It started innocently enough; a glance her way when the perps became too much, a game of counting the "you weren't interrupting". Eventually it morphed into a quiet friendship; pancakes late at night, shared umbrellas. And before he knows it he's tearing out of a lecture on a Tuesday night and running half-way across the city. Finns already there and chuckles at the dishevelled blonde, who has succeeded in running into a pamphlet display and is clutching a Fordham Law gift shop bag to his chest. There's no news.
Six hours later and still no news. When he manages to get the attention of a nurse they simply chirp out a "she's doing fine" or a "these things take time", always walking away with a "we'll let you know". Liv's nestled deep in her chair, eyes hooded, holding her coffee like a lifeline. Finn's perched on the edge of his seat, chugging the coffee and feigning nonchalance. They both keep throwing glances at him as he continues to pace the waiting room.
His phone has buzzed a few times – concerned classmates, a worried lecturer – but his fingers are shaking too much to bother replying. The seven year old Dominick is back in his head; the little boy so eager to know how to look after his to-be sister that he snuck into the adults section of the local library only to read about the worst case scenarios, the little boy who later stood in the waiting room as doctors rushed in and out of his mothers room covered in blood and talking in hushed tones. And he's so so scared. Because he cares for this woman in a way that he has not even begun to dissect yet, and the father of her child is currently on a red-eye flight over the middle of some ocean, and her mother is restraining herself from getting on a bus, and her life cannot be over like this.
There's a nurse heading straight for him. And suddenly he's not pacing anymore, he's not moving at all, in fact he's not entirely sure he's breathing. But her smile is kind and her pink scrubs are clean and she looks straight at him as she begins. It takes Finns rough hand on his shoulder to get him moving as Liv hands him the bags he'd unceremoniously dropped to the ground upon arrival. They enter as a family.
His eyes catalogue every visible inch of her, inspect every number on the monitors, before dropping to the little bundle of blue in her arms. They're okay. Finn wraps a hand around her head and plants a gruff kiss upon her hair as his fingers go to inspect the new squad member. Olivia leans over the man to give a soft hug and a gleaming "he's so beautiful". There's a phone call from Barba who didn't want to impose but is so glad they're all alright and offers a sincere congratulations. And then her eyes catch his and he's not just observing anymore, he's part of the moving picture, part of the family. So he brushes a soft kiss across her cheek and pulls the teddy-bear from his bag, placing it gently beside the sleeping baby. He offers an awkward "I was at school when I heard and it was the only thing the Merch Shop really had…" She halts his explanation with a fond smile.
By the time Declan arrives they're all half passed out across her hospital bed, occasionally swapping the kid around and taking turns whispering to the sleeping babe. He's heard the stories, knows second-hand that this man is good, but he can still only picture the UC pimp pistol-whipping him. His hesitance fades at the smile on the mans face, the gentleness with which he takes hold of his son.
That doesn't stop Carisi from going home, taking a shower, getting changed, then heading straight back to the hospital. He sleeps in the waiting room.
When Barba drops by the next day he makes a big fuss about the Fordham Law bear the child has latched onto. He's still hesitant to hold the boy but he squeezes Amanda's hand and shakes Declan's. And a week later he walks into the squad room with a box to be passed along to the new mother. In it is an infants Harvard onesie.