At a little after three in the afternoon, someone knocks on Peter’s apartment door. He can’t imagine who would be soliciting on Christmas, and he hasn’t ordered anything in the mail, so it’s with suspicion tempered in a handful of beers that he creeps toward the front door to peer through the peephole. Warped glass does a poor job of helping him figure out who it is, but he also recognizes the tan coat and restless bouncing.
He opens the door just a crack in hopes of hiding the shambles his apartment rests in. “Need something, Carisi?”
“You really didn’t think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?” Carisi smiles and holds up a large plastic bag. “I brought some cookies, a bottle of the scotch you get at the bar. No one deserves to be drunk alone tonight.”
With a little effort, Peter suddenly recognizes the slight flush to Carisi’s cheeks and the slightly unsteady sway to his usual energy. Under normal circumstances, he’d turn him away. But it’s Christmas. And Peter can clearly see he isn’t the only one who could do with some company.
“Pardon the mess,” he mumbles, stepping aside to let Carisi into his home.
My babies.
SVU addict 