A/N: So I take Rollisi prompt requests on my Tumblr (sunnyrollins) and it just so happened this fic was born from one of them so I hope you all enjoy! Also this is gonna be a standalone for now (since I'm super busy & still working on Trial by Fire) but maybe one day it'll turn into a full AU :)
[2011]
For Amanda Rollins, adjusting to New York City had, admittedly, not been as easy as she had wanted or expected it to be upon her transfer from Atlanta. When she had first gotten the news that her papers had been processed and that she would be heading off to Manhattan in the fall she had been equal parts elated and relieved. Relieved to be getting away from every dark and painful memory that continuing to work in Georgia would never allow to become an afterthought, and elated at idea of starting a new life in a new city and working for the police force that so many dreamed of being a part of.
She had gone to Manhattan with a romanticized idea of the bright New York City lights and becoming a part of the esteemed New York Police Department. What she hadn't considered were the nights just after working a particularly brutal case...going home to an unfamiliar hotel room until she could find a reasonably priced apartment that would accommodate Frannie. A place that didn't feel like home, and where she couldn't just meet up with a friend for drinks in order to leave the day behind her.
Sitting alone in a dive bar wasn't necessarily the same, but until she could get herself together and adjust she figured it would have to suffice.
"And the search for a missing Staten Island teen came to a tragic end today when a body discovered in Central Park was later identified to be fifteen-year-old Chloe Morgan. Police received the call around 1 P.M. today-"
"Hey," Rollins caught the bartender's attention before looking away from the television that was now showing a clip of the victim's parents in tears as they talked about their lost daughter, "isn't there a game on or something?"
"Or anything that isn't this?" The man next to her chimed in.
When the bartender grabbed the remote from under the bar and began to flip through channels per request, Rollins glanced over to source of the voice next to her. He took a long swig of his beer, and she couldn't help but notice the familiar badge he wore on his hip.
"Rough day?" She asked, and she nodded towards it when he turned his head to face her.
She hadn't realized that she had still been wearing her own as well until she noticed his eyes drift down to her belt, and when he looked back at her face they shared a small, knowing smile.
"You'd think seein' this kinda thing every day you'd be desensitized," he paused and shook his head. "A friend of mine was on that girl's case...and he was sure they'd find her alive. It's horrible what happened to her."
"And somehow it never gets easier," she added. "You see all this shit every day. And for a second you almost feel like it's normal. And yet...some days...you still come here after work to drink until you forget about it all." When he offered only a quirk of his eyebrows in response, she turned her body to face him fully with a half-hearted chuckle. "What? Am I making you uncomfortable?"
"Not at all."
They exchanged another almost amused smile.
"What's your story?" She asked after a short lull in conversation. "Vice? Narcotics?"
"Staten Island Homicide," he said. "You?"
"Manhattan SVU. As of about...three weeks ago. Just transferred up here from Atlanta."
When the bartender set her drink down in front of her she reached for her wallet. Her fellow detective, however, stopped her before she could retrieve it from the pocket of her blazer.
"I've got it," he assured her as he pulled out his own. "Consider it a 'welcome to New York' gift."
"Just 'welcome to New York'? If I didn't know any better I'd think you were hitting on me," she teased
"Don't think too much, Detective."
Rollins laughed in response, a feeling of friendly warmth spreading through her for what she was sure was the first time since she'd arrived in the city. Her new co-workers were cordial enough, but they were just that: co-workers. They weren't her friends. And neither was this man. But she found that it was much easier to relax and have a conversation with someone who she knew she had little to no chance of encountering again after tonight than it was with the people she spent nearly every waking moment with.
With a smile, she held her hand out to offer him a professional handshake despite the less than professional setting.
"Detective?" She asked playfully. "Most people just call me Amanda."
He accepted the gesture with a warm smile of his own.
"Call me Sonny."
So she did for the rest of the night. From that moment of introduction, to the moment they'd lost track of how many drinks they'd consumed between the two of them, and all the way to the moment they'd ended up back at her hotel down the block in an intoxicated haze, skin against skin as the preferred name fell from her lips only in hushed sighs.
And - if only for one night fueled only by isolation and desire - she didn't sleep alone in that unfamiliar hotel room.
[2014]
It was clear that Olivia was stressed. Whether or not that was due to the shooting in question, the fact that she had still been adjusting to fostering Noah Porter, or her relative inexperience in her new role as sergeant had remained to be seen, but Rollins knew to be concise and to the point with their discussion of the shooting.
"How did they know that you were picking her up?" The sergeant asked.
"Well Amaro thinks that they were followed to the precinct."
"Amaro?"
"Yeah...he was the arresting officer."
The words had barely a second to settle before another voice - an unfamiliar voice, at that - chimed in. Or at least it should have been unfamiliar. It seemed to be to Olivia by the look on her face, but something about it sparked an inkling of something that could only qualify as familiarity to Rollins that she couldn't quite place.
"They shot at cops right outside of the station so they want us to know they're crazy."
That inkling only grew stronger when she looked at him, and she found that she had to practically do a double-take in the middle of his sentence before feeling her stomach sink. He may have looked different now - sporting a questionable mustache and looking much less put together than he had when they first met...as if the job had really gotten to him over the past three years - but she knew him. More intimately than she wanted to admit even to herself in that moment.
It was only confirmed when he looked her in the eyes and shook her hand...the feeling of his skin a distinct memory in the back of her mind. And although he didn't acknowledge it verbally, she could have sworn that she saw his light eyes flicker with recognition of their own in response to the physical contact.
"Dominick Carisi Jr," he introduced himself to the two women in front of him, his eyes lingering on the blonde for just a moment longer than the sergeant next to her. "Call me Sonny."
