It happens, from one day to the next.

He cooks dinner. She heckles him in the bodega, oh, really, Italian?, and he acts all offended and tells her it's his Nona's recipe, her very own. He buys the food and she buys the booze; they walk the rest of the way to her apartment, relieve the sitter.

Amanda takes care of Jesse and Franny, feeds them both, and he beelines it to the kitchen. He's comfortable there, knows where the pots and pans are, and she tries not to notice that the way she tries not to notice the look her sitter gave her after his crinkly eyed introduction.

Spagetti and cheese and an egg become something Carisi calls cacio e pepe, become what Amanda calls kinda mac n' cheese, and he narrates the steps like he's on some kinda cooking show. I'm not tryin' to learn the recipe, she tells him.

I'm teachin' Jesse, he replies.

When dinner's ready, she puts Jesse to bed and they eat on the sofa, holding bowls in their laps, beers on the coffee table. They watch Real Housewives and then a Simpsons rerun and a show where well-off people struggle to find the perfect beachfront condo. It's strangely enthralling.

They talk over the commercials, not about anything much, and he uses his fork to point at the TV a lot, and she sees the tension drain out of him little by little, as he talks about home refinancing and his uncle in construction and they argue over whether the first or second beachfront condo was the better choice.

And then he goes home.

A couple weeks later, they all get the okay to leave at a decent hour on a Friday, and Amanda feels like a kid leaving school early as she packs up her bag. Carisi is making the rounds in the squad, trying to get everyone together for drinks, and she watches, kinda amused, as Liv says no, citing Noah, Fin shoots him down flat, and Dodds struggles to find a polite way to beg off.

She's not really thinking about it when she jumps in, rescues the sarge: Come on, you and me can go out, she says.

I don't get it, it's springtime, it's a beautiful afternoon, Carisi complains. All everyone wants to do is go home.

I'll go out with you, just let me call my sitter.

But they don't: her sitter can't stay past six, and an hour isn't much time for shooting the shit after work. Amanda invites him over instead. He whips up some more pasta out of last time's leftovers and some bacon he sends her off to buy: they eat on the sofa, watch Housewives and HGTV, drink a couple of beers.

Just like that, it's a tradition.

It doesn't happen all the time, or anything. Every other week for a while; Carisi coming over, cooking whatever he feels like making (grilled cheese, pork chops, fajitas, salmon, and yes, lots of pasta), then eating on the sofa and watching reality TV. They get really into Pawn Stars, and Carisi starts coming every week, for each new episode.

It starts to feel kinda normal, leaving work together, stopping for groceries, him in the kitchen while she takes care of the baby, not having to worry about food or feel guilty for ordering pizza, again. Watching TV together, shoes kicked off, her legs curled on the sofa, his sleeves rolled up, long legs stretched out over the thrift-store carpet.

There are times where they've landed a case, or one of them has trial prep with Barba, and when that happens and they miss their shows, Amanda misses it: misses him in her apartment, in her kitchen, the way he slouches all over her sofa. How when Jesse is restless, they trade her back and forth between them, how there've been a few times she's looked over to see her daughter, fast asleep and drooling on his shirt.

She thinks about buying a DVR, so they can be prepared for those big cases, those missed nights, so they can save episodes to watch together later on. So she can. She thinks about what that means, that it matters to her that they do.

Then there's one night, when Pawn Stars is on hiatus but it works out 'cause there's a House Hunters marathon, and Carisi has promised steak since they just got paid recently. The kitchen smells like garlic and something herb-y. Jesse has just gotten over an ear infection and is finally sleeping right again, thank God, but Franny is doing her pee shuffle, so Amanda clips on her leash and takes her out on a walk.

The nights are starting to get cooler, and she looks down the quiet street as her dog does her business, and it only kinda occurs to her on their way back up into her building that she just left Carisi there, in her apartment, with her baby, alone, without any kinda thought in the world.

And she isn't worried about it, because she knows he's not gonna steal her stuff, and because he loves that baby like he loves his nieces, but it hits her all at once like that, on the stairs between the second and third floors: that she just left him there, and that she isn't worried, and how that doesn't feel weird at all.

A couple of weeks after that, they're all at work, and Carisi calls over from his desk to hers: hey, they're scoutin' for a new location for Real Housewives, and she calls back great, Pontomac sucks, and that's pretty much the end of the discussion: he goes off towards the john, and she's back to looking up info on this new perp. Fin gives her a kinda look from his desk. A detective-y kinda look.

It's nothin', she tells him. We just get together and watch trashy TV a couple of times a week.

I didn't say it was anything, says Fin.

Which, yeah.

She knows that. There's nothing wrong with getting together with a friend and watching TV and eating dinner, with trusting him with her kid and her dog and her stuff, because it's Carisi, for God's sake, the naivest, dumbest cop who ever got a badge, of course she can trust him.

But she still feels kinda embarrassed, because of how once every couple of weeks turned into two times per week, because it's so comfortable, nice, to go home and not have to worry about food or groceries or company. Because after that big trial last month he'd assisted Barba with and been stressed like hell about, she'd gotten him to her place after the jury came back, made him dinner and got him to have a beer and take off his jacket and tie and how he'd fallen asleep halfway through Keeping Up With The Kardashians, snoring with Jesse on his stomach and an empty bowl of E-Z Mac on the cushion beside him.

It had felt like she was living some other kinda life, the kind of life Amanda Rollins never imagined and never wanted, and she's not one hundred percent sure she's changed her mind about that, or anything, but it had been nice as hell, in that moment: feeling like she'd taken care of him, instead of letting him take care of the entire world by himself, feeling like she'd stepped into this other kinda postcard life, and when she thinks about it too hard, it feels like she's taking advantage of him, or something.

Which is pretty dumb.

So she tells Fin it is nothin', and they both drop it.

He keeps coming over, playing with Jesse, cooking them food.

He has all these Ideas about weaning Jesse off formula, tried and true Carisi family secrets, but she's used to him being the expert on everythingand ignores eighty percent. They move on to The Walking Dead; they talk more, not about much, hardly ever about work, but about more than just who the next character to die is gonna be. (Although, that too, all the time.)

All these months, I've never even seen your apartment, she says one Saturday neither of them are working. It's a nice day, and they're out walking nowhere in particular, her pushing the stroller and Carisi with Franny's leash.

Aw, man, it's a total single guy's apartment, he says. Trust me, you wouldn't wanna see it. Yours is way nicer.

Seriously? she says, because at this point in their relationship she barely even scoops her clothes off the floor when he comes over, and he kinda laughs.

Trust me. It's disgusting. Laundry and takeout menus as far as the eye can see, which isn't far since it's a matchbox, stunning alley views, and it's a fifth floor walkup.

I feel bad for any girls you have over, she says, and he laughs in a sorta awkward way.

I don't date too much lately, he says, and he looks askance at her as he says it and he's walking her dog on a Saturday morning and Amanda sort of gets this anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach.

That okay with you? It's kinda many questions all wrapped up into one, but she's feeling a little flustered all at once. 'Cause I know some nice girls, if you're lookin' for someone to have over. Or if it's SVU-itis… he looks puzzled and she clarifies: you know, nothin' like SVU to make the dating game look extra appealing.

Nah, he says, chuckling. That's not really why — he looks skyward. It's kinda why, or it was for like, the first year and a half I was here? But that's not really it. I just don't feel like goin' out and meetin' anyone. Not lately.

Trust me, I get that, she says, looking down at Jesse and smiling a little bittersweet, and it'd probably be safe to drop it there, but she doesn't. It's just, I feel bad, takin' so much of your time.

Don't be, he says. I like spendin' time with the two of you.

Yeah, but. She allows herself the briefest of hesitations. I dunno, sometimes I feel like I'm takin' advantage of you a little bit. She's pretty sure she started this tradition to cheer him up, not make him into her personal chef or pretend house-husband, and one time heating up E-Z Mac doesn't make it mutual. Having you cook me dinner three nights a week just 'cause I'm tired after work, when you work just as many hours as I do.

He's quiet, she guesses thinking about it. Hey, if it bothers you, he says finally, I can watch TV at my own place.

No, she says kinda fast. That's not it. It doesn't bother me at all.

I like spendin' the time with you and Jesse, he says again, in this careful way, and Amanda thinks to herself: oh.

The thing is, she's not totally oblivious about herself. She doesn't know how it happened, how this insanely obnoxious rookie turned into someone completely different. She likes the jut of his shoulders, his arms, hands, the crooked bluntness of his nose and the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. She likes the way he looks, even with memories of unfortunate facial hair. She likes the way he moves, his hands waving all over when he talks, the solidness of his frame. She likes the way he dresses, and God help her, the total idiot way he'll get a splash of food or baby drool on those nice suits and shrug it off. That's her clue she has it bad: when she starts finding his stupidity kinda charming, his overuse of hairgel kinda cute. When she can remember how she used to see him, and how now it all seems kinda sweet.

She's never spent too much time thinking about it from his side of things, because she never thought too much about sides. It's nice to laze on her sofa with her daughter and look at a good-looking man; it's nice to pretend and imagine and dream about maybe convincing him to come over for breakfast, help get the baby fed and Franny walked before the sitter arrives, but stupid dreams are just stupid dreams and Amanda kinda swore off that BS when she got pregnant. She's always assumed Carisi comes over because he loves playing with kids and watching crappy reality TV; because he's this insane Italian kid who takes weird joy in cooking for the needy and tired.

She's never spent a lot of time wondering if at some point he took stock of the situation, too, and had his own feelings on it.

If maybe he also thought about it and traditions and playing pretend and went oh.

When it finally happens, it's on a Tuesday night. It isn't in the pouring rain, or in desperate jubilation after a stressful case. They're after a guy, and he confesses after about ten minutes, and they rush through the paperwork because the network has been promoting the new episode of Housewives all week long. Carisi makes them his Nona's cacio e pepe again, and she's out of beer, so they drink cheap wine. There's this big cat fight and it's kinda hilarious, and they keep a running commentary through the episode.

When the show is over, they watch some House Hunters, but it's an episode they'd both seen before.

I guess I should head out, Carisi says, draining his wine glass, stretching a little as he sits up.

She puts her glass on the table next to his. Or — he looks over at her. You could stay?

He looks at her, a kind of searching, careful look. Yeah? he asks.

If you wanna, she says. She's not nervous. She feels a reckless, fizzy kind of energy as he looks at their empty bowls and glasses and the mess of pans in the kitchen. There's his jacket over a chair and a photo of Jesse on the fridge she knows he has a copy of somewhere, and the dog asleep in the corner by his shoes.

Yeah, he says, and his voice is a little hoarse. Yeah, I guess I do.

It doesn't feel like a big, dramatic moment. It's not a big, dramatic moment. She's smiling, and he laughs a little, and her knee digs into the sofa and her hands grip his shoulders, his hand brushes her hair out of their faces, and his watch skims against her cheek. He has way too much gel in his hair. They kiss on the sofa, and they kiss standing in the living room, and they leave the dishes in the sink and she takes him to bed.

It's still dark when she wakes up the next morning, the room cool and quiet but for his soft snoring. She lies there for a minute, relaxed and calm, and then realizes the room is silent, and it's Wednesday morning, and where the hell is the alarm. She sits up so quick she wakes him up in a start; then it's I didn't set the alarm and what the hell time is it and seriously, we can't both be late to work together, until finally she finds her cell phone and breathes a sigh of relief: it's just past six.

So that wakes them up.

They catch one another's eye in the dim room and kinda laugh, and it should feel awkward and the time-related panic kinda does, but mostly it just feels… the same. Normal. Casual. Overdue. She throws on a robe. You should get going.

Huh?

Go home, change clothes? She tosses his shirt at him.

Nah, I only wore this suit once, I can wear it again, he says, and she can't believe him. Like, at all. She goes and gets Jesse and he cooks them breakfast and they argue on and off about it the whole time, he cannot wear the same suit two days in a row, seriously, why not, and finally he agrees to at least get a clean shirt, laughing, sitting in the kitchen as he puts his shoes on.

There's one moment, where neither of them are really sure if they should kiss goodbye —

— And then he kisses Jesse on the cheek, instead, and rushes out the door with a see ya later, and that, and they say, is that.

It's not awkward, and that's the weird part. They keep working together, he keeps coming home with her, they keep eating dinner and watching bad TV and playing with the baby. He snores and leaves extra clothes at her place, she starts doing his some of laundry to stop him recycling, and she waits for things to get dramatic and torrid and it doesn't.

She meets his family over Christmas; he tries and mostly fails to get her to come with him to church. She gets mad when he starts to get a little too know-it-all bossy with his parenting tips; he gets frustrated when he thinks she's shutting him out. She picks on him; he acts like the expert on everything in the world.

It feels like the most normal thing in the world.

One day, she will come home from the station, he will come home from court, and Jesse will come home from day care. He'll cook them dinner, and then they'll watch Beachfront Bargain Hunt as the dishes pile in the sink.

He'll stretch his legs out over the cheap carpet, and she'll curl up with Jesse in her lap, and Franny will try and wedge herself on the cushions between them. They'll talk about whatever, and drink cheap wine, and it'll be the most natural thing in the world to rest her head against his shoulder as they argue over what Amazing Race team is gonna win the whole thing.

And it'll be easy. From one day to the next.