Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the front steps of the Carisi family home in Staten Island, where the concrete had worn smooth from decades of family coming and going. Rafael adjusted his collar as he stepped out of the car, watching fondly as Catalina bounded up the steps ahead of them, her dark curls bouncing with each movement. She had Sonny's endless energy, even if she'd inherited Rafael's everything else. 

"Hummingbird, wait for us," Sonny called out, unfolding himself from the driver's seat. 

His accent – which was Staten Island enough on a normal day – always grew stronger as they crossed the Verrazzano, as if the accent lived in the air here and settled back into his words with all the subtlety of an eighteen-wheeler.

Before either father could reach the door, it swung open to reveal Victoria, who immediately pulled Catalina into a theatrical embrace. "My dearest cousin, it's been ages."

"A whole week," Catalina played along, affecting a dramatic swoon. "However did I survive?"

"You FaceTimed this morning," Rafael commented dryly as he climbed the steps, but his eyes were warm with amusement. The cousins' routine was as much a part of Sunday dinner as the smell of garlic and basil that wafted from inside.

Serafina appeared in the doorway behind Victoria, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face softened at the sight of her granddaughter, even as her greeting to Sonny carried the slight hesitation that had never fully disappeared over the years. But when Catalina threw her arms around her nonna, calling out "What smells so amazing?" the tension eased from Serafina's shoulders. She pulled her granddaughter close, launching into an explanation of tonight's menu that would undoubtedly include at least three dishes that were "your father's favorite growing up."

The rest of the family's voices spilled out from inside – Bella's laugh, Teresa's rapid-fire commentary, Tommy's good-natured complaints about being put to work in the kitchen. Sonny paused on the threshold, and Rafael's hand found the small of his back. 

Dominick Sr.'s voice boomed from the kitchen, "Is that my granddaughter I hear?"

"Nonno," Catalina darted through the house, her voice carrying that particular mix of Rafael's precise diction and Sonny's Staten Island warmth. "Are you making your special bread?"

"What kind of Sunday would it be without it?" He emerged from the kitchen, flour dusting his hands, and wrapped Catalina in a bear hug that lifted her feet off the ground. When he set her down, his eyes met Sonny's, and there was that familiar flicker – pride warring with something more complicated – before he pulled his son into a strong embrace.

"The sauce has been simmering since this morning," Serafina announced, ushering everyone toward the kitchen. "Victoria, tesoro, set another place – Tommy's mother might join us later."

"Ma, you always make enough for an army anyway," Teresa called from where she was chopping herbs at the counter. She pointed her knife at Catalina and Victoria, who had already claimed their usual spots at the breakfast bar. "These two could eat their weight in pasta and there'd still be leftovers."

"Speaking of eating your weight in pasta," Bella chimed in, hip-checking her brother as she passed, "remember when Sonny was training for track in high school? Ma would make two separate batches of everything because –"

She caught herself, the words trailing off into awkward silence. It was one of those moments that still happened sometimes – when memory bumped up against Sonny’s transition, and no one quite knew how to navigate it.

But Catalina, with all the grace of her fourteen years, simply leaned forward. "Dad was a runner? You never told me that."

"State finals," Rafael supplied smoothly, accepting the glass of wine Serafina pressed into his hands. "Apparently, he still has the medals somewhere."

"They're in a box somewhere in our storage unit," Sonny said, a smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe we should dig them out sometime."

"Right next to Dad's debate team trophies?" Catalina teased, earning a mock-stern look from Rafael.

"Those are in my office, thank you very much," Rafael teased, taking a sip of wine. "Some achievements deserve proper display."

“Yeah right,” Catalina shot back. “If that were true, Aunt Rita would’ve told me by now so we could make fun of you together.”

Victoria nudged her cousin. "Your dads are such losers. Track star and debate champion? At least my parents have cool stories about getting kicked out of places."

"That's not something to brag about," Tommy called from where he was stirring the sauce, but his grin betrayed his pride.

Serafina bustled past, adding more basil to the pot. "Victoria, cara, help me with the antipasto. Cata, you too – you need to learn these recipes properly."

As the girls began arranging cured meats and cheeses on a platter, Teresa leaned against the counter. "Remember the graduation party we threw here for Sonny? The whole neighborhood came because Ma made her famous –"

"Arancini," Dominick Sr. finished, his voice gruff but gentle. "Your father helped roll every single one." He paused, then added, looking directly at Sonny, "My valedictorian."

The moment hung there, delicate but warm, like sunshine through stained glass. Sonny's eyes met his father's, and something wordless passed between them – acknowledgment, acceptance, love that had weathered storms and emerged stronger.

Rafael watched as his daughter helped arrange the antipasto, her movements precise and measured - so like his own - while she chatted animatedly with Victoria about their latest school drama with Sonny's expansive gestures. The familiar warmth of the Carisi kitchen wrapped around him, a warmth that had taken years to feel natural but now felt like home.

"You know what this needs?" Catalina declared, reaching for the red pepper flakes. "A little kick."

"Just like your father," Serafina said softly, and for once there was no awkwardness in her voice about which father she meant. "Sonny always added extra pepper to everything."

"Still does," Rafael commented, sharing a knowing look with his mother-in-law. "I've had to hide the pepper flakes more than once to save my taste buds. I mean, I love spice, but just straight pepper?"

"Ma," Sonny called from where he was now helping Tommy with the sauce, "remember that time I accidentally used the extra hot peppers in the arrabiata and Dad couldn't talk for an hour?"

Dominick Sr. let out a hearty laugh. "Your mother was ready to take me to the emergency room!"

"Speaking of emergencies," Victoria piped up, "Cata, tell them about what happened in your chemistry class yesterday."

"Vic," Catalina protested, but she was already grinning. "It wasn't that bad."

"Your experiment exploded, didn't it?" Rafael asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It was a controlled explosion," Catalina defended, sounding so much like Sonny when he was trying to talk his way out of trouble that Rafael had to hide his smile behind his wine glass. "And Mrs. Henderson said my understanding of the chemical reaction was excellent."

"That's my girl," Sonny beamed, pride evident in his voice. "Using fancy words to get out of trouble - you learned from the best."

"Yeah, but which best?" Teresa teased. "The prosecution or the defense?"

"Both," Catalina answered promptly. "Why stick to one strategy when you can have two?"

The kitchen erupted in laughter, and Rafael caught Sonny's eye across the room. These moments - when their daughter so perfectly embodied both of them - never failed to take his breath away. 

"Alright, enough chit-chat," Serafina announced, though her eyes were twinkling. "Cata, come help me with the pasta. You have the perfect touch for knowing when it's al dente."

As Catalina moved to help her grandmother, Victoria trailing behind to "supervise,” which mostly meant stealing pieces of cheese from the antipasto, Rafael sidled up to Sonny, who was now leaning against the counter watching their daughter.

"You okay?" Rafael murmured, low enough that only Sonny could hear.

Sonny's smile was soft and genuine. "Yeah, Raf. More than okay." He glanced around the kitchen - at his parents working side by side at the stove, his sisters bickering good-naturedly over the proper amount of garlic to add to the bread, their daughter flourishing under her grandmother's guidance. "Who would've thought we'd end up here?"

"I did," Rafael said simply, taking Sonny's hand and squeezing it. "I knew our child would be exactly what this family needed. A bridge."

"A hurricane, more like," Sonny chuckled, watching as Catalina dramatically tested the pasta by flinging a piece at the ceiling, much to Victoria's delight and Serafina's mock horror. 

"Catalina Barba-Carisi," Rafael called out, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.

Dominick Sr. shook his head, but he was smiling. "Just like your father," he said, and this time there was no hesitation, no awkwardness - just pure affection as he looked at Sonny. "Always testing boundaries."

"And finding new ways to make us proud," Serafina added softly, pulling Catalina close and pressing a kiss to her temple.

The pasta stuck to the ceiling would probably leave a mark, Rafael thought, but some marks were worth keeping - like the worn steps outside, the recipes passed down through generations, and the love that had grown stronger through every challenge, every Sunday dinner, every moment that made them family.

"Table's ready," Bella announced, and the familiar choreography of Sunday dinner began – a dance of passing dishes, finding seats, and playful arguments over who got the end pieces of bread.

"Before we start," Catalina said, practically bouncing in her seat between Victoria and Rafael, "I have fantastic news."

"Let me guess," Teresa teased, passing the pasta. "You're finally admitting you're the one who broke Ma's favorite vase last month?"

"That was Vic," Catalina shot back without missing a beat. "I was just an accessory after the fact."

"Hey," Victoria protested. "What happened to solidarity?"

"What happened is I have a family tree project for school," Catalina announced, and the entire table seemed to perk up. "We have to trace back at least three generations and include family stories and traditions."

Serafina's face lit up. "Oh, tesoro! I have so many pictures from when my parents first came through Ellis Island. Your bisnonno – my father – he used to tell us stories about how the immigration officers couldn't pronounce our last name, so they just wrote whatever they thought they heard."

"Classic Ellis Island," Rafael commented, sharing a knowing look with his mother-in-law. "Though my father had a different immigration story. He came from Cuba in '59 - spent three days on a fishing boat to reach Miami." His voice held a particular weight that made Catalina sit up straighter, recognizing the rare moment when her father spoke of his own family history.

"Your abuelita's parents had already made it to New York by then," Rafael continued, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his wine glass. "They sponsored his visa once he made it to Florida. That's how he met my mother - she was born here, but her parents had come over just a few years before."

"Wait," Catalina turned to her father, notebook already in hand. "I didn't know Abuelo came on a boat. Was he scared? How old was he?"

"Twenty-two," Rafael answered, his eyes distant with memory. "About the same age as your bisnonno Giuseppe when he came," he added, nodding to Dominick Sr. "Different decade, different ocean, same dream."

"Your bisnonna Maria," Dominick Sr. picked up the thread, seeming to recognize something familiar in Rafael's expression, "she used to say the hardest part wasn't the journey – it was the first night in America, looking up at stars that felt like they were in all the wrong places."

"Amazing how some things are universal," Rafael murmured.

"The stars, the fear, the hope," Serafina agreed, reaching for an old photo album from a nearby shelf. "Look, Cata - here's your bisnonno on his first day at the factory. See how proud he stands? Even in those work clothes, he made sure his collar was pressed."

"Just like Papa," Catalina grinned, nudging Rafael.

"Some things skip a generation," Sonny teased, gesturing to his own casually rolled sleeves. "Thank god, or this family would spend our whole budget on dry cleaning."

Victoria leaned over to look at the photo. "Is that where our thing about Sunday dinner came from?"

"Si, cara," Serafina's voice warmed with memory. "Back then, Sunday was the only day off. Everyone would gather - tired, dirty from the week's work, but together. Food was how we reminded ourselves of home."

"Both sides of our family have that in common," Rafael added. "My mother still talks about how her parents would save up all week to make sure Sunday dinner had all the proper Cuban dishes. But I have to admit," he smiled at Serafina, "your sauce is better than my mother's sofrito – don't tell her I said that."

"Your secret's safe with us," Teresa laughed. "As long as you admit our cannoli beats your flan."

"Never," Rafael declared with mock severity. "That's where I draw the line."

"That's why we have both," Catalina stated matter-of-factly. "Nonna's cannoli and Abuelita's flan. Best of both worlds." She paused, then added with a grin, "But Daddy's attempt at making either one is definitely the worst of both worlds."

"I’ve gotten better," Sonny protested while everyone else laughed. 

"Getting better than disaster isn't saying much, cariño," Rafael patted his husband's hand consolingly.

"Oh," Victoria exclaimed, halfway through her cannoli. "Cata, we should look at the rest of the old photos in the living room. There's that great one of your dad winning his track medal."

"Yes." Catalina bounced in her seat. "And I want to see the one Aunt Tess mentioned of Dad's graduation party with all the arancini. For the project," she added innocently, though everyone knew her interest had more to do with collecting embarrassing stories about her fathers.

A subtle tension threaded through the room – the kind adults feel but children miss entirely. Serafina's hands stilled on her coffee cup, and Teresa and Bella exchanged quick glances.

But Catalina and Victoria were already making plans, their heads bent together. "We can scan some for your presentation," Victoria was saying. "And that one of your dad and my mom at their First Communion is hilarious - their hair."

Sonny caught his mother's eye across the table. There was a whole conversation in that look – years of difficult moments, of adjustments and missteps, of slowly-earned understanding. Serafina's hands twisted her napkin slightly, but her eyes were soft with something that looked a lot like apology.

"If..." Serafina began carefully, looking at her son, "if your father is comfortable with it, we can get the albums out after dessert."

Sonny felt Rafael's hand find his knee under the table, a quiet gesture of support. He looked at his daughter, who was watching him with those bright, curious eyes that had never seen anything but her dad when she looked at him, and felt a surge of gratitude for how far they'd all come.

"Yeah, Ma," he said, his voice warm and steady. "I'd like that. There are some good stories in those albums."

The smile that bloomed across Serafina's face was like sunrise - gradual but transformative. "I'll make fresh coffee," she said, standing up. As she passed behind Sonny's chair, she paused to press a kiss to the top of his head - a gesture so maternal, so natural, that it brought a slight sheen to his eyes.

"I remember when they took that track photo," Dominick Sr. added gruffly, but with evident pride. "Your father had been training for months. Whole neighborhood turned out to watch."

"Really?" Catalina leaned forward eagerly. "Dad, you never told me that."

"Because your father is terrible at bragging," Rafael supplied.

Victoria was already up, tugging at Catalina's arm. "Come on, let's help Nonna with the coffee and grab the albums. Race you."

The girls thundered into the kitchen, their laughter mixing with the sound of cabinet doors and coffee cups. Sonny watched them go, then turned back to find Teresa grinning at him.

"Remember when we used to race like that?" she asked. "Usually ended with one of us crashing into Ma's china cabinet."

"Usually you," Bella corrected.

"Says the one who broke your Nonna's lamp playing indoor soccer," Tommy chimed in, earning a sharp slap on the shoulder from his wife.

Catalina and Victoria returned triumphantly, arms laden with photo albums, followed by Serafina carrying a tray of coffee. They spread the albums across the cleared dinner table, and immediately the whole family gravitated closer, chairs scraping against the floor as everyone repositioned to see better.

"Oh god," Sonny groaned as Victoria flipped open the first album. "Ma, really? You kept the one of me with the bowl cut?"

"Every parent's duty," Rafael said solemnly, though his eyes danced with amusement. "I'm sure my mother would be happy to share my unfortunate haircut phases too."

"This one!" Catalina pointed excitedly. "Is this the track meet?"

The photograph showed a crowd gathered around a high school track, banners and streamers decorating the fence. In the center, a teenage Sonny stood on a podium, medal glinting in the sun, surrounded by beaming family members.

Catalina traced her finger over the image, studying the faces. "Dad, you look just like Aunt Tess here."

"The Carisi genes are strong," Teresa said smoothly, her casual tone carrying the conversation forward. "Though thankfully you got your Papa’s eyebrows instead."

"Thank God for small mercies," Rafael agreed, squeezing Sonny's hand under the table.

Victoria, flipping through another page, suddenly lit up. "Oh hey, here's the one from the team photo. You've got the same look Cata gets before her debate tournaments."

"That's true," Bella chimed in, leaning over to look. "That's pure Carisi determination right there. Remember how you used to practice running that course every morning before school, rain or shine?"

"Even in winter," Dominick Sr. added gruffly, pride evident in his voice. "Your father never did anything halfway."

Sonny felt his mother's eyes on him, saw how her hands twisted slightly in her lap. But when she spoke, her voice was steady. "You always were my strongest child," she said softly. 

The moment hung there, delicate but powerful. Catalina, absorbed in the photos, didn't notice the weight of it, but Sonny felt tears prick at his eyes.

"Oh my god," Catalina said suddenly, looking between the track photo and Rafael with a mischievous grin. "Papa, while Dad was here winning high school medals, you were already terrorizing people in court, weren't you?"

Rafael groaned, knowing exactly where this was going. "Yes, mi amor, your old father was already practicing law."

"Yep," Sonny added with a matching grin, unable to resist, "He’d already been an ADA for a few years.” 

"Wait," Victoria jumped in, always eager to join her cousin in teasing her uncles. "Uncle Rafael, weren't you like, almost done with Harvard when Uncle Sonny was starting high school?"

"Et tu, Vic?" Rafael placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "I thought for sure you'd be on my side."

"There are no sides in stating facts, Counselor," Sonny teased, earning an eye roll from his husband. “But yeah actually, I think my freshman year was his 3L.” 

"See, this is why I love these old photos," Catalina declared. "Proof that Papa is ancient."

"Ancient?" Rafael's eyebrows shot up. "I prefer 'distinguished.'"

Victoria flipped another page in the album and let out a delighted gasp. "Oh my god, is this prom? The dresses are incredible – and by incredible I mean incredibly awful."

There was a barely perceptible shift in the room's energy. Teresa and Bella exchanged quick glances, but before anyone could redirect, Catalina was already leaning in to look.

"The '90s were a crime against fashion," she declared matter-of-factly, as if commenting on any other old photo. "Look at those puffy sleeves. At least Aunt Tess’s isn't as bad as Dad’s."

"Hey, I'll have you know that dress was considered quite the statement," Sonny defended. "Plus, I was a freshman at senior prom, so I had to make an impression."

"Wait, what?" Catalina's head shot up. "You went to prom as a freshman?"

"Your daddy," Bella said with obvious glee, "was dating Joey Martinelli. Star baseball player, totally dreamy, absolutely terrible at algebra –"

"Which is where I came in," Sonny finished. "Tutored him through his finals."

"And he took you to prom as a thank you?" Victoria asked.

"More like he failed anyway and felt bad about it," Teresa snorted. "But he already had the tickets, so..."

Rafael was watching this exchange with growing amusement. "Joey Martinelli? Not the same Joey Martinelli who runs that sporting goods store on Victory where you insisted we buy Cata’s kneepads because it was ‘family owned?’"

"The very same," Bella confirmed wickedly. "Complete with receding hairline and beer belly."

"He's not that bad," Sonny protested, then paused. "Okay, yeah, he's pretty bald now. But he was very nice about the whole failing algebra thing."

"So let me get this straight," Catalina said, clearly delighted by this revelation. "Dad dated a baseball player who was terrible at math and is now bald?

"Good thing you and Papa met when you were both already old," she continued with the merciless glee only a teenager could muster. "At least you knew what you were getting into. No surprise baldness."

"Excuse me," Rafael's eyebrows shot up. "First of all, your father and I were not 'old' –"

"Papa, you were literally in your mid-forties."

"- and secondly, I'll have you know my hairline is exactly where it's always been."

"For now," Victoria stage-whispered, causing Catalina to dissolve into giggles.

"I see how it is," Rafael said with mock severity. "I invite you into my home, I feed you dinner every Friday –"

"Actually, Dad does the cooking," Catalina pointed out. "You just criticize his seasoning choices."

"At least I never dated a baseball player," Rafael sniffed. 

"Oh really?" Sonny's grin turned wicked. "What position did you play in high school again, Raf?"

Rafael's eyes narrowed. "That was different."

"Right, because you were actually decent at second base," Sonny conceded. "Even if you couldn't hit to save your life."

"I had a perfectly respectable .220 batting average," Rafael protested, then added more quietly, "...eventually."

"Wait," Catalina sat up straighter, her eyes wide with glee. "Papa played baseball? And was kind of bad at it?"

"Your father," Sonny said with obvious relish, "was what they call a defensive specialist."

"It means I could field but couldn't hit," Rafael explained, seeing his daughter's confused look. "Which was fine, because my mother would have killed me if I let baseball interfere with debate team anyway."

"You were on the baseball team and debate team?" Victoria asked. "That's like... the most Staten Island-meets-Harvard thing ever."

"The Bronx," Rafael corrected automatically. "And debate team was non-negotiable. Baseball was just..." he shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips, "fun."

"Speaking of fun," Bella's eyes gleamed mischievously, "remember Sonny's first kiss? Behind the bleachers with –"

"And that's enough walking down memory lane," Sonny cut in quickly, noticing how his mother's hands had suddenly become very busy straightening the already-straight photo albums.

But Teresa was already grinning. "Oh come on, the thing with Michael Rossi was cute. He used to leave those little notes in –"

"Actually," Sonny interrupted, reaching for another photo album, "I think there are some great pictures from the time Bella tried to bleach her own hair and it turned green."

"Don't you dare," Bella warned, but she caught the slight shake of her brother's head and followed his glance toward their mother. "Oh, right. Yeah, maybe we should look at the Christmas photos instead? The ones from when Pop dressed up as Santa?"

"And scared half the neighborhood kids," Victoria added helpfully, picking up on the shift in conversation.

"I was a very convincing Santa," Dominick Sr. protested gruffly, but his eyes were grateful as they met Sonny's.

Rafael smoothly reached for one of the albums. "I think I saw some photos from that legendary Staten Island blizzard of '96 in here somewhere..."

"Oh!" Serafina suddenly straightened up, as if remembering something. "Speaking of family history... wait here." She hurried from the room, returning moments later with a small velvet box.

"Ma?" Sonny questioned, recognizing the box with raised eyebrows.

"I was going to wait for your birthdays," Serafina said, looking at Catalina and Victoria, "but seeing all these old photos, talking about family traditions... it feels right to do it now."

She opened the box to reveal two delicate gold necklaces, each with a small pendant. "These have been passed down through the women in our family for generations. My nonna brought them from Italy."

"What?" Bella's voice was sharp. "How come we never got those?"

Serafina fixed her daughter with an unexpectedly steely look. "Because, Bella, you would have sold yours for drug money, and it wouldn't have been fair to only give them to Tess and Gina." Her matter-of-fact tone made the statement even more shocking. "I gave the third one to Mia when she turned eighteen."

The room went silent. Even Catalina and Victoria, usually quick with a joke, seemed to sense the weight of the moment.

"Ma," Bella started, but Serafina held up a hand.

"That was a long time ago," she said, her voice softer now. "You've built a good life, worked hard to make things right. But these?" She touched the necklaces gently. "These needed to wait for the right time."

She turned to the girls. "Victoria, Catalina... you two remind me so much of Sonny and Bella. The way you look out for each other, make each other laugh. These belong to you now."

"Nonna," Catalina whispered, reaching out to touch one of the necklaces reverently.

"Just like Mia's?" Victoria asked.

"Just like Mia's," Serafina confirmed. "All three pieces together again, just in a new generation."

Catalina stared at the necklace for a long moment, tears welling up in her eyes. "Nonna," she whispered again, before practically launching herself into Serafina's arms. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Serafina held her granddaughter tight, one hand stroking those familiar dark curls. "Oh, tesoro," she murmured, her own voice thick with emotion.

Sonny watched them, his vision blurring as the tears started falling. Fourteen years ago, he'd sat in this very kitchen, terrified to tell his parents he was pregnant, certain it would be the final break in their already strained relationship. Now here was his mother, not just accepting but embracing his daughter with a depth of love he feared would never exist.

Rafael's hand found his under the table, squeezing gently. When Sonny looked at his husband, he saw his own emotions reflected in his eyes – the gratitude, the joy, the lingering amazement at how far they'd come.

"Dad?" Catalina's voice wobbled as she caught sight of his tears. "Why are you crying?"

"Because you're crying, hummingbird," Sonny managed, trying to laugh through his tears.

"That's not why," she said with the certainty of someone who knew her father's heart. She extracted herself from Serafina's embrace and moved to hug Sonny fiercely.

Victoria, who had been unusually quiet, spoke up. "These really belonged to your nonna's nonna, Nonna?"

"Si," Serafina nodded, reaching out to touch the other necklace. "She wore them on the boat from Italy, kept them safe through everything, the immigration, the Depression, all of it. Said they were a reminder that family finds a way to stay together, no matter what."

Her eyes met Sonny's over Catalina's head. "She was right," she added softly. "Family always finds a way."

Catalina pulled back from Sonny just enough to look up at him, her face tear-stained but radiant. "Can you help me put it on?"

Sonny's hands shook slightly as he fastened the delicate clasp around his daughter's neck. The gold caught the light, glinting like a promise kept, like a bridge built between past and present, like love that had learned to grow beyond its own boundaries.

"Perfect," Serafina whispered, and Sonny knew she wasn't just talking about the necklace.

…

Through the kitchen window, Sonny could see his family gathered around the necklaces, could hear Catalina's excited voice asking about the history of each pendant. It was all suddenly too much - the photos, the memories, his mother's gesture, his daughter's joy. He slipped out the front door as quietly as he could, settling heavily onto the worn concrete steps.

The late afternoon sun had softened into evening, casting long shadows across the familiar street. He could hear kids playing somewhere down the block, their shouts mixing with the distant sound of traffic. How many times had he sat on these steps growing up, feeling like he'd never quite fit in his own skin, in his own family?

The door creaked open behind him. He knew without looking that it was his mother - could recognize the particular way she paused in the doorway, could practically feel her weighing her words.

Instead of speaking, she simply sat down next to him on the step. Then, in a move that startled him, she reached out and pulled him sideways until his head was resting on her shoulder, just like she used to do when he was small and the world felt too big.

They sat in silence for a long moment, watching the shadows lengthen across the sidewalk.

"I'm sorry," Serafina said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sonny went very still. In all the years - through his transition, through coming out, through introducing them to Rafael, through announcing his pregnancy - they'd never actually talked about it. They'd moved forward inch by inch, healing through actions rather than words, but they'd never addressed the hurt directly.

"Ma –" he started, but she squeezed his arm gently.

"No, let me say this." She took a deep breath. "I was wrong. For so long, I was wrong. I was scared and I was stubborn and I was wrong." Her voice shook slightly. "I almost lost you because I couldn't see past my own fear. And then Cata..." She trailed off, then added softly, "She saved us all, didn't she?"

Sonny felt tears sliding down his cheeks again, but he didn't move to wipe them away. "She did," he agreed quietly.

"She's so much like you," Serafina continued. "Her heart. She loves so freely, so completely. Like you did, before we made you afraid to."

A sob caught in Sonny's throat. His mother's arms tightened around him.

"You gave us a second chance we didn't deserve," she said. "You and Rafael both. You let us love her even when you weren't sure you could trust us with her. And watching you with her..." She had to pause to steady her voice. "You're such a good father. Such a good man."

They sat there together as the street lights began to flicker on, neither of them speaking, both of them crying quietly. Years of unspoken words hung in the air between them, but for once the silence felt healing rather than heavy.

"I always thought you were going to cut me off completely," Sonny said suddenly, his voice small in a way it hadn't been in years. "Every time I had to tell you something big, I'd... I'd prepare myself to not be part of the family anymore."

Serafina's breath caught audibly. "What?"

"When I told you about transitioning, that’s the reason I barely came home for so long after. Kept expecting Pop to change the locks or something." He gave a wet laugh. "When I brought Rafael around the first time, when I announced that I was pregnant."

"Sonny," Serafina's voice broke on the word. "You thought we would –”

"You weren't talking to Aunt Marie anymore because of her divorce," Sonny continued, the words spilling out now. 

"We would never have –" she started, then stopped herself, remembering those early days. The silence when he'd call. The way she'd refused to look at him when he did visit. The prayers she'd said, loud enough for him to hear. "Oh, Sonny."

"Even after Cata was born," he admitted. "For months, I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to decide it was too much, too different, too... wrong. That's why we waited so long to bring her around."

"We were wrong," Serafina said fiercely. "Not you. Never you." She turned to face him fully. "But cut you off? You're our child. Our baby. Even when we were... when I was at my worst, my most afraid, my most stupid... you were still my baby."

"Yeah?" His voice cracked on the word.

"I didn't know," she whispered. "All these years, I didn't know you were carrying that fear. That we made you carry that fear." She pressed a hand to her heart, as if trying to contain the pain of it. "No wonder you kept Cata at arm's length. No wonder you were so protective."

"I wanted her to have grandparents," Sonny said softly. "I wanted her to have family. But I was so scared you'd reject her. Or worse, that you'd love her but treat me and Rafael like we weren't really her parents."

"Oh, my boy." Serafina pulled him close again. "My sweet, brave boy. I'm so sorry we made you doubt your place in this family. That we made you think our love could just... stop."

Inside, they could hear Catalina's laugh floating through the window, followed by Rafael's deeper chuckle. The sound seemed to wrap around them, a reminder of all they could have lost, all they had managed to save.

"I'm still scared sometimes," Sonny admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Even now. Like... if I'm too affectionate with Rafael in front of you, or if I mention something about before transitioning, or..." He swallowed hard. "Sometimes I catch myself monitoring everything I do or say, thinking 'is this the thing that's finally gonna be too much for them?'"

"Sonny –"

"Last month," he continued, the words tumbling out now, "when Rafael and I were dancing in the kitchen at Tommy's birthday party? For a second I thought – maybe this is it. Maybe this is the moment they realize their son is too... too something. Too gay or too different or too much, and they just... snap."

Serafina's hand tightened on his arm almost painfully. "No," she said, her voice thick with tears. "No, baby, no."

"I know it's stupid –"

"It's not stupid," she cut him off. "It's our fault. We did this to you. We made you feel like our love had... had conditions." She took a shuddering breath. "But Sonny, that day in the kitchen? Watching you and Rafael dance? All I could think was how happy you looked."

Sonny turned to look at her, surprised.

"You deserve to be happy," she continued firmly. "To be loved. To dance with your husband in whatever damn kitchen you want." She reached up to cup his face in her hands. "And we're not going to snap. Not ever. Not anymore."

Through the window, they could hear Catalina's voice. "Papa, no, you're telling it wrong. The debate championship story goes –"

"I think I know my own debate championship story, mi amor –"

"Yeah, but you always forget the best parts."

Sonny let out a watery laugh. "She's definitely got Raf's talent for arguing."

"She's got your heart," Serafina said softly. "Your capacity for joy. For forgiveness." She paused. "More forgiveness than we deserved, maybe."

"Ma –"

"No, let me finish. You don't have to be afraid anymore. Not of being too much, or too… too gay, or too anything."

Sonny drew in a shaky breath, tears falling freely now. "I was so scared you wouldn't consider her your real grandchild," he confessed, his voice breaking. "When she was born, when she started looking so much like Raf... sometimes I still worry about it. Because she doesn't look anything like me, because she's got his face and his eyes and his everything..."

Serafina made a sound like she'd been struck. "Sonny –"

"And I know it's stupid, because you love her so much, but sometimes when people talk about how much she looks like Raf, I see you flinch a little, and I think maybe –"

"No," Serafina interrupted fiercely, pulling him closer. "No, my darling boy. I flinch because I see how much it hurts you. Because I know you worry, I know it bothers you when people don’t think she’s yours. But that girl?" Her voice grew thick with emotion. "That girl is pure you. The way she talks with her hands, the way she can't sit still, the way she loves so big it spills over. And you think those curls came from his side of the family? They're your grandmother's, my mother's. That sharp tongue? That's generations of Carisi women right there."

They clung to each other, both crying openly now. Inside, they could hear Catalina's voice rising and falling in familiar patterns – Sonny's cadence with Rafael's vocabulary.

"She's ours," Serafina continued, her voice fierce through her tears. "She's yours and Rafael's and ours, and don't you ever doubt it. Not for one second."

"Even though –"

"Did you see how happy she was when I gave her my mother’s necklace? She knows she’s part of this family. She says her rosary exactly like your father. She burns her garlic bread exactly like you used to." Serafina pulled back just enough to look her son in the eye. "Blood is the least of what makes her a Carisi."

Sonny broke down completely then, sobbing into his mother's shoulder like he hadn't since he was small. She held him tight, rocking slightly, murmuring soft Italian prayers and endearments into his hair.

"Ti voglio bene," she whispered. "All of you. Always. No matter what."

Through his tears, Sonny could hear Catalina inside, her voice raised in delighted argument with her papa about something – could literally be anything – and his heart felt so full it might burst. His daughter. His family. His home.

"Always," his mother repeated firmly, as if she could hear his thoughts. "No more fear, my darling. No more doubt. This is where you belong."

The front door creaked open softly, and they heard Dominick Sr.'s familiar heavy tread on the steps behind them. Neither Sonny nor Serafina moved to wipe their tears or pull away from each other.

Dominick settled onto the step beside them without a word, his solid presence warm and steady in the growing darkness. After a moment, he wrapped one arm around his wife and the other around his son, drawing them both close against his sides. The gesture was so unexpected, so uncharacteristic, that it nearly set Sonny crying again.

Through the window, they could hear Catalina's voice. “But Papa, that's not how precedent works –"

"Mi amor, I think I know how precedent works –"

"Yeah, but Daddy says –"

Dominick Sr. let out a small chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. Then, in that way he had of cutting straight to the heart of things without ever quite acknowledging them, he said quietly, "Your mother was right about those necklaces. They belong with the girls." He paused, then added even more softly, "Everything's where it should be now."

It wasn't much – barely anything at all, really. But coming from his father, it was everything. Sonny felt the last of his old fears begin to loosen their grip on his heart.

They sat there together, the three of them, watching the streetlights flicker in the growing dusk, listening to the sounds of their family through the window, holding on to each other like they’d never let go. 

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun filtered through the living room windows of the Barba-Carisi brownstone, casting a warm glow over the scattered photographs and papers spread across the coffee table. Catalina sat cross-legged on the floor, her dark curls falling forward as she leaned over her family tree worksheet. Lucia watched her granddaughter's careful penmanship, the way she wrote each name with reverence, as if understanding the weight of heritage.

"Abuelita," Catalina said, using her favorite pencil with the hummingbird charm dangling from its end, "tell me again about when you were little? When your parents first came here? So I can make sure I get all the details."

Rafael, settled on the couch beside Sonny, caught his mother's eye and smiled. There was something healing in watching his mother share these stories with his daughter, in seeing the pride with which Lucia now spoke of their family – all of them, together.

"Ay, mi amor," Lucia began, reaching for a weathered photograph. "Your bisabuelos – my parents – they came to New York with nothing but hope and grit. Your bisabuela was already carrying me, did you know? She used to say I was her American dream before I was even born."

Sonny's hand found Rafael's, squeezing gently. They both knew what this meant to Rafael, watching his mother share these memories. It had been a long road to get here, to this moment where Lucia could look at their little family with such uncomplicated love.

"And Papa's abuelita?" Cata asked, turning to Rafael. "The one I'm named after?"

Rafael's throat tightened. Even after all these years, thinking of his grandmother still brought tears to his eyes. "Catalina," he said softly, reaching for another photograph – this one of an elegant older woman with kind eyes and Rafael's same determined jaw. "Mi abuelita. She was... she was magic, hummingbird. The way you are."

"She would have adored you," Lucia added, her voice warm with certainty. "dios mío, the way she would have spoiled you. You have her spirit, mi vida. The same way you light up a room."

Sonny watched his husband and daughter pore over the old photographs, saw the careful way Rafael selected which ones to share. Their girl was sharp, but she didn't need to know every shadow in their family's past. Not yet. What mattered was this. The love that had carried them forward, generation after generation. The strength that ran in their blood.

"Here," Lucia said, pulling out another photograph. "This was the day I graduated teaching school. Look how proud your bisabuela was."

Cata traced her finger along the dates she'd written. Her brow furrowed in that way that reminded Sonny so much of Rafael.

"Papa," she said, tapping her pencil against the paper, "you said your father came in '59? Should I put that on a different branch, or –"

"Look at this one, mi amor," Lucia cut in smoothly, pulling another photograph from the stack. "This was your Papa's first communion. See how handsome he was? Already so serious."

Rafael's shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly, but Sonny felt it where their arms touched. He leaned forward, deliberately shifting the focus. "Oh man, Raf, that bow tie is something else."

"Dad," Cata groaned, but she was smiling. "I want to know more about –"

"Your bisabuela," Rafael interrupted, his voice warm but firm as he selected a different photograph, "used to make the best pasteles you've ever tasted. She taught your abuelita, who taught me, and one of these days, hummingbird, you're going to learn too."

"If you can get your papa to share it," Sonny teased, grateful to see some of the tension leave Rafael's shoulders. "He guards that recipe like it's a national secret."

"Some traditions," Lucia added, reaching over to tuck a curl behind Catalina's ear, "are precious exactly because we choose carefully when to share them. Like how your dad waited until your tenth birthday to teach you his mother's special Christmas cookie recipe."

Catalina nodded, but her eyes lingered on the blank space in her family tree where her grandfather's details should be. After a moment, though, she reached for the photo of Rafael's communion. "Papa, you really do look exactly the same when you're thinking hard about something. Dad said you still make that face in court."

"Oh, did he?" Rafael arched an eyebrow at Sonny, falling gratefully into the lighter conversation. "And what other observations does your Dad share about my courtroom demeanor?"

"Only the most professional ones, Counselor," Sonny grinned, winking at their daughter, who rolled her eyes with all the dramatic flair of her thirteen years.

The sun had shifted, painting longer shadows across their family mementos. Lucia began gathering the photos with careful hands, pausing to press a kiss to Cata's forehead. "Enough history for right now, I think. Who wants to help make café con leche?"

As Catalina followed Lucia into the kitchen, Rafael watched them through the doorway – his mother reaching for cups in the cabinet where she knew they'd be, his daughter pulling out the step stool they kept for her to reach the higher shelves. There was something quietly miraculous about it, the easy familiarity his mother had developed with their home. He remembered the stiff visits of those first few years, how Lucia had looked for permission every time she went to pick her up, as if afraid to assume she knew her place in their family's geography.

Now she moved through their kitchen like it was an extension of her own, calling out "A la izquierda, mi vida" as Cata reached for the wrong drawer, teaching her granddaughter the same way she'd once taught Rafael.

"You're thinking loud enough that I can hear it from here," Sonny said softly, shifting closer on the couch. His hand found the back of Rafael's neck, thumb working gentle circles against the tension there.

Rafael leaned into the touch. "She's going to keep asking."

"Yeah." Sonny's voice was steady. "She's too smart not to notice the gaps."

"She gets that from you," Rafael murmured, then smiled at Sonny's skeptical look. "The need to understand. To make things make sense. I just learned to live with the gaps."

From the kitchen came the sound of Lucia's laugh, followed by Catalina's indignant " Abuelita, " and the familiar whir of their coffee grinder.

"We don't have to tell her everything," Sonny said carefully. "Just... enough. She's old enough to understand that some people hurt the people they're supposed to love. That it's not okay, and that it's not their fault."

Rafael closed his eyes. "I don't want her to look at me differently."

"Raf." Sonny's voice was fierce with certainty. "That girl adores you. Learning what you survived, what made you strong enough to be the father you are? That's only going to make her proud."

"Three sugars, Abuelita?" Catalina's voice floated in from the kitchen.

"Ay, no, just two for me now. Your Papa lectures me about my diabetes enough as it is."

Rafael felt something in his chest loosen at the exchange. "Not yet," he said finally. "I don't want this to... I want her to be able to celebrate the family she does have first. To know where her strength comes from."

In the kitchen, Lucia was singing softly, an old lullaby Rafael hadn't heard in years. He caught fragments about hummingbirds and morning glory flowers, remembered his grandmother singing the same words.

"When we tell her," Rafael said quietly, "I want my mother there. She deserves... we should do it together."

Sonny nodded, understanding all Rafael wasn't saying. "Together," he agreed. 

The smell of coffee filled the brownstone, rich and familiar, and Catalina's voice rose in harmony with Lucia's. Rafael closed his eyes again, letting himself feel the fullness of this moment, his mother's voice strong and sure, his daughter learning their songs, his husband's steady presence beside him. All the love that had bloomed in the spaces where fear used to live.

Cata settled back at the coffee table with her café con leche – more milk than coffee – and pulled her family tree close again. The blank space seemed to grow larger the longer she looked at it, like a hole in the fabric of their afternoon.

"Papa," she started, then paused, running her finger along the empty branch. "Just one story? About your father? For the project?"

Rafael's hands tightened around his cup, the warmth grounding him. He caught Sonny's careful glance, saw his mother's subtle nod. One good memory. He could give his daughter that much.

"It was my tenth birthday," he said finally, his voice soft but steady. "Your abuelo, he loved baseball. Lived and breathed it. And that day, he took me to see the Yankees. Just the two of us."

The memory rose like a tide, the crack of the bat, the roar of the crowd, the rare feeling of his father's hand gentle on his shoulder. Before the drinking started that night. Before the shouting. Before –

"Oh, si," Lucia cut in smoothly, reaching across to squeeze Rafael's knee. "I remember that day. You came home with a new cap, didn't you, Rafi? And your father taught you how to keep score, the proper way."

"He did," Rafael said, grateful for his mother's assist. "He knew every scoring symbol, every abbreviation. Said a real fan needs to know the story of the game, not just the final score." He smiled at Catalina. "Kind of like how you keep statistics for your debate team."

Cata brightened. "Really? Is that where I get it from?"

"That, and your Papa's obsession with spreadsheets," Sonny added, his hand finding Rafael's back.

Rafael could feel the other memories pressing in – how Fernando had wadded up that beloved scorecard and thrown it at the wall three weeks later in a drunken rage, how he'd destroyed the cap by bending the brim in half the first time Rafael struck out in Little League. But here was Catalina, eyes bright with discovery, writing carefully in her notebook. Abuelo Fernando - loved baseball, taught Papa to keep score.

"He used to sing, too," Lucia offered, and Rafael looked at her in surprise. "Not well, mind you," she added with a small laugh. "But on good days, when he'd come home early... he knew all these old songs from Cuba."

"The one about the palm trees," Rafael found himself saying. "You remember, Mamí? He'd dance you around the kitchen."

The memory was like touching a bruise, tender, but distant now. His father spinning his mother in their tiny kitchen, both of them young and laughing, the smell of ropa vieja filling the apartment. Rafael watching from the doorway, four years old maybe, not yet knowing to be as afraid as he should be.

"Write that down too, mi amor," Lucia told Cata. "Your abuelo brought his music with him from Cuba. It's part of your history too."

Sonny's thumb traced circles on Rafael's back, and Rafael leaned into him slightly, grateful. He watched Cata adding these small pieces to her family tree, making something whole from these carefully chosen fragments. She didn't need to know how rare these good days were, how the music in their home had eventually been drowned out by breaking glass and screaming. She just needed to know where her love of statistics came from, why music lived in her bones.

"What was his favorite song?" Catalina asked, pen poised.

Rafael opened his mouth, then closed it, the weight of memory suddenly too heavy. But Lucia was already humming, soft and sure. "Guantanamera," she said, and for a moment Rafael was a child again, watching his parents dance in filtered afternoon light, holding his breath against the knowledge that peace never lasted. 

"What about Abuelo’s parents?" Catalina asked, tapping her pencil against the next blank branches. "My other bisabuelos?"

Rafael set his coffee cup down carefully, buying himself a moment. Sonny's hand hadn't left his back, steady and warm.

"They stayed in Cuba," he said finally, choosing his words with the same care he used in court when handling fragile testimony. "Your abuelo... he came here very young. Alone. Sometimes people need to leave home to build a better life, mi amor. To become better than what they knew."

Lucia's hands stilled around her cup. She knew, as few others did, exactly what Rafael meant. She'd heard the rare moments when Fernando, deep in his cups, had spoken of his own father's hands, his own childhood fears.

"Like Abuelita's parents?" Cata asked, trying to connect the pieces. 

"Si, cariño," Lucia said softly. "Your abuelo was very brave, coming across the water all alone at nineteen."

Rafael caught the gentle revision in his mother's words – Fernando had been twenty-two, but nineteen sounded more sympathetic, more forgivable. He wondered, not for the first time, how many of their family's stories had been softened this way, polished smooth by years of careful telling.

"He never saw them again?" Catalina's voice held the innocent sadness of someone who had never known real loss, who could still imagine all separation as tragic.

"No, mi vida," Rafael said. "But he carried their story with him. Just like your bisabuela carried her mother's recipes, and your Dad carries his nonna's Christmas traditions. We all bring pieces of home with us, even when we have to leave it behind."

"Sometimes," Sonny added, speaking for the first time since this thread of conversation began, "the bravest thing you can do is start fresh. Build something new."

Rafael felt rather than saw his husband's small smile, knew they were both thinking of Sonny's own journey, his own kind of starting fresh. Different circumstances, but the same courage to build something better.

"So that's why there are no pictures?" Catalina asked, gesturing at the spread of photographs they'd been sorting through.

"That's right," Rafael said, grateful for the simple explanation. "But you know what we do have? We have his name – Fernando Miguel Barba. You can add that to your tree. And we know he came from Havana, where the sea meets the sky."

"Where the palm trees sing in the wind," Lucia added, and Rafael recognized his grandmother's words in his mother's mouth, another story softened and reshaped by time.

Catalina was silent a moment, absorbing. "Why did you pick my name before you even knew if I'd be like her?" Catalina asked, abandoning her pencil to curl closer to Rafael. "Dad says you both knew right away it had to be Catalina."

Rafael exchanged a glance with Sonny, remembering those early ultrasound appointments, the way they'd both cried the first time they heard her little hummingbird heartbeat.

"Your bisabuela Catalina," Rafael began, his voice soft with memory, "she used to say that names are promises we make to the future. When your Dad and I found out we were having you, we wanted to make the right promise."

But Sonny was thinking of another reason, a more practical reason he hadn't ever shared with a single soul - would never, ever share, not with anyone. He'd hoped that naming Catalina after Rafael's abuelita would make Rafael feel more connected to her, would make him love her in the days when Sonny wasn't sure he would. 

"My mother," Lucia said, reaching for another photograph of Catalina, "she taught your Papa that love doesn't need to be earned. That it should be given freely, like sunshine." She paused, smoothing the edge of the photograph with gentle fingers. "When he told me about you, mi amor, about how you were coming into our family... that's what I needed to remember."

Sonny shifted closer to Rafael on the couch, their shoulders touching. "Your Papa told me so many stories about her while we were waiting for you. How she'd leave little treats in his coat pockets before tests. How she taught him to make café con leche just the way you're learning now."

"She sounds perfect," Catalina said, leaning her head against Rafael's knee.

"Oh no, mi vida," Rafael laughed softly. "She was terrible at keeping plants alive, except for tomatoes. Could never remember where she put her keys. And she was stubborn – dios mío, was she stubborn. But she loved..." his voice caught slightly. "She loved completely. Without conditions. The way you do, hummingbird."

"She would have adored you," Lucia said, and Rafael could hear in her voice how she was holding back tears. "The way she'd sneak you treats, brush your hair, tell you stories about Cuba..."

"Like you do?" Cata asked, smiling at her grandmother.

"Exactly like I do," Lucia agreed. "Because that's how she taught me to love. And that's how your Papa learned. And now –"

"Now you're teaching me," Catalina finished. She picked up her pencil again, writing carefully beside her own name. Named for Bisabuela Catalina.

Rafael felt Sonny's hand tighten around his, saw his mother brush away a tear. In the late afternoon light, with his daughter's dark curls spilling over his knee and his mother humming softly and his husband's steady presence beside him, he could almost feel his grandmother there too, in the way Catalina's face lit up when she smiled, in the gentle way Lucia stroked her hair, in the unconditional love that filled their home like sunlight.

"Wait," Cata said suddenly, looking up from where she'd been writing her full name in careful script. "Is there a story behind Rose? Was there another family member, or –"

Rafael let out a dramatic sigh that made Sonny grin. "No, mi amor. Your dad just thought it was pretty."

"What?" Catalina's head snapped up, eyes wide with indignation. "But everything else has all this meaning. All these family connections. And my middle name is just... because Dad liked how it sounds?"

"Hey," Sonny protested, laughing. "It's a beautiful name. And it goes perfectly with Catalina."

"But Papa," Cata turned to Rafael, "you're always talking about the significance of things, about tradition and meaning and – how did you let this happen?"

Lucia was trying to hide her smile behind her coffee cup. "Ay, mi amor, if you only knew how your Papa fought against it. He had a whole list of names with significance –"

"Cultural relevance," Rafael corrected.

"- family connections," Lucia continued, "but your Dad just kept saying 'but Rose is so pretty' until your Papa gave in."

"I did not give in," Rafael said with dignity. "I made a calculated compromise in the interest of domestic harmony."

Catalina looked between her fathers, betrayal written across her features. "I can't believe my middle name is just... aesthetic. This is going to ruin my whole presentation. 'This name represents generations of family tradition and love, and this one's just because Dad thought it was cute.'"

"If it helps," Sonny offered, "I thought it was really cute?"

Rafael couldn't help but laugh at their daughter's expression of pure exasperation. "You know what, hummingbird? Sometimes the most honest family stories are the simple ones. Like how your Dad can spend hours debating the finer points of constitutional law, but still picked our daughter's middle name because" – he affected a terrible Staten Island accent – "'it sounds real nice with Catalina, Raf, come on.'"

"I do not sound like that," Sonny protested, but he was grinning. "And hey, everyone loves your name. Even your papa admits it flows beautifully."

"Under duress," Rafael muttered, but he was smiling too.

"Catalina Rose Barba-Carisi," Catalina said slowly, testing it out like she was hearing it for the first time. "I guess it does kind of... flow."

"Don't encourage him," Rafael groaned. "I had three generations of names picked out, complete with historical references, and this one" – he jabbed a thumb at Sonny – "wins with 'it's pretty.'"

Chapter Text

The late autumn sun had already begun its descent behind the Manhattan skyline when Catalina spread her partially completed family tree across Olivia's dining room table, colored markers rolling across the no-longer-crisp white paper. The familiar scent of Olivia’s taco bar – “I can’t keep track of what all these kids will and won’t eat” – wafted from the kitchen, mingling with the sounds of Noah helping her.

"Papa, Dad," she called out, her dark curls falling forward as she bent over her work. Rafael and Sonny looked up from their conversation with Amanda on the couch, matching expressions of curiosity on their faces. Catalina's foot tapped steadily against the hardwood floor as she worked.

"I need to add everyone else," Catalina announced, uncapping a purple marker with determination. "It's not just about biological family, right?" She glanced up at her fathers, Rafael's green eyes reflected in her own. "And this is my real family. All of it."

Sonny moved to stand behind her chair, one hand resting on her shoulder as he looked at the careful lines she'd drawn. The branch containing their immediate family was already complete – Rafael Barba and Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr., and their parents and grandparents and siblings, with a line leading down to Catalina Rose Barba-Carisi. She'd even included little notes beside each name. 

"You're absolutely right, hummingbird," Rafael said softly, coming to stand on her other side. He watched as she began drawing new branches with practiced strokes, her handwriting neat and precise like his own.

"Aunt Liv," she narrated as she wrote, "and Noah..." Her cousin was currently clattering around in the kitchen, his teenage growth spurt making him nearly as tall as Sonny, and at sixteen, he still wasn't done growing. "Then Aunt Amanda, Jesse, and Billie..." She glanced toward the living room where Amanda's girls were absorbed in something on Jesse's phone. "And Uncle Fin and Phoebe, Alejandro, Ken, Jaden…"

The paper was becoming a web of connections, each name a testament to the family they'd built – not through blood, but through years of shared dinners, holiday celebrations, and the kind of love that made DNA irrelevant. Catalina sat back, surveying her work with a critical eye. 

"What do you think?" she asked, looking up at her parents. "Is anyone missing?"

Rafael arched an eyebrow, a familiar smirk playing at his lips. "Aren't you forgetting someone? A certain defense attorney who's been known to spoil you with inappropriate amounts of designer clothing?"

Catalina rolled her eyes with the practiced expertise of a teenager, though the gesture was softened by an affectionate smile. "Papa, Rita's coming for brunch tomorrow. I'll add her then. Obviously." She twirled the purple marker between her fingers. "She’ll want to approve whatever I write about her."

"Alright, everyone," Olivia called from the kitchen. "Taco assembly line is ready."

The apartment burst into motion as everyone gravitated toward the kitchen, the scent of seasoned meat and warm tortillas drawing them in like a magnet. Noah began passing out plates with the efficiency of someone who'd managed this particular chaos before.

They scattered across the apartment with their loaded plates – Amanda and her girls claimed the couch, while Fin and Phoebe settled into the armchairs. Sonny ended up cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table, Rafael perched on the arm of the couch beside him. Olivia took her usual spot in her reading chair, Noah sprawled on the floor near her feet. Catalina, meanwhile, had tucked herself into the corner of the room where she could see everyone, her family tree project safely moved to the side table but still within reach.

Between careful bites of her tacos, Catalina's eyes sparkled. "So," she announced, "since we're talking about family and all... who wants to be the first one to tell an embarrassing story about someone else?"

"Cata," Rafael warned, though his tone carried more amusement than actual reproach.

"What? It's for my project. Do you suddenly not care about my grades?" She grinned, a perfect mirror of Sonny's most charming smile. "Come on, someone must have a good one. Uncle Fin? Aunt Liv? You've known everyone the longest."

Fin's deep chuckle filled the room as he set down his plate. "Oh, you're opening up a dangerous door there, little counselor." He glanced between Rafael and Sonny. "Should I tell her about the time your Daddy tried to argue a motion hopped up on cold medicine?"

"Don't you dare," Sonny interjected, but Amanda was already leaning forward, her eyes bright with interest.

"No, no, I've got a better one," she said, pointing her fork at Sonny. "One of Carisi’s first undercover operations with SVU. Trust me, Cata, it’s gold."

Jesse and Billie immediately perked up, abandoning their phones in favor of what promised to be prime entertainment. Noah, too, shifted to face the group better, always eager for stories from before his time.

"Really, Rollins?" Sonny groaned, but he was already smiling, his arm brushing against Rafael's leg. "That's what you're going with?"

"It's for my project," Catalina reminded him solemnly, though she couldn't quite hide her delighted grin. "Or do you not want me to get into a good college?" 

Amanda settled back into the couch, her eyes dancing with mischief. "So one of your dad's first undercover assignments was supposed to be simple. He had to play a sleazy guy at this… this party –"

"A very gross party," Jesse interjected, clearly having heard this story before.

"Right," Amanda continued, "and Liv was running point. Your dad was so nervous about doing a good job that he went way overboard trying to act sketchy." She paused to take a bite of her taco, building the suspense.

"I was committed to the role," Sonny protested, his face already turning pink.

Rafael patted his shoulder consolingly, though he was clearly trying not to laugh. "Mi amor, I saw the footage. There's method acting, and then there's… whatever that was."

"So there he was," Amanda went on, "making it super obvious he was checking out every girl who walked past, to the point where Liv had to text him. It was something like ‘Carisi, can’t you look at anything else?’”

Catalina collapsed into giggles, nearly dropping her taco. "Dad, no."

"Oh, but that's not even his best undercover story," Amanda continued, warming to her theme. "Should we tell them about the Super Bowl party bust?"

Olivia groaned, setting down her drink. "Oh god, the teal leopard print."

"Picture this," Amanda gestured expansively. "Your sophisticated, dignified Aunt Liv here, squeezed into leather pants and this absolutely wild teal leopard print top playing a madam. Fin was there in this pimp suit –” 

“Don’t say pimp,” Olivia chided, even though she knew all of these kids had heard a lot worse come out of Amanda’s mouth. 

"- and your dad," Amanda pointed her fork at Sonny, "was the white whale."

"And nobody thought to run it by the DA's office." Rafael asked, his tone making it clear this was an old argument.

"There wasn't time," Olivia protested, remembering Rafael’s indignant “Who’s everyone?” in her office after the fact. “Me, Fin, Rollins, Carisi – everyone.” 

"Anyway," Amanda continued, "everything's going fine until this undercover agent comes out of nowhere and just –" she made a whooshing motion with her hand, carefully omitting the fact that it was Jesse’s father “- clocks your dad right in the face with the grip of a pistol."

"Dad." Catalina looked horrified and delighted in equal measure.

"Broke his nose," Fin added helpfully.

"And then," Amanda was really enjoying herself now, "Amaro -"

"Mr. Anger-Management-Issues," Rafael muttered.

"- let your dad sit in holding for like three hours with tissues stuffed up his nose because he couldn't stand him back then."

"Three and a half hours," Sonny corrected, touching his nose reflexively at the memory. "My shirt was ruined."

"You were kind of annoying still," Amanda said solemnly. 

"Well," Sonny added quickly, his eyes sliding to his husband with a hint of mischief, "at least I never goaded a perp into strangling me with a belt. In open court. In front of God, judge, and jury."

Rafael's head snapped up, sending his husband a look that would have melted steel. "We don't tell that story."

"Oh yes we do," Olivia interjected, setting down her plate. "Especially since your daughter should know exactly where she gets her flair for the dramatic."

"I was proving a point," Rafael said with dignity, though a slight flush had crept up his neck.

Fin leaned forward. "Picture this. Your Papa, in one of his fancy suits, looping this belt around his own neck, telling this guy to choke him like he choked the victim. He keeps pushing and pushing until the guy just snaps.” 

"Too detailed," Olivia said, but there was no real sternness in it. 

"You did what?" Catalina stared at her father, taco forgotten.

"It was a calculated risk," Rafael defended, though he wasn't quite meeting anyone's eyes.

"A calculated risk that could’ve necessitated emergency medical intervention," Olivia pointed out dryly.

"But it didn’t. And we got the conviction," Rafael countered, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips.

"I had to hear about it secondhand," Sonny added. "The story was already legendary. 'That crazy ADA who dared a suspect to attack him.' Didn't realize it was you until months later."

"And when he did find out," Amanda put in, "he wouldn't shut up about it for weeks. 'Did you see how he turned it around on him? That's why he's the best ADA in Manhattan...'"

"I did not sound like that," Sonny protested, his ears turning pink.

"Oh please," Amanda said, warming to the new topic, "let's talk about Detective Heart-Eyes here following your Papa around like a lovesick puppy."

"I was not –" Sonny started to protest.

"You memorized his coffee order after seeing him drink it exactly once," Fin pointed out. "Extra hot, splash of milk –"

"Two sugars, yeah, we know," Noah chimed in, grinning. "Mom said you used to show up with it even when Uncle Rafa wasn't at the precinct."

Olivia nodded, her eyes twinkling. "And then he'd try to play it cool. 'Oh, is Barba not in today? Guess I'll just... leave this here.'"

"And don't even get me started on law school," Amanda added. "Every other sentence was 'Barba said this in court today' or 'Barba's technique for cross-examination...'"

Rafael was watching his husband with undisguised affection. "You never told me about the coffee thing."

"Because it's embarrassing," Sonny muttered, but he was smiling too. "I was trying to be professional."

"Professional?" Fin snorted. "You rearranged your entire schedule to shadow him in court."

"For educational purposes," Sonny insisted.

"It's honestly a miracle you two didn't get together sooner," Olivia mused, shaking her head. "All that, and then suddenly –" she gestured to Catalina, who was scribbling furiously in her family tree.

Rafael and Sonny exchanged a quick glance, a whole conversation passing between them in seconds, memories of fucking on Rafael’s office couch before anyone knew. Sonny cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, timing is everything, right?"

"Dad was pining," Catalina read aloud as she wrote, "brought coffee, stalked Papa in court..."

"I did not stalk –" Sonny began.

"Do you not want her to get an A?" Rafael teased, lacing his fingers with Sonny’s. 

Catalina hugged her knees to her chest. "Who's next?"

Amanda's eyes sparkled with mischief as she turned toward Olivia. "Oh, should we tell her about your interesting dating history, Liv? Talk about a string of questionable choices..."

"Amanda," Olivia warned, though she was smiling.

"What? The detective? The reporter? The other reporter? The detective again? The ADA? The other ADA? The IAB captain?"

"Mom," Noah perked up. "You never told me about any of that."

"Because some things are none of your business," Olivia said primly. "But I will say that your Aunt Amanda isn't wrong about my... let's call it 'adventurous' taste in men back then."

"I remember Ed," Noah said suddenly, his voice softening. "We went to Paris. I have this weird memory of sitting on his shoulders near the Eiffel Tower."

The room grew quiet. Olivia's smile flickered, a shadow passing across her face. "You were so little," she said softly. "I didn't think you'd remember that."

Rafael reached to squeeze her hand, while Sonny shifted closer to her on instinct. The weight of what had happened to Ed Tucker settled over the room like a heavy blanket.

Amanda cleared her throat gently. "He was good with you, Noah. Really good."

"Yeah," Noah said, his voice thoughtful. "I remember him making me laugh."

Jesse looked up from her phone, a soft smile on her face. "Uncle Sonny's always been good with kids too. I remember when I was little, he'd come over after his shifts even when he was exhausted."

Amanda's eyes grew warm. "That's true. First it was midnight feedings and diaper changes, then it was helping with homework and coming to dance recitals."

"It's funny," Olivia said softly, looking around at their sprawling, mismatched family. "Somewhere along the way, we all just became each other's kids' parents. Remember when Jesse had her first heartbreak, and she showed up at my apartment because she knew Noah always keeps mint chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer?"

"Or when Billie scraped her knee at the park," Amanda added, "and ran straight to Rafael because she knew he always carried Band-Aids in his briefcase after that time Cata fell off the monkey bars."

"The dads," Noah grinned, gesturing at Sonny and Rafael. "That's what all our friends call you two. And you two are just moms,'" he nodded at Olivia and Amanda.

"Remember parent-teacher conferences?" Sonny asked. "We'd all show up en masse. The teachers never knew quite what to make of us, couldn't tell which kids belonged to who."

"Found family," Catalina said suddenly, looking down at her project. The paper was covered in lines now, crisscrossing between names, creating a web of connections that went far beyond biology. "That's what this really is, isn't it? Not just a family tree. More like a... family forest."

Rafael reached over to brush a curl from his daughter's face. "Exactly, hummingbird."

"The best kind," Jesse added softly.

"So maybe," Catalina said, uncapping her marker one more time, "I should add that at the top. 'The Benson-Rollins-Barba-Carisi-Tutuola-Calhoun Family Forest.’” 

Amanda wiped quickly at her eyes. "I think that's perfect, honey."

"Absolutely perfect," Olivia agreed, her voice thick with emotion.

They sat there in comfortable silence for a moment, surrounded by empty plates and half-finished sodas, the Manhattan sunset painting the apartment in warm golds and pinks. This was their family – messy and complicated and absolutely perfect, bound together not by blood but by choice, by love, by thousands of small moments just like this one.

Chapter Text

Sunday Brunch at the Barba-Carisi household was a sacred tradition. The smell of coffee and Rafael's Spanish tortilla wafted through their brownstone as Sonny finished setting the table, humming under his breath.

Rita arrived early, as always, carrying a bag of fresh pastries from that little bakery Catalina loved. The moment she stepped through the door, a blur of dark curls crashed into her with the force of a small hurricane.

"Aunt Rita!" Catalina exclaimed, already reaching for the paper bag. "Did you get the ones with the cream filling?"

Rita laughed, holding the bag just out of reach. "Hello to you too, hummingbird. And yes, of course I did. I'm not a monster."

"Cata, let Rita at least get through the door," Rafael called from the kitchen, but his voice held nothing but fondness.

They settled around the table, plates filled with tortilla and pastries, coffee cups steaming. Sonny watched with pride as his daughter pulled out her school project, spreading papers across any available surface not occupied by food. The family tree was already impressive, decorated with photographs and detailed notes about every member of their extended family.

"Look, Aunt Rita," Catalina said, pointing to different sections. "Here's all the Carisis – Dad has like a million cousins – and here's Papa's side, and here's Amanda and Jesse and Billie, and Liv and Noah, and –”

"I see you've been thorough," Rita remarked, taking a sip of her coffee to hide her smile.

"Of course. But it's not finished yet." Catalina pulled out a blank section of paper, her eyes - so like Rafael's - sparkling with determination. "I need to add you."

Rita's coffee cup froze halfway to her mouth. "Me?"

"Obviously you," Catalina rolled her eyes in that dramatic way only teenagers could perfect. "You're family. I’ve literally got part of your liver in me. That makes you, like, extra family."

Rafael and Sonny exchanged looks as Rita set down her cup with slightly trembling hands. "Hummingbird," she said softly, "I don't think –"

"No," Catalina interrupted, already pulling out her colored markers. "You don't get to say no. You're going on the tree. Right here, next to Papa, because you're his best friend and my favorite aunt and that's just how it is."

Rita's eyes grew bright as she watched Catalina carefully write "Rita Calhoun" in her neat handwriting, drawing a line connecting her to both Rafael and Catalina herself.

"See?" Catalina said proudly, sitting back to admire her work. "Now it's perfect."

Sonny reached over to squeeze Rita's hand as Rafael wrapped an arm around their daughter. Rita cleared her throat, trying to regain some modicum of composure.

"Well," she managed, voice slightly rough, "I suppose I can't argue with that logic. You are your father's daughter, after all."

"Which one?" Catalina grinned.

"Yes," Rita laughed, pulling Catalina into a tight hug.

Catalina didn't let go of Rita's hand even after the hug ended, her fingers absently playing with Rita's gold bracelet. "So," she said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably, "tell me about your parents."

Rita's posture stiffened slightly. "Why do you want to know about them?"

"Because," Catalina said, giving Rita's hand a squeeze, "I need to know why you're you. Like, why you always send really fancy gift baskets when you're sorry about something, or why you have better posture than a ballet dancer, or why you get that weird look on your face whenever someone mentions country clubs."

From the kitchen, where he was pretending not to listen while washing dishes, Sonny couldn't suppress a snort. Rafael shot him a warning look, but his lips were twitching too.

Rita sighed, running her free hand through her perfectly styled hair. "There's not much to tell, hummingbird. I grew up in Connecticut, in a very..."

"Rich?" Catalina supplied helpfully.

"Wealthy," Rita corrected automatically, then rolled her eyes when Catalina grinned. "Yes, fine, rich. Very rich. The kind of rich where your mother's biggest concern is whether you're going to marry someone 'suitable.'" She made air quotes with her fingers, her voice taking on a slightly bitter edge.

"What did she consider suitable?" Catalina asked, already scribbling notes in the margin of her family tree.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Federal judges, old money heirs, anyone with a yacht." Rita's laugh was sharp. "She nearly had a heart attack when I told her I was going to be an ADA instead of joining her precious Junior League."

"But you're not an ADA anymore," Catalina pointed out, tilting her head curiously. 

"That's right," Rita nodded, sharing a knowing look with Rafael. "I started out as a prosecutor. Believed in the system, wanted to put away the bad guys, all of that. But after a while..." She paused, considering how to explain it to a thirteen-year-old.

"After a while," Rafael picked up the thread, "you start to see that things aren't always as black and white as they seem."

"Exactly," Rita agreed. "And when I told my mother I was leaving the DA's office to become a defense attorney? Well, let's just say the gift basket my father sent that time contained an entire case of vintage champagne.

"My mother was still slightly hesitant for a while," Rita added with a sly smile, "but she did come around eventually when she found out my hourly was $1500."

Catalina's jaw dropped. "Fifteen hundred dollars? Per hour?"

"Welcome to high-stakes criminal defense, hummingbird." Rita gestured at Catalina's outfit with her coffee cup. "Where did you think all those designer sunglasses and Burberry coats in your closet came from?"

There was a moment of silence as Catalina's eyes slowly widened, her head swiveling to stare at her father. "Papa... you and Aunt Rita are partners."

Rafael couldn't help but grin. "We are."

"So you make that much too?"

“And it’s deserved," Rita interjected with a smirk. "Your father's reputation for being a hardass preceded him. We had to adjust our rates accordingly."

Sonny let out a laugh from his spot at the table. "You didn't think we were paying for your fancy private school and those ski trips to Aspen on my ADA salary, did you?"

"I... never really thought about it," Catalina admitted, looking slightly dazed. "I mean, I knew we were comfortable, but..."

"That's because your fathers raised you right," Rita said firmly. "Unlike some people we know, who used to show up to kindergarten plays in custom Armani."

"That was one time," Rafael protested.

"Sure, Barba." Rita's voice dripped with skepticism. "Just like you had no idea how much that dollhouse cost when you bought it for someone's fifth birthday."

"It was handmade in France."

"It had working electricity and sandalwood floors."

Catalina watched this exchange with growing amusement. "Is this why you both get that weird look on your face when Dad complains about coffee prices?"

Both Rita and Rafael had the grace to look slightly sheepish while Sonny burst out laughing. "You should have seen them the first time I took them to the precinct coffee cart after your Papa moved to defense," he managed between chuckles. "You'd think I'd asked them to drink motor oil."

"Hey," Rafael protested, "We put in out time with bad coffee too. I lived on that cart coffee and bodega sandwiches just like everyone else."

"Oh please," Rita rolled her eyes. "You used to expense your lunch at that little Cuban place three times a week."

"I would never," Rafael defended. "I was living in a walk-up in Brooklyn and eating instant ramen like every other ADA without a trust fund."

Catalina looked fascinated. "Really? But you're so..." she gestured vaguely at his cashmere sweater.

"Your father wasn't born wearing Tom Ford suits, my love," Sonny said with a fond smile.

Rita let out a delighted laugh. "Oh god, speaking of suits – Cata, has your father ever told you about his first proper suit? The one for the internship interview?"

Rafael groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Rita..."

"This was at Harvard," Rita continued, ignoring Rafael's protests. "And your father shows up at my apartment one day in this absolutely tragic suit. Navy polyester, at least one size too big, probably from some discount store in the eighties."

"I saved up for it," Rafael muttered from behind his hands.

"Exactly. And he announces he's wearing it to interview for a summer internship at Buchanan and Price." Rita shook her head at the memory. "I literally grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to Sorelli's."

Catalina was leaning forward, completely enthralled. "What happened then?"

"Your Aunt Rita happened," Rafael said dryly. "She marched me straight to the tailoring department, pointed at me, and told Giovanni 'Fix this.'"

"Best investment I ever made," Rita declared, her eyes soft, thinking about how she’d ripped it off of him that very afternoon. "I also bought him his first purple tie."

"Oh," Catalina perked up. "Like how you always buy me purple things. Like my birthday headphones, and that sparkly notebook, and my winter coat..."

Rita's expression softened impossibly further. "You noticed that, huh?"

"Well, yeah. Purple's like, your thing."

"It's..." Rita paused, choosing her words carefully. "It's my color for people I love. Started with your father at Harvard, and now..."

"Now me?" Catalina's whole face lit up.

"Now you," Rita confirmed quietly. "Though you're significantly better at accepting gifts than your father was. He argued with me for twenty minutes about that tie."

Rafael reached over and squeezed Rita's hand. "And now look – half my ties are purple."

"The better half," Rita said.