Chapter Text
“She wants to know if you’re her Daddy.”
In less than ten words, Jesse Rollins has managed to make every trace of hunger disappear from her mother’s stomach, which starts lurching the instant the words float into the air between them. Amanda’s ears, too, do a 180, a low buzzing starting in them that makes it impossible for her to hear anything but her own pounding heart as her eyes go into tunnel vision, locking on Jesse until she’s safely out of the room. It’s only then she can look back at Dominick, when the danger of everything they’ve worked so hard for collapsing is over.
She looks back at him, expecting to see the same fear that’s coursing through her system reflected in his eyes, but it takes her a half-second to realize that she’s never been more wrong, because her boyfriend is smiling at her with something that’s so much more than just a reassuring smile after a close call.
It’s more than just joy, too, though that’s certainly part of it—it’s the exact same expression she’d first pictured three years and nine months ago, balanced on the edge of her bathtub with a positive pregnancy test that she couldn’t make the result of something with him, much as she wanted to.
Her chest burns even more as the words about talking to Billie fall out of his mouth, because her youngest baby is just three years old and Amanda has no idea how to tell her that the person who knows exactly how much sauce to put on her noodles at dinner and which stuffed animals she has to sleep with and which Disney song she needs sung to her before she can fall asleep after a nightmare isn’t her father even though he definitely should’ve been.
But Sonny’s looking at her for a response, so she forces a half-laugh that she hopes conveys just enough promise of we can talk about it later to let it rest for the night as she turns back toward the table with numb legs that make her question how she’s even moving in the first place.
She’s saved from talking about it, though, by the absolute meltdown Billie has when Jesse tries to pull the mermaid tail off of her—a meltdown that lasts so long that by the time she and Amanda make it out to the kitchen, the pasta’s only lukewarm, and Jesse’s glaring at them from her seat, where she’s stabbing at the noodles that are left with a force that makes Amanda eternally grateful to whoever invented plastic silverware for kids.
It takes them another hour and a half to get both girls calmed enough and ready for bed, and Sonny’s looking down the barrel of a day with eight arraignments, so they don’t talk about anything important as they get ready for bed, and it’s all Amanda can do to drape her arm over Sonny’s torso when she collapses onto her side of the mattress, trying to ignore the seed of self-doubt that creeps in when the way his arm comes to rest on her back is a little stiffer than she’s used to.
***
Maybe Amanda could forget about it, brush it off as a fluke and claim it slipped her mind if Sonny brought it up again, if it weren’t for the case that walks into their squad room the next day—the reason she’s sitting in a conference room with a lurching stomach and a racing heart.
“Her life’s never been the same because of me. I need to make it right,” Ashley says, and Amanda’s mind leaves New York in 2022 and flies back to Georgia in the 1990s, to nights curled up with Kim in her bed, the TV at full blast still not quite loud enough to drown out the way their names keep escaping their father’s mouth in between shouts and sickening thuds she tells Kim are just their parents moving the furniture to clean it.
The thought of even half that weight resting on Billie—whose own father only hurt her mother emotionally—makes a fresh wave of nausea run through Amanda, and she darts out of the conference room the second Ashley walks out, locking herself in the single-use bathroom in the cribs and shakily dialing Hanover’s number, only coming back to Earth halfway through the call, sometime after she’s rehashed the whole story in one shaky breath.
“Three-year-olds do like to push boundaries, and you’ve had a lot of changes in the last few months,” Hanover is saying, and the feeling returns to Amanda’s limbs. “It could just be her way of exploring what the new rules are. You might not need to bring it up if she doesn’t, but—”
“Great, Dr. Hanover, thanks,” Amanda exhales, turning back toward the door.
“You sure you don’t want to come in for an appoint—”
“We just got a big case, I gotta run,” Amanda cuts her off before her stomach can start churning again, pressing the end call button and gulping in a deep breath as she swings the door open. She relishes in the steady feeling it gives her—the way she can breathe normally again with the massive weight lifted off her chest.
She’s practically bouncing on her heels when she tells Sonny for that exact reason, expecting to watch the same relief cross his face, but the hurt that’s laced through his voice when he asks if that’s just what she heard is the opposite of what she’s been feeling since she hung up, and the balloon of hope that’s been in her chest since then deflates with so much force she’s breathless as she walks back into the squad room.
***
He sleeps at his apartment Monday night, and Amanda might be worried if it weren’t their standard agreement—”Cannoli’s gotta get fed sometime, babe”—and besides, his texts to her are just as warm as they normally are, the same strings of emojis and sweet words filling her screen before and after she gets the girls down.
She doesn’t suspect anything is still wrong until Tuesday on the park bench, though, when she can feel the tension rolling off him that seems far too strong to be just from Maxwell’s directives—still, she doesn’t expect the turns the conversation takes, what feels like three different ultimatums laid at her feet in a matter of minutes. She’s trying to stumble through the explanations that’ve been running through her head to ease the guilt that’s been gnawing at her for the better part of their entire relationship—but they’re not working, because the exasperation coursing through the way he says “One year? Five?” is making it painfully clear to her just how flimsy they are, but they’re still the only things that make her able to breathe around the lump that’s formed in her throat.
She means what she says—she’s never been this open or honest in a relationship—but the tears she sheds are less about having to repeat that for Sonny, who obviously knows that by now, but because she’s starting to accept just how right he is about the need to move forward, and she has absolutely no idea how to get herself ready for that.
She sheds more later, driving her Jeep home, because Tuesday has been the night Sonny reads her girls a new fairytale for months now, and her lie that he needs to work isn’t going to placate Jesse for very long, and Amanda doesn’t have the energy to deal with another endless stream of questions from someone she loves today.
But just as she’s bracing herself for those questions again, bent over Jesse’s bed to kiss her daughter goodnight, she realizes they aren’t going to come, because the snap of her front door closing and Frannie’s friendly woof echo throughout the apartment, just loud enough for both of her babies’ faces light up impossibly bright when their godfather appears in the doorframe—the joy that spreads across their faces making her heart leap before the hesitancy in Sonny’s eyes when he looks at her makes her chest tighten again.
“Didn’t think you wanted to come over,” she mutters later, when he emerges from the girls’ room—”Mommy, this is me and Billie and Uncle Sonny time,” Jesse had admonished her—swallowing thickly as she fidgets with the pile of dish towels she’s folding on the kitchen island.
“Yeah, well I don’t back out on a promise of four bedtime stories,” he shrugs, and Amanda almost tenses, bracing herself for some sort of backhanded comment about how she’s the one who does that, but there’s no edge in the way he says it, just a little bit of stilted awkwardness—and the fact that he’d never say something like that is a huge part of the reason they’re even together—so she forces a half-smile as she looks back up at him.
“Thank you. I know they appreciated it,” she nods, biting her lip as she moves around the other side of the island, deliberately not meeting his eye as she guiltily picks up the pizza box she’d picked up on the way home and moves toward the trash can.
When she turns back around, he’s studying her carefully, hands softly rubbing together. “So, are we gonna talk about what happened earlier?”
She cards a hand through her hair, eyes nervously darting to the hallway. “I don’t want them to hear us fighting, Carisi.”
“We’re not fighting,” he says, voice softening when she swallows hard, gesturing at the way his arms are folded across his chest. “Not like them, Amanda. We are not your parents.”
The weight in her stomach shifts a little as she rocks back on her heels and picks at a nail. “I know.”
“I just want to talk, hon,” he whispers, arms dropping to his side as he takes a half-step toward her. “We have to.”
“What do you want me to say?” she shrugs, voice shaking over it.
“How about how you can’t even tell the girls about us?” he starts, mouth tight but volume low, and her stomach drops again. “Look, I know they’re your kids—”
His voice shakes over the last few words, and between that and the pain etched into the lines of his face, Amanda’s nerves regain feeling, words tumbling out of her in one rushed breath. “They’re not just mine, though.”
However Sonny was going to finish that sentence dies in his throat as his eyes go wide. “What—”
“You’ve been there for them since they were born,” she manages over the lump in her throat, “I—I don’t want you to be Uncle Sonny forever, either.”
The light from Sunday night is back in his eyes, a smile spreading across his face that still manages to sting, because even despite the joy radiating from her boyfriend, her stomach’s still dropping, because the words “So we can talk to them about us, then?” are leaving his lips and all Amanda can hear is her life’s never been the same because of me and her chest feels so tight she’s got to grip the counter to ground herself.
“I—” she starts, and something about the thickness of her voice must give her away, because Sonny’s eyes narrow slightly, the frustrated edge back in his voice.
“You’re not ready?” he sighs, rubbing his hand along his forehead. “For what, me to be more involved with the girls? Amanda, I’m puttin’ ‘em to bed practically every night—”
“No, that’s not—”
“Then what?” he cuts her off, and his exasperation is so palatable she flinches, arms folding protectively over her chest.
He winces when she does, exhaling on a shaky breath before speaking again, voice and eyes gentle.“You’ve got to tell me why this is so hard for you, because we’re not getting anywhere unless you do.”
“I just—” she starts, tilting her head back because she’s not in the mood to cry again today, even if the lump in her throat is telling her that it’s a losing battle, “I know what it’s like to hate yourself because of who your father is, okay? I had to watch him beat the shit out of my mother every fucking day and then look in the mirror and see his nose and his eyes looking back at me and know that my entire existence was because he hurt my mom. I can’t do that to them, Dominick—make them hate themselves for the stupid choices I made.”
There’s hot tears spilling from her eyes now, and she swipes angrily at them, clearing them just enough to see the pained lines that are etched into Sonny’s face and the way his whole body seems to reach for her at once, momentum only stopping just inches from her, because he knows her well enough that in moments like this, she has to be the one to close the gap.
“You are surrounding them with so much love, Amanda—something your mother never did,” he says slowly, like he’s testing out each word. “They are not gonna hate themselves.”
If it was a legal argument, the certainty in his voice alone might have her convinced. But as it is, she can only scoff, because the shadows of her past are just a little louder today.
“But what if they do? Because I don’t know what the hell to tell them, Carisi. ‘Hey Jesse, you’re only here because Mommy was with someone who took advantage of her? Hey, Billie, you’re only here because Mommy went back to a man who hurt her over and over? Oh, and by the way, the only person who should’ve been your father isn’t because Mommy was too scared to love him?’”
She’s shaking slightly now, cheeks burning, because she’s never actually spoken those words aloud to him, and her stomach lurches as she watches his reaction, something unreadable passing in his eyes before he leans forward, cupping her cheek with both hands, thumbs swiping at the moisture that’s collected on her cheeks as he rests his forehead against hers. “That is not how it’s going to go.”
His voice is so full of conviction she almost can’t argue with it, but the guilt that’s been gnawing at her since Sunday wins out. “That’s how it feels, though.”
“Okay,” Sonny says, and the tender way he says it as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear sends a fresh few tears out of her eyes. “What do you need to make it feel less like that?”
“I think—” she starts with a shaky breath, reaching a hand to his shoulder to steady herself. “I think I need to talk to Hanover again. Like actually talk to her this time.”
“Okay,” he breathes, pulling back just long enough to press his lips against her forehead. “You talk to Dr. Hanover, and then we talk about this again. Because I’m serious Amanda, I love those girls like they’re mine, and I am not going anywhere.”
It’s those words that make the last of her walls utterly collapse, something warm running through her as she drops her head against his chest, arms wrapping tightly around his back. “I’m trying so hard,” she whispers against his shoulder, hoping he hears the apology folded into it. “I want this to work so badly.”
“I know you are,” he whispers, hand rubbing circles lightly on her back. “We’re gonna make it work, I promise. I’m so proud of you.”
“I’ve just never had a relationship go public in a good way,” she adds, stomach twisting slightly as she thinks of all of the ways that’s been true since high school in Georgia—memories she manages to shake by inhaling deeply, letting the fact that it’s his cologne that's greeting her after seven long years remind her that they’re here and everything about this is so much different from any other relationship she’s ever been in before.
“I know that too,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against the top of her head. “But there’s a first time for everything.”
Maybe it’s the conviction in his voice when he says it, or maybe it’s the way his arms tighten around her, or maybe it’s just the simple fact that he’s still here, but Amanda finally believes him.
***
It’s easier to go into work on Wednesday—Dominick kisses her impossibly tenderly just before he slips down the hallway to the couch, so much love baked into the way he looks at her that even the emergency appointment she’s booked with Hanover later manages to feel full of promise.
Still, though, the case is too heavy not to weigh on her a little, Ashley’s desperation to find the man who hurt her mother reminding her that both her girls’ questions about their fathers aren’t always going to be easily swept away by the promise of fresh-cooked Italian food and just one more bedtime story.
That heaviness is offset, though, when Liv talks about the cruel way Serena said “I wish I’d never had you,” the way bottom falls out of Amanda’s stomach at the thought that anyone could say that to their child making Sonny’s you’re surrounding them with so much love echo in her mind, her differences from her mother never sharper than they’ve ever been before this moment.
“Did you ever wish that she hadn’t told you?” Amanda asks Liv tentatively, knowing it serves a dual purpose—worry for her friend in the present and a glimpse of what might happen to her daughters in the future—and her relief at Liv’s soft smile is doubled when she thinks that her babies might one day have the same one, but because of the home they grow up in and not in spite of it.
***
He’s curled up on the couch when she makes it into the apartment, the full picture of the casual Dominick she’s gotten used to over the last nine months—loose hair framing his face, clad in a t-shirt and pajama pants, soft smile completing the look—and the jolt of warmth that runs through her at the sight nearly knocks her off-balance.
“Hey,” he whispers, eyes searching hers, “how’d it go?”
“Good,” she smiles as she toes off her boots, collapsing on the couch next to him. “We talked through a lot. I uh—I needed it more than I thought I did.”
Her knee bounces a little as she says it, but there’s no judgment in Sonny’s eyes, only relief, as he leans over to kiss her. “I’m proud of you,” he says with a light stroke of her cheek, “in case I haven’t said it before.”
“Mighta mentioned it,” Amanda smirks, pressing their lips together again, “but it’s still nice to hear.”
“How you feelin’?” he asks, pulling back to cup her cheek, and she sighs with relief when the question doesn’t make her heart skip a beat like it did earlier in the week.
“A lot better. I think—I think I’m okay with telling our bosses when this case is over. If, uh—if you still want to.”
She wishes she could capture his face then, because it’s the same smile he threw her on Sunday, but the lack of surprise he’d had then is replaced with wonderment now, eyes shimmering so brightly it makes her breath catch in her throat. There’s wonderment floating though her, too, forcing the corners of her mouth upward, because he’s managed to embody the exact words Hanover told her not quite forty minutes ago—maybe he just wants to show people how much he loves you—and Amanda’s beginning to accept that Hanover was right about that being a good thing.
“What kind of question is that?” he laughs, running a hand gently over her hair.
“Just checkin’,” she shrugs, “in case you wanna change your mind.”
“Never,” he says breathlessly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers. “I’m afraid you’re kind of stuck with me.”
Her hand finds the back of his neck, softly pressing him even closer. “I can think of worse places to be stuck.”
They’re both smirking when he closes the gap between them, kissing her softly until she starts to deepen it, opening her mouth for him and sliding a hand down his chest until he pulls back abruptly, cheeks flushed.
“We haven’t told the girls yet,” he says in between breaths, “and even if we had, I don’t think you want them walkin’ in on us like this.”
“God, no,” she says with a shake of her head, running a hand over her face to ground herself again. “They go down for you okay?”
“Yeah, they were great,” Sonny says, but there’s an undercurrent of something beyond just his usual contentment in the way he says it, and tilts her head toward him.
“Dominick,” she whispers, hand coming up to cup his cheek, that coupled with her use of his first name, ensures he can’t look anywhere but straight at her. “If she asked about it again, it’s okay. Hanover and I talked about that too.”
“Yeah, she did,” Sonny manages, voice hoarse, “but, uh—it wasn’t Billie. It was Jesse.”
“Asking if you’re her Daddy?” Amanda asks, eyebrows furrowed.
“No. Asking if I was Billie’s Daddy.”
Oh. Understanding floats through Amanda’s system, her heart twisting a little for all the confusion that her first baby must be feeling. “I don’t think it was ever Billie’s idea.”
Sonny shakes his head, giving Amanda a half-smile. “Judgin’ by the way Jesse kept askin’, no, it wasn’t. Don’t worry,” he adds when Amanda starts to tense at the word kept, “I told her that Mommy and I would talk to her about it later.”
“Yeah, we can talk about it,” Amanda nods, reaching for her abandoned purse on the coffee table, heartbeat speeding up as she pulls out the pamphlet that wasn’t there when she left the precinct. “Hanover gave me some stuff she thinks might help. It’s uh—it’s not exact, but—”
“Talking to young children about adoption,” Sonny reads before she can finish her thought, and when his eyes flick back up to hers, they’re shining with unshed tears.
“It’s just the closest thing Hanover had to our situation, I didn’t bring it here because I’m tryin’ to say you have to adopt them or anything—not that I don’t want you to—I just—”
“You kidding me?” he asks, a noise between a laugh and a cry escaping him as he runs his finger softly over the brightly colored letters of the pamphlet’s title, “of course I wanna adopt them. What did you think I meant when I said I don’t wanna be Uncle Sonny forever?”
“Somethin’ like this?” Amanda asks with a watery smile.
“Yeah, somethin’ exactly like this. When you’re ready for it, okay?”
Amanda nods, almost knocked over by the fresh wave of gratitude that runs through her as he says it. “I don’t know how to make any of it official or anything, this was just supposed to be so we could talk to them—”
“I’m not worried about that right now,” Sonny says gently, reaching down to squeeze her hand. “One step at a time, okay? And lucky for us, I happen to know some pretty good lawyers who can help us with that when we get there.”
Amanda laughs lightly then, leaning in to connect their lips again. “You do, huh?”
“Mhmm,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I mean it, they’ll still be there when you’re ready. Let’s talk to the girls first, okay?”
And for the first time all week, the thought of that conversation makes Amanda’s heart lift instead of sink. “Yeah, let’s talk to the girls. Together.”