somewhere in the distance a baby cried.
But Amanda’s tears finally slowed, and she breathed against Liv’s shoulder like she’d found a harbor.
______
The surgeon pushed through the waiting room doors with a tired smile tugging at his face. Amanda shot up so fast her chair clattered backwards.
“Rollins-Benson family?” His voice carried that professional calm that only comes after delivering this speech a thousand times.
“Yes—yeah—” Amanda’s words tumbled over each other.
“She’s out of surgery. The appendix did rupture, but we flushed everything. No infection spread. She’s in recovery now.” He softened, seeing Amanda’s shaking hands. “Your daughter’s going to be just fine. She’ll be sore, and she’ll need some time, but she’s okay.”
For a second Amanda couldn’t breathe. Then she sagged forward, hands on her knees, eyes burning. A noise escaped her—half sob, half laugh—and she scrubbed at her face before it could fully spill over.
Liv’s hand found her back, steady. “Thank you, doctor.”
“You can see her now,” he said, nodding toward the recovery wing. “She’s still out from the anesthetic, but she’ll wake in a few hours. One at a time for now.”
Amanda didn’t wait for the rest. She was halfway down the hall before Liv caught up.
⸻
Billie looked impossibly small in the hospital bed, wires and monitors crowding her pale frame. The faint beep of her heart rate monitor was steady, and that steadiness alone nearly undid Amanda.
She sank into the chair at her daughter’s side and took Billie’s limp hand in both of hers, pressing it to her lips. “Baby girl,” she whispered, her accent thick and cracking. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Liv stood quietly by the door at first, just watching. Amanda had folded herself around Billie’s arm, forehead resting against the back of her hand, like if she held on tight enough she could keep the world from touching her again.
Finally, Olivia sat in the second chair and reached across the rails to smooth Billie’s hair back, her touch feather-light.
They sat like that for a long time. Amanda whispering little reassurances Billie couldn’t hear yet. Olivia just… being there. The adrenaline slowly leeched out of her system, leaving a tremor in its place.
It came on her fast—too fast. One second she was watching the steady rise and fall of Billie’s chest, the little flutter in her lashes, and the next her throat closed.
A flood rose up from nowhere: the sound of the monitors, the smell of antiseptic, Amanda’s voice cracking over and over. Her chest tightened, hot and merciless, and she realized—oh God, I’m going to cry.
Panic flared. She’d held it together. For Amanda. For the kids. For everyone. And now, now, when it was finally safe—her body wouldn’t let her stop it.
“I—uh—” she stammered, fumbling to her feet. “I’m gonna—bathroom.” The word came out strangled, rushed. She couldn’t meet Amanda’s eyes.
Amanda looked up, brows drawn. “Liv—”
But Liv was already slipping out into the hallway, her hand over her mouth, tears breaking loose before she even found the door to push through.
She gripped the sink with both hands, knuckles stark white, and bent forward as if she could physically force the sob back down.
It didn’t work.
The sound broke out of her—raw, unpracticed, jagged. She pressed the heel of her hand to her mouth but still the sobs came, shaking her shoulders, bowing her spine. The mirror in front of her blurred with tears until she couldn’t see herself anymore.
She’d been strong in the waiting room. Calm when Amanda was unraveling. She’d been the one to call Noah, to explain things gently to Jesse, to keep everyone tethered. But now, staring at the harsh fluorescent light and smelling the bleach and hearing faint echoes of the monitors from the hall… it hit her all at once.
What if it had gone wrong? What if Billie hadn’t made it? How many more nights can I sit in a hospital, wondering if this family I love so damn much is going to break apart?
Her sobs came harder, hands braced on the sink as though it were the only thing holding her up.
The door opened.
“Liv?” Amanda’s voice was soft, but it carried.
Olivia froze, tried to swipe at her eyes, to force her breathing back under control. But Amanda was already there—closing the distance in three strides, her arms wrapping around Liv’s shoulders from behind.
For a moment Liv resisted, stiff, ashamed. Then the fight gave out of her all at once, and she turned in Amanda’s arms, burying her face against her wife’s shoulder.
Amanda held her tight, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other running slow circles up and down her back. “Hey,” she whispered, steady as a heartbeat. “It’s alright. She’s fine. She’s safe. You don’t have to hold it all together anymore.”
Liv shook her head against her, words muffled and broken: “I can’t—what if—what if next time it’s not—”
Amanda pulled back just enough to frame Liv’s face in her hands, forcing her to meet her eyes. Hers were wet too, red-rimmed, but steady. “Then we’ll face it. Together. But not today. Today she’s okay. We’re okay.”
That undid her all over again. Olivia sagged forward, forehead resting against Amanda’s collarbone, and let the tears fall freely, every shudder wrung out of her chest.
Amanda just held her, whispering little things—nonsense, really—soft endearments, reminders that she wasn’t alone.
When Liv finally pulled back, breath hitching, Amanda brushed damp strands of hair from her face and gave a wobbly smile. “You’re allowed to cry, y’know. Doesn’t make you weak. Makes you human. And Liv—” Her voice cracked. “—I need you human. Not untouchable. Not bulletproof. Just… you.”
Liv let out a weak laugh, shaky but real, and cupped Amanda’s cheek. “God, I love you.”
Amanda kissed her forehead, lingering there. “I love you too. Now c’mon, Cap. Let’s go sit with our girl. She’s gonna wake up and be real pissed if her momma’s got swollen eyes and isn’t there.”
Liv let Amanda lead her out, hand threaded tightly in hers, both of them steadier than when they’d walked in.
⸻
The monitors kept up their gentle rhythm, a kind of lullaby for the wrecked nerves in both women’s bodies. Amanda hadn’t let go of Billie’s small hand since they were allowed in the recovery room; she sat angled forward, thumb brushing over her daughter’s knuckles, eyes fixed on the soft rise and fall of her chest. Olivia sat close on the other side, her chair dragged right up against the bed rail, steadying Amanda as much as Billie.
Then—so slight it almost slipped past them—the tiniest twitch of eyelashes. A furrow of her brow. The long, groggy sound of a sigh.
Amanda was on her feet instantly, leaning in. “Baby girl? Hey, Billie… it’s Mama. I’m right here.”
Billie blinked slowly, pupils hazy and disoriented. Her voice came out scratchy, a whisper that clung to her throat. “Mama?”
Amanda’s whole face crumpled with relief. She pressed a kiss to Billie’s forehead. “Yeah, sweetpea. Right here. You did so good. Surgery’s all done.”
Olivia leaned closer too, her hand resting lightly on the blanket near Billie’s leg. “You scared the hell out of us, kiddo.” Her tone was warm, teasing around the edges, her eyes shining. “But you’re okay now. Doctor said you’ll be sore for a little bit, but you’re gonna be just fine.”
Billie’s gaze wandered between them, slow and muzzy, until she locked onto Amanda again. “It hurt.”
Amanda stroked her hair back gently. “I know, baby. I know. But it’s over. You’re safe. We’re not going anywhere.”
There was a long pause. Billie’s eyelids fluttered like she might drift back under, but then she rasped out, with all the gravity of an eleven-year-old who’s just survived the world’s worst day: “Am I… allowed to have ice cream… when I get home?”
Olivia laughed through a choked breath, wiping quickly at her eyes. “Kid, after today? You can have all the ice cream.”
Amanda let out a watery chuckle, pressing her forehead to Billie’s hand. “I’ll buy the whole damn freezer if that’s what it takes.”
Billie smiled faintly at that, the corners of her lips tugging upward, and her little fingers curled tighter around Amanda’s hand before she drifted back into a gentler sleep.
Amanda stayed bent over her, unwilling to let go. Olivia stayed right beside her, sliding a hand over Amanda’s back, grounding them both.
For the first time since the call from school, the air around them didn’t feel like it was about to split apart.