The hesitant knock on her door is unexpected and she catches her hand half way to her holster. The blood is still on her floor and one of Kim's jumpers lays discarded on the couch. She no longer feels safe in these four walls. But her mother pulls open the door with a warm welcome and Rollins is sure she didn't even bother to look through the peep-hole before unlocking the chain.
He's standing just inside the doorway, like he's afraid to intrude, and she realises that today was the first time he'd been here. His eye's catch hers and they're a shade she didn't get to often see – bashful, unsure. He holds up the bucket he brought with him, gesturing vaguely in the direction of her lounge. And she tries so hard to ignore her mothers hand on his arm, the look on her face that is both approving and daring, as if judging her for finding this man and not making him hers. She wonders if she'll look at her child the same way.
Carisi's shirts rolled up to his elbows and the top buttons are undone, his hands are covered in ridiculous yellow cleaning gloves and he has a dust mask loose around his neck. He's already gone on a rant about all the diseases that may be transmitted through contact with anothers blood, but he shut up at her insistence that she didn't ask him to do this. They end up throwing out the rug.
She offers him a non-alcoholic beer and they sit with Frannie at their feet, his eyes cataloguing the inside of her apartment. She can see him thinking, like he's trying to formulate the right thing to say. But she's content with their silence, the subtle camaraderie she had learned to associate with him.
Its as he's leaving that he finally indulges the words, as he fiddles with the neck of his coat and offers her a "You have family." Again, he looks like he wants to say more, elaborate, but he rubs the back of his neck and holds his tongue. "Alright, g'night Rollins."