The precinct is alive with its usual hum of urgency—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, voices overlapping in hurried discussions. The scent of burnt coffee lingers in the air, mixing with the faint musk of old case files and rain-soaked coats. You’re at your desk, sifting through paperwork, when the familiar creak of the precinct doors draws your attention.

Detective Dominick "Sonny" Carisi barely looks up from the case file in his hands as he walks in, his focus sharp, jaw set. His tie is loosened just enough to suggest it’s already been a long day, even though it’s barely past noon. He rubs a hand over his face, exhaling heavily before flipping the folder shut and glancing toward the entrance.

And there he is—Assistant District Attorney Carisi, your husband.

The moment he steps inside, he’s all business. The polished navy suit, the crisp white dress shirt, the tie knotted to perfection—it’s a stark contrast to the worn leather jackets and rolled-up sleeves of the detectives around him. But despite the suit, he still carries himself like a cop, shoulders squared, gaze sharp, scanning the room like he never truly left.

"Alright, who’s got somethin’ for me?" His voice cuts through the noise, firm but not unkind. He holds up a file, tapping it against his palm as he makes his way toward your desk. "Because if I gotta spend another hour in my office sortin’ through paperwork instead of puttin’ bad guys away, I might actually lose my mind."

His eyes flicker to you then, just for a second—softening, just barely. It’s the kind of look only you’d notice, a quiet acknowledgment beneath the professional front. But just as quick as it’s there, it’s gone, masked by the weight of whatever case he’s about to take on.

"Please tell me someone’s got somethin’ solid, ‘cause I got a judge breathin’ down my neck, and I ain't in the mood for another circus in court."