ncvqk
calex :p
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Latest Posts by ncvqk
when i was fifteen, i rode my bike home from work and stopped at a pumpkin patch. it was one of those shitty seasonal pop-ups. i had stopped by before my shift to see the animals, and one rabbit had caught my eye. she was bigger, yet more timid. she had this beautiful black fur with little grey spots around her face.
it was almost 37 degrees out and they were just in a pen on the pavement with no water.
i knelt by it and reached my hand in to feel the one i found earlier. nothing. i tried to shake her awake but i was too late. she was cold and stiff, even in the heat.
i ran for the owner and showed her what I’d found. she wasn’t sympathetic or remorseful, there wasn’t an ounce of guilt in her expression. she grabbed the rabbit by the hind legs and threw her in the dumpster behind the concessions.
her body was so stiff it kept its form the whole time. so i took her. and i held her in my arms. it was difficult to balance my bike while holding her so tight but i took her to the park and i dug her a little grave.
i still see her. still feel the dirt under my nails. maybe if i had come sooner.
i miss her so bad it’s unbearable
𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥
sawdust flavored sandwich
this is the cutest thing ever
i had a really good salad today and it had black olives and god damn i love black olives but not as much as i love older women especially when they are calling me sweetheart i eat that up. my head hurts and i need to clean my room maybe ill write
i could add a second chapter to Clerical Error, but it won’t be what the people want
:p
Clerical Error | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak
one bed trope because why tf not fluff? they start making out. nothing explicit. that's what your imagination is for. freaks.
Casey Novak checked her watch for the third time as the train began to slow. Outside the window, the upstate landscape blurred past: amber trees, lonely fields, gas stations clinging to the highway. It was colder here than in Manhattan, the kind of air that bit the edges of your coat and promised a long winter.
Across from her, Alex Cabot barely glanced up from her copy of The Giver..
Casey cleared her throat. “So… What exactly is this conference again?”
Alex turned the page. “Cross-District Prosecutorial Strategies for High-Risk Witnesses. Hosted by Albany. They run it every fall.”
Casey nodded. “ And we’re on the same panel?”
Alex finally looked up. “It’s more of a roundtable. They want real-world insight into inter-bureau cooperation—especially with organized crime cases. Your recent fraud case had a trafficking component. That’s why you’re here.”
“Oh. So I’m the newbie they invited to make the room look diverse.”
A small smile ghosted across Alex’s face. “Don’t flatter yourself. I fought to get someone from White Collar on that panel. Your case actually had teeth.”
Casey blinked. She wasn’t expecting that. “Thanks. I think.”
“You’re welcome,” Alex said simply, then leaned back into her seat. “Just don’t bomb. We’re both representing Manhattan.”
The hotel was the kind of place that advertised “Free WiFi” on a plastic sandwich board near the door like it was a luxury. The carpet was an aggressive maroon with gold swirls, the kind found in chain hotels with more ambition than budget. At the front desk, the clerk looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.
“One room under the Manhattan DA’s Office,” Alex said crisply.
The clerk typed something into her ancient computer. “Yup. Got you here. Cabot, right?” She slid a single keycard across the counter. “Room 219. One queen.”
Casey blinked. “Wait—one bed?”
“Should be two,” Alex said, already frowning. “We requested two.”
The clerk gave a shrug that said ‘not my problem’. “Sorry, ma’am. We’re at capacity. Hockey tournament in town. Last-minute changes screwed up a few reservations.”
Alex’s jaw tightened. “There’s nothing else available?”
“Nope. Fully booked.”
Casey glanced sideways at Alex, lowering her voice. “We could take turns on the bed. Or I’ll sleep on the floor. I’ve survived worse.”
Alex sighed and snatched the keycard. “Let’s just get upstairs. It’s been a long day.”
The room wasn’t terrible. Clean. Smelled faintly like lemon disinfectant and decades-old air conditioning. One bed in the center with stiff-looking pillows and a wooden nightstand on either side. There was a welcome packet on the dresser from the Albany DA’s Office beside a TV that probably hadn’t seen cable news since the Clinton administration.
Casey hovered near the window, arms crossed. “Well. This is cozy.”
Alex placed her briefcase down, unbuttoning her coat. “We’ll deal. I’ll call down in the morning. Maybe something will open up.”
“Or maybe we’ll both develop an aversion to personal space,” Casey muttered.
Alex raised an eyebrow. “You’re not that interesting.”
Casey smiled, surprised. “You’re funny when you’re tired.”
“I’m always funny. You’re just too new to notice.”
Casey moved to plug in her phone and unzip her suitcase. Alex’s eyes lingered for a second longer than necessary before she turned away and reached for the remote.
“Great,” Casey said, staring at the tiny flatscreen TV. “Maybe we can catch Top Chef before bed.”
Alex’s lips twitched. “God help us.”
The room was quiet now, save for the hum of the heater and the occasional creak of old plumbing. The lights were off, leaving only a thin sliver of orange glow bleeding through the curtains from the parking lot outside.
They lay on opposite sides of the bed, backs turned at first, but slowly, they both ended up staring at the same cracked ceiling tile, blanketed in silence.
Casey broke it first. “This is so weird.”
Alex turned her head slightly. “What?”
“Lying in bed next to you. I’ve known you for, what, a month? You don’t even like me.”
Alex huffed a quiet laugh. “I don’t dislike you.”
“That’s not a denial.”
“You’re competent,” Alex said finally, like it cost her. “You care. Most people don’t. That earns you some points.”
Casey turned onto her side, propping her head on her hand. “Wow. I might blush.”
Alex’s lips twitched. “Please don’t.”
They both smiled in the dark. It felt strange and unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.
After a moment, Casey asked, “Did you always know you wanted to do this? Law, I mean.”
Alex didn’t answer right away. “Yeah. My mother was a judge. My uncle was on the Second Circuit. It was sort of… expected.”
“Wow,” Casey said, flat. “That’s casual.”
Alex glanced over. “Let me guess. First-gen?”
“Third. But I’m the first to finish college without a baby or a felony in the middle.” She meant it lightly, but her voice dipped, just a little. “My mom cleaned houses. Dad was always deployed. I waited tables all through undergrad and law school. Worked the 2 a.m. shift at a 24-hour diner in Queens. I still hear ‘Pancakes, table six!’ in my nightmares.”
Alex turned to face her more fully now, expression unreadable. “That’s impressive.”
“It was exhausting.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Alex said softly.
Casey looked at her. “I know.”
Another pause. The kind where the silence feels heavy but not uncomfortable.
“You ever get tired of pretending it’s not hard?” Casey asked.
Alex blinked. “What?”
“This job. The people. The pressure. All of it. You ever get tired of acting like you were built for it?”
Alex hesitated, then said, “More often than I’ll admit out loud.”
Something softened between them. Casey didn’t smile, but she looked less guarded. “Well, for what it’s worth… you make it look easy.”
“I don’t,” Alex said, voice quiet. “I just learned how to hide the cracks.”
They both lay still for a moment, staring into the space between them.
“I think I like you better like this,” Casey murmured.
Alex quirked a brow. “In bed?”
Casey snorted. “Tired. You’re less terrifying when you’re half-asleep.”
Alex chuckled, the sound low and surprisingly warm. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late,” Casey whispered, eyes already drifting shut.
Alex woke slowly, pulled out of sleep by the unfamiliar weight of something warm draped across her.
She kept her eyes closed for a few moments, breathing in the scent of cheap linen and Casey’s shampoo. Something citrusy, sharp. Casey was tucked behind her, one arm draped lazily across the blonde’s waist, breath soft and steady against the back of her neck. Her legs had tangled somewhere during the night, one knee bumping against the back of Alex’s calf. She was completely, shamelessly asleep. Alex exhaled slowly. She hadn’t been held like that in years, maybe. Not without expectations. Not without cost.
She blinked her eyes open slowly, adjusting to the early morning gray that filtered through the thin curtains. Her mind was foggy with sleep, but her body was still, cautious. She just lay there, staring at the ceiling and feeling something foreign bloom in her chest.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Casey Novak was new. Rough-edged. Too young, too idealistic. All grit and no polish, yet somehow cutting through red tape like she’d been born to it. She asked too many questions. She spoke without permission. She looked at Alex like she didn’t see the name, the legacy, the curated perfection.
She looked at Alex like she was real.
And now she was wrapped around her like it was nothing. Like it was normal. Alex didn’t know how to hold that.
Carefully, she lifted Casey’s arm and slid out of bed.She stirred faintly, but didn’t wake, just sighed and turned over, her hand falling to the empty sheets beside her. Alex dressed in silence, pulling her blazer over her blouse and smoothing down the sleeves with a practiced hand. The mirror showed her what she expected: composed, sharp-eyed, untouchable.
But her hands hesitated when she picked up her watch.
She glanced over her shoulder. Casey had curled into the space she left behind, her hand resting on the pillow, brow furrowed slightly in sleep. She looked younger like this. Softer. Like someone who hadn’t been clawing her way up for years.
Alex crossed the room and stood beside the bed. For a moment, she did nothing. Then she reached out, gently brushing a lock of hair from Casey’s cheek.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Time to get up.”
Casey stirred, eyes blinking open slowly. She squinted up at Alex, confused and sleepy. “Wha—time is it?”
“Six fifteen,” Alex replied smoothly. “We’re due downstairs at seven-thirty. Thought you might want a head start.”
Casey groaned, flopping back on the mattress. “You already got dressed? God, you are a robot.”
Alex smirked faintly. “And yet you were practically using me as a body pillow all night.”
At that, Casey sat up, blinking fast. “Wait—what? Did I—?”
Alex didn’t look up from her bag. “Don’t worry. I survived.”
Casey flushed, scrubbing her hands over her face. “I swear I’m not usually like that. I just—uh. Long week.”
Alex finally looked at her. “It’s fine, Novak.”
Casey covered her face with her hands. “Kill me now.”
“I don’t think they’d appreciate that at the conference.”
“Do you?” Casey asked, peeking at her through one eye.
Alex’s mouth quirked. “Not today.”
There was a long pause. Casey sat up, pulling the sheets around her. “I didn’t mean to… I mean, I don’t sleep like that normally.”
Alex studied her for a moment. “I didn’t mind.”
Casey blinked.
Alex turned toward the door, her lips twitching into a smile she didn’t let Casey see.
“Get dressed,” she said. “I’m not carrying you to the conference.”
The hallway was a blur of gray suits, clacking heels, and rustling folders. A table near the wall offered lukewarm coffee in flimsy paper cups, and the buzz of pre-panel chatter filled the space like static.
Alex stood off to the side, one arm crossed as she tapped through emails on her phone. Her posture was as crisp as ever, but her eyes were a little less guarded than usual. She didn’t say anything when Casey appeared beside her, coffee in both hands.
“Coffee,” Casey said simply, handing her a cup.
Alex accepted it without looking. “If you can call it that.”
Casey smirked. “Better than nothing. Though barely.”
Alex shot her a glance. Casey looked infuriatingly fresh-faced, hair pulled into a low ponytail, a pen already clipped to her notebook. “How’d you sleep?” Casey asked, too casually.
Alex sipped her coffee. “Fine.”
“Just fine?”
“I’m not used to sharing a bed with someone who sleep-kicks.”
Casey grinned. “I told you I don’t usually do that.”
“You also said you don’t usually latch on like an octopus.”
“Okay, ouch. I was having a vulnerable moment.”
Alex gave her a sidelong glance. “You were unconscious.”
“Exactly. The purest form of vulnerability.”
Alex tried not to smile and mostly succeeded.
They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that would have been unthinkable even a few weeks ago. Casey broke it first.
She tilted her head slightly, studying the banners hung along the wall. “You think they make us come to these just so we can meet people and pretend we’re not drowning?”
“I think they make us come so they can say they did something productive about inter-bureau communication,” Alex replied, deadpan.
“You’re such a ray of sunshine.”
Alex glanced over. “You say that like it’s an insult.”
Casey laughed softly, then sipped her coffee. “You always this charming before nine a.m.?”
Alex arched a brow. “You’re the one who insisted on sitting next to me.”
“I didn’t see a ‘reserved for emotionally distant career women’ sign.”
Alex almost choked on her coffee. “Novak.”
Casey grinned, eyes sparkling, but said nothing more. The silence that settled between them wasn’t awkward. It felt earned. Easy.
Alex’s gaze drifted to the wide conference doors ahead. “First panel starts in fifteen.”
“Joint prosecutions. You excited?”
“I’m prepared.”
Casey bumped her shoulder lightly. “That’s what I meant.”
Another long pause. The kind that could have been filled with small talk, but wasn’t.
Finally, Alex spoke again. “You did well the other day.”
Casey blinked. “Thanks.”
“You had command of the case details. You were… direct.” She hesitated. “In a good way.”
Casey’s voice softened. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
But there was warmth behind it. Not teasing. Not cold. Something else.
The PA system crackled overhead: “Session A is now beginning in Room 4B.”
Casey shifted her coffee to her other hand and straightened her jacket. “Let’s go, Cabot. We’ll wow them with our coordinated cynicism.”
Alex gave her a sideways glance. “Don’t trip over your sarcasm on the way in.”
Casey walked beside her. “No promises.”
They entered the conference room side by side, and if Alex’s hand brushed the small of Casey’s back as they passed through the door, neither of them said a word about it.
They didn’t say much on the walk back from the little Italian place down the block. The air was cool and sticky with humidity, the sky above them smudged with clouds that didn’t quite commit to raining. The restaurant had been cozy, warm-lit and cramped, with red-checked tablecloths and bad jazz spilling out of battered speakers overhead. The pasta was passable, the wine strong enough to make them both quiet in that way that wasn't quite uncomfortable, just... careful.
Now, back in the hotel room, everything had gone still again. The soft glow of the bedside lamp turned the beige walls golden, and somewhere down the hall, a door slammed, muffled and faraway.
Casey dropped her keycard onto the dresser with a clatter that sounded louder than it should have. She kicked off her heels, letting out a soft groan as she rolled her shoulders, the motion lazy and feline. She looked tired in that sunkissed, wine-loosened way—cheeks flushed, lids low. “Shower’s calling my name,” she mumbled, voice already trailing off. “If I don’t come out in twenty minutes, assume I’ve drowned and avenge me.”
Alex, perched at the desk in one of those stiff hotel chairs, barely looked up. Her blazer was slung over the back of it, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, glasses slipping down her nose as she absently flipped through her notes from that afternoon’s legal ethics panel. “If you drown in a Marriott bathtub,” she said dryly, “I’m not sure vengeance would be my jurisdiction.”
“That’s cold, Cabot,” Casey called over her shoulder, her voice tinged with mock betrayal as she disappeared into the bathroom.
The door clicked shut. A second later, the water started, a soft rush behind the wall.
Alex didn’t move. She just stared down at her notes, eyes unfocused now, words blurring into meaningless lines. Her pen hovered above the page, unmoving. In the quiet, she could hear the sound of the water running, steady and gentle, and under that, the silence stretching long between them. There was something about Casey’s laugh, that fake-dramatic tone she used when she wanted to pretend she wasn’t tired or hurt or thinking too much, that tugged at something Alex couldn’t quite name.
She sighed and leaned back in the chair. The wine lingered faintly in her bloodstream. Just enough to take the edge off, to soften the sharp corners of her usual restraint. Her head buzzed with a gentle warmth, not quite a fog, but enough to slow her down. To let her drift.
She should be reviewing their notes. Or catching up on emails. Or reading something dry and dense to anchor herself back into focus. Something that didn’t have cheekbones or a crooked smile or legs for days.
Instead, her gaze slid over the edge of the desk and toward the closed bathroom door. Her mind wandered, reluctantly at first, then with more boldness.
Not in the usual way, the disciplined way, where her thoughts clicked into place around case law and procedural nuance. This was slower. Warmer. Dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with physical risk.
She imagined the steam curling around Casey’s bare shoulders, softening the sharp lines of her silhouette until she looked more like a dream than a person. The kind of image that lived behind closed eyelids at night.
She pictured the flush rising high on Casey’s cheeks, blooming across her skin from the heat of the water, not embarrassment or nerves. The way her ponytail would unravel, strands slipping loose one by one until it gave up entirely. Damp gold clinging to the curve of her neck, the slope of her spine, until it settled along her back in a messy sheet that demanded no polish, no artifice. Just honesty.
And that laugh.
The one Alex had only heard a few times, and always by accident. Never in a courtroom, never at work. A snorty, unfiltered thing that crinkled her nose and lit up her whole face, like she'd forgotten to care how she looked. It was never calculated. Just joy. Undeniable and rare.
Alex bit the inside of her cheek, hard.
She could almost see Casey stepping out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, skin still damp and glistening in the lamplight. Hair dripping onto her shoulders. Her expression open, lazy with warmth, grinning at some dumb offhand comment Alex hadn’t even meant to be funny.
Alex sat up sharply, spine stiffening as though she'd been caught.
Absolutely not.
She exhaled hard through her nose, dragged a hand over her face, and crossed her legs tightly, trying to root herself back into something practical, something safe. She stared down at her notes again, willing herself to focus, but the words smeared and reassembled in unreadable patterns. Nothing stuck. Nothing helped.
The shower kept running. The quiet in the room filled up like fog.
She glanced toward the bathroom door again—just a flick of her eyes—then turned her head back so fast it felt performative, even though no one was watching. She hated this. This need. This aching, irrational want that had nothing to do with justice or duty or any of the clean, orderly things she’d spent her life clinging to.
Because Casey Novak was supposed to be a junior colleague. A sharp-tongued ADA with too much nerve and a reckless streak she tried to hide behind long hours and coffee. She wasn’t supposed to matter like this. She wasn’t supposed to crawl under Alex’s skin and settle there.
The water shut off with a sudden clunk of finality. Alex rose too quickly, almost knocking her knee against the desk, and crossed the room in three brisk steps.
The window offered a view of the parking lot. Rows of sedans under humming streetlights. A Waffle House neon sign flickering somewhere in the distance. It was all blessedly uninspiring and bland. She stared out into the nothing, arms folded tightly across her chest.
Behind her, the bathroom door clicked.
Casey emerged in a baggy sweater and plaid boxers, hair damp and curling at the ends. She looked… small. Not in stature; she still moved with that restless energy, like her bones were wired for motion. Softer now. Blurred around the edges, like the day had finally worn her down and there was no point pretending otherwise.
Alex, still standing at the window with her arms crossed, glanced over her shoulder. Just once. Just long enough to register the sight before turning her gaze sharply back to the parking lot like it had something urgent to offer.
“Shower’s free,” Casey mumbled, rubbing the towel through her hair in lazy circles.
She crossed to the bed and flopped down face-first with a grunt, limbs sprawled wide like she couldn’t hold herself together anymore. “I swear to God,” her voice was muffled against the comforter, “if I ever have to sit through another three-hour PowerPoint on interdepartmental task forces—”
“You’ll what?” Alex replied without turning, her tone cool as glass. “Stage a rebellion?”
“No,” Casey said, rolling onto her back and letting the towel fall to the floor. “I’ll fake a seizure and take myself to urgent care just to get out of it.”
Alex's mouth quirked slightly. “Your commitment to public service is inspiring.”
Casey giggled and reached blindly into her overnight bag. “How are you not exhausted? You were like, scary alert all day.”
Alex turned away from the window at last, fingers moving to the buttons on her blouse with clinical precision. “Discipline,” she said. “And caffeine.”
She didn’t look at Casey as she unfastened the last button, nor as she turned to grab her toiletry bag from the chair.
It wasn’t avoidance, exactly. It was survival.
But Casey looked. God, she looked.
No better than a man, really. Eyes followed the line of Alex’s spine as she moved, drinking in the pale stretch of skin that peeked between shirt and waistband. The slope of her shoulders. The fine, deliberate motion of fingers undoing one button after the next like none of it meant anything.
Casey knew she shouldn’t stare. She should look away. Say something. Do something other than sit there on the edge of the bed like her tongue had gone heavy and her thoughts had short-circuited.
But she didn’t.
Because Alex moved like a quiet kind of violence—elegant, restrained, devastating in the details. Every flick of her wrist, every sharp inhale, every goddamn ounce of composure just made it worse. Made Casey want to unravel her.
She swallowed hard and let her eyes trace the curve of Alex’s neck, the faint dip of her spine as she bent to grab her things. Her bra strap slipped slightly down one shoulder, and it took everything Casey had not to let out a sound.
The bathroom door clicked shut behind her a moment later. She sat up slowly, hands braced behind her on the bed, staring into the warm wash of lamplight on the carpet. Her skin was still flushed from the shower, and her hair clung to the back of her neck, cooling in the air.
Her eyes drifted to the bathroom door. Steam curled at the edges beneath it like the ghost of something private, something unseen. She rubbed at her face and looked anywhere but the door. Anywhere but the space Alex had just vacated. But it didn’t matter. She could still feel her there. In the air. In her own chest.
It was ridiculous, this thing between them. Quiet and unnamed but present, like a low hum just under the floor.
Ten minutes passed. Maybe twelve.
Alex came back out quieter than she’d gone in. She wore a soft long-sleeved shirt and loose pants that clung slightly at the knees. Nothing revealing. Nothing intentional. Still, Casey looked up like she couldn’t not.
Alex didn’t say anything. Just crossed the room, slow and careful, and slipped onto her side of the bed like the space between them wasn’t full of static.
“You good?” Casey asked, her voice barely a thread.
Alex paused. “Fine.”
“You say that like you don’t mean it.”
“I say it like it’s all I’ve got tonight,” Alex said softly, pulling the blanket up to her chest.
Casey lay back beside her, stretching out. Their shoulders didn’t touch. But they could have.
For a while, there was only the hum of the heater and the faint clatter of a distant ice machine.
“I forgot how draining these things are,” Casey murmured eventually, her voice muffled by the pillow. “All the smiling. The note-taking. Pretending to be interested in panelists who haven’t practiced law since the ‘90s.”
Alex gave a soft hum of agreement. “And the subtle competitiveness. Like everyone’s measuring everyone else’s ambition.”
Casey turned slightly toward her. “You play that game?”
Alex was quiet for a moment. “I used to.”
“You don’t now?”
“It’s not about winning anymore. Not the way it was when I was younger. Now it’s about… impact.”
Casey turned her head slightly, eyes skimming the shape of Alex in the dark. “You always seem like you know who you are. What you want.”
“I used to think that was the same thing,” Alex said.
A silence settled. Not awkward, but charged.
“Do you ever feel like you’re becoming someone you don’t want to be?” Casey asked.
Alex’s reply was quiet. Immediate. “Every day.”
That landed hard in the space between them. The bed creaked as Casey shifted onto her side, facing Alex’s back. Not touching. But there.
“You don’t have to keep proving anything,” Alex said after a while. “Not to them. Not to me.”
Casey blinked at the dark. Her throat felt tight. “You saying that, like you mean it, might ruin me.”
Alex didn’t move. “Then I won’t say it again.”
She let out a laugh that sounded like it hurt. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
They didn’t touch. But they didn’t drift apart, either.
The minutes stretched, and the quiet got heavier, like the room itself was holding its breath.
Alex lay still, eyes open in the dark. She could feel Casey’s presence beside her, close enough that the warmth bled across the mattress. She didn’t mean to roll over.
But she did. Slowly, carefully, like a secret. She shifted onto her side and let her eyes fall on Casey, half-shadowed in the low lamp glow. Her face was relaxed now, the kind of softness Alex almost never got to see. The usual spark, the restlessness, was gone, replaced by something quieter. Casey’s hair had dried into a soft halo of waves against the pillow. Her lips were parted just slightly. Her lashes cast shadows against her cheeks.
Alex let herself look. She didn’t rush it. Took in every inch like it might be taken from her if she blinked too long. The slope of her nose. The faint scar near her brow. The way one of her hands had curled into the blanket like she needed something to hold.
Casey stirred slightly, brow knitting. Not asleep, then. She blinked once. Turned her head a little.
Their eyes met. She didn’t say anything.
Didn’t ask why Alex was watching her, didn’t joke or flinch or roll away.
She just looked back. Steady. Curious. A little amused.
Then she closed her eyes again, deliberately, and let out a breath that sounded like permission.
Alex stayed right there. Eyes wide open. And for the first time all day, she let herself want. Quietly, silently, with reverence.
Casey didn’t open her eyes again. But Alex could tell she wasn’t asleep. There was a shift in her breathing, slow, but conscious. Measured. Like she was waiting.
Alex watched her a moment longer, the curve of her cheek, the rise and fall of her chest beneath the old sweater. She knew she should look away. Knew this wasn’t fair. But something in her had cracked open, just a little.
She spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “You always sleep this still?”
Casey’s mouth twitched. “Only when someone’s staring at me.”
Alex huffed a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
She wasn’t.
Alex’s hand was just inches away on the blanket. She could feel the temptation like gravity.
Casey broke the silence this time, voice husky with sleep or something heavier. “You ever wonder what this would look like if we weren’t who we are?”
Alex swallowed. “I try not to.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to want something I can’t have.”
Casey turned her head again, eyes open now, clear and unflinching. “You already do.”
The words hit like a bruise. Not cruel, just true. Alex didn’t answer. Didn’t need to because the space between them wasn’t empty anymore. It was thick with everything they weren’t saying.
Everything they were too smart, or too scared, to speak upon.
And still, they didn’t move. Didn’t reach across the inches between them. But they didn’t look away either. And that was almost worse.
Casey had never been patient. Not with things like this. So she moved. Just her hand, at first. Slow. Barely brushing the back of Alex’s knuckles beneath the blanket.
Alex didn’t flinch or speak, just let out the smallest breath, like something inside her had cracked from the pressure.
Casey’s fingers slid over hers, palm to palm, tentative but deliberate.
“I won’t make you say it,” she murmured. “But I need to know I’m not imagining this.”
Alex turned her hand, laced their fingers together.
“You’re not,” she said quietly. “You never were.”
That silence came back, but now it was warm. Alex’s thumb brushed slowly over Casey’s knuckles, grounding, anchoring, unbearably gentle.
Casey leaned in, only a little, close enough to feel the heat of her, but didn’t close the distance. She waited.
And Alex?
Alex finally looked at her like she couldn’t not anymore. Like maybe, for once, she didn’t want to be careful.
That, more than anything, unraveled something in Casey. Because Alex always looked away when things got too close.
So Casey shifted, slow and uncertain. Her knee brushed Alex’s hip beneath the blanket. She hesitated for half a second, heartbeat thudding in her ears, then climbed awkwardly over her, bracing herself with one hand near the pillow.
Alex went still, eyes wide but soft.
Casey hovered there, close enough to feel the heat of Alex’s breath, but not close enough to drown in her.
Her voice was quiet. Rough.
“Tell me to stop.”
She meant it. Every word. But Alex didn’t object,
And so Casey leaned in, and kissed her.
It wasn’t confident, and it definitely wasn’t perfect. It was careful. Hesitant. The kind of kiss that asked a question instead of answering one.
Alex made a soft, startled sound against her mouth—something between a sigh and a sob—and then her hand came up, fingers curling into the hem of Casey’s sweater like she needed something to hold onto.
Casey pulled back just enough to look at her. Alex’s eyes were glassy in the low light, her voice barely a whisper.
“You didn’t imagine it.”
“I know,” Casey said, so quietly it almost wasn’t sound.
The second kiss was fuller, hungrier. Casey shifted her weight, deepening it without thinking, her fingers tracing the curve of Alex’s jaw, holding her like she was afraid she’d disappear.
Alex didn’t disappear. She kissed back like she’d been waiting for permission, like she’d spent weeks starving this feeling and was finally letting go.
She moved beneath Casey, one hand curling around the back of Casey’s neck, the other still tangled in her sweater.
It wasn’t smooth—their noses bumped, and Casey’s damp hair fell onto the pillow. Neither seemed to care. Alex’s hand slid into her hair, fingers tangling in the damp strands.
“Casey…” Alex breathed her name like a warning, but her mouth kept chasing hers, her fingers tightening at Casey’s waist.
“I know,” Casey whispered, forehead resting against Alex’s. “I know.”
“You okay?” Casey asked, eyes searching.
Alex nodded—a small, sharp motion. Her voice was hoarse. “Don’t stop.”
Casey’s thigh slipped between Alex’s legs as she shifted—awkward at first, then deliberate. Her hands moved to Alex’s waist, tentative but wanting. The fabric of Alex’s sleep pants was warm beneath her knees. She leaned down again.
“Are you sure?” she whispered, their foreheads brushing.
Alex reached up, brushing a thumb over Casey’s jaw like a secret. “Are you?”
a/n this is the stupidest thing i have every created
so i dyed my eyebrows after getting humbled at the dmv and i’ve only just now, two days later, realised they’re completely different shades
pwp or like… a fic with actual effort…
stop voting cabenson.
my motivation is out the window. i miss her too much.
my motivation is out the window. i miss her too much.
adorbs
@khvlani @snaileater22
new picrew just dropped!!
drop your starter pack
🏷️ : @cigsaftersuh @yutarot @lyvhie @sinisxtea @nebularsung @polarisjisung @sionfull @chenlezip @ayukas @blondemrk @cheers2hani @saeist @nanaxwi @glitterypinksworld @spacejip @yoshit-he-dinosaur + anyone else who would like to participate!
alex being avoidant and casey being anxious is SO real
CALEX headcanons — the series
part 1: running back to each other after breaking up and cursing each other out of their own lives
they have different attachment styles. toxic but they persevered long enough to last two years.
alex being an avoidant attachment and casey being an anxious attachment. both obtained from their own past — unhealed trauma that they carried with them.
they both healed each other but overtime, alex would catch herself relapsing and casey would always be there to catch her and coax her.
alex called the break up and casey cursed her out of her life, repeatedly yelling the sentences “i wish i never met you!” and “i hope you end up alone forever!”
alex spent her days regretting what she had done. drowning herself in work, purposely forgetting to eat, abandoning her feelings, and drinking and crying herself to sleep.
casey spent her days crying over alex. she would occasionally stare at her phone blankly hoping that maybe, just maybe, alex would call and apologize to her.
one night, alex, drunk, called casey. of course, casey picked up. she was waiting—longing for alexandra’s return.
“we we’re doing so well and i messed us up. i’m sorry my love. i really tried. i know you won’t forgive me. so, if not in this life, then maybe in the next one. i’ll be the best you’ll ever get”
sniffling, casey replied with a raspy voice. “why not now? why not in this lifetime, lex?”
there was no response from alex, only soft whimpers that could be heard from the other line. so, without any hesitation, casey grabbed her keys and rushed to their old apartment.
there, she found a cried-out alexandra. weeping, nursing a beer bottle. face red, eyes puffy, and voice raspy. “i don’t deserve you” she cried out as she saw casey’s figure.
casey sighs and walks over to her, sitting by alex’s side. “you’re all i ever wanted, you know?”
“but i’m shitty”
“so what? we all are. except you’re nice to me and you love me — deeply, endlessly.”
“if anything, we deserve each other. we’ll make it work. we already did. we can do it again”
alex, rubs her nose, smiling as she lays her head on casey’s shoulder. “i love you and i love that we’re in love”
my favorite thing will always be casey forgetting how lesbians work
Casey Chronicles out of context:
Casey: My life is over. Im done. Tell Judge Taft and Dani Beck I hope they burn in hell-
Olivia:...Can I ask what happened-? Alex, rubbing her forehead: You don't want to know.
Casey: MY LIFE IS OVER IS WHAT HAPPENED. I think I'm pregnant. olivia:..
Olivia: Casey. Humor me. Why?
Casey: Im late! I just cried over a dog commercial! EVERYTHING LOOKS EDIBLE-- Alex: Thats just because you're an emotional person and adorably food-motivated, Casey. AND ITS 3 DAYS NOT 3 WEEKS LATE- Casey: I CAN NOT RAISE A CHILD—I CANNOT EVEN REMEMBER TO FEED MYSELF! I NEED MY BOURBON TO SURVIVE WORKING IN THIS UNIT! Olivia: Casey you're LITERALLY A LESBIAN. You PHYSICALLY CANNOT HAVE A SCARE.
Casey:...Oh- right.
Casey: False alarm guys! We're good.
Alex, deadpan: Unfortunately this is who im in love with. This has to be a form of insanity- I deserve financial compensation. Casey: You're the father. Alex, on the verge of homicidal ideation: Oh. MY GOD-
The fact Cabenson is canon to Stephanie and Mariska is just…
My heart!!
i was going to post a new fic like every day this week but I got distracted and played Roblox for over an hour last night
blame fryman
have mercy on my uncreative soul
Temporary Guardians | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak
the accidental baby acquisition you have all been waiting for
fluff (what else would it be?)
I will finish editing this when i have the energy to open my laptop
It’s 5:03 a.m. when the doorbell rings.
Casey stumbles toward the front door in her pajamas, hair a mess, eyes barely open. She peers through the peephole, squints, and opens the door a crack.
“Amanda?” she mumbles.
Rollins looks like she hasn’t slept in a week. She’s balancing a squirming toddler on her hip, a diaper bag slung over one shoulder, and car keys clenched between her teeth. She spits them into her hand and thrusts the baby—Jesse—into Casey’s arms.
“I have to go to Georgia,” Amanda says in a rush. “My sister got arrested again, my mom is spiraling, I booked the first flight out—can you please just—just take her for a day or two?”
Casey blinks. “Wait, huh—?”
Amanda’s already tossing over the diaper bag and fishing another key off her keyring. “Here’s the spare to my apartment if you need anything. Her snacks are labeled. Oh, and she doesn’t like oranges this week.”
Casey fumbles to catch the diaper bag while Jesse clings to her like a koala. She stares down at the child like she’s holding a live grenade.
Amanda’s halfway down the hallway. “Thank you! I owe you big time! Love you, bye!”
The door shuts.
Casey looks at the baby.
The baby looks back.
Five minutes later, Alex blinks awake to the sound of creaking floorboards and a faint rustling. She sits up groggily, rubbing her eyes.
“Casey?”
Casey is standing at the edge of the bed, frozen, holding Jesse at arm’s length. Her voice is quiet but wild with disbelief. “Alex…?”
Alex squints at the bundle. “…Why do you have Amanda’s baby?”
“I don’t know!” Casey whisper-yells. “She just showed up, dumped her on me, and vanished into the sunrise like some southern child-depositing cryptid!”
Alex stares for a long beat.
Then, because it’s 5:12 a.m. and nothing makes sense anymore, she scoots over and lifts the covers. “Get in. We’ll figure it out after sleep.”
Casey carefully climbs into bed, still holding Jesse like she might detonate at any moment.
Jesse curls into Casey’s chest and is asleep within seconds.
Casey glances down, awestruck. “She’s…kind of cute.”
Alex yawns and rests her head against Casey’s shoulder. “That’s how they get you.”
They fall asleep like that: Alex’s head on Casey’s shoulder, Casey holding Jesse like she’s made of glass, the early morning light just starting to peek through the blinds.
By mid-morning, the apartment is a war zone of makeshift baby safety strategies.
The coffee table has been repurposed as a gate. Couch cushions block off sharp corners. The actual couch? Shoved halfway across the room to form a barricade between Jesse and the bookshelves.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Casey grunts, shoving the armrest into place. “We are two very educated women. With degrees. And this is what we’ve been reduced to.”
Alex, sitting crisscross on the floor with Jesse, doesn’t look up. “You’re the one who opened the door.”
“I didn’t know there’d be a baby on the other side!”
Jesse squeals happily and bangs a toy dinosaur on Alex’s knee.
Alex winces but smiles. “At least she likes me.”
“Yeah, well,” Casey huffs, brushing her hair out of her face and heading for the kitchen, “I’m the one trying to keep her alive.”
She opens the fridge and stares at the contents like she’s defusing a bomb. “Okay… does it—does she—have teeth?”
No response from the living room.
Casey leans around the fridge door. “Alex?”
Alex glances up. “What?”
“Does. She. Have. Teeth? We have to feed her. I don’t want her choking and dying in our care.”
Alex looks at Jesse, who’s now attempting to feed her dinosaur a sock. “I think she has, like, four?”
“Four?” Casey mutters, turning back to the counter. “Great. So… mushy.”
She ends up chopping a banana into microscopic pieces, so small they look like they’ve been grated. She sprinkles them onto a paper plate with the care of a Michelin-starred chef plating caviar.
When she walks back into the living room, banana plate in hand, she stops in her tracks.
Alex is completely engrossed in Dinosaur Tales. Jesse is snuggled up beside her, wide-eyed and drooling slightly.
“Are you seriously into that?”
Alex doesn’t even blink. “It’s surprisingly educational.”
Casey raises a brow. “You’re watching it without her now.”
“She wandered off and came back,” Alex murmurs, eyes still glued to the screen. “There’s character development.”
Casey sits beside them, balancing the plate on her knees. “Do I give it to her like birdseed?”
Alex takes a banana piece, offers it to Jesse, and watches as she shoves it in her mouth with enthusiasm. “You did great.”
Casey leans back against the couch barricade and lets out a breath. “Okay. One banana down. Just… however long to go.”
Jesse claps and throws a piece of banana at the TV.
Casey sighs. “Perfect.”
Morning came and went, and Jesse is no longer the sweet, drooling cherub they woke up to.
She’s fussy. Grouchy. Whining just enough to fray nerves but not enough to indicate what’s wrong. She refuses banana. She throws her sippy cup. She lays on the floor, face down, in full silent protest.
Alex stands near the barricaded living room like she’s observing a wild animal. “What’s happening? Is she broken?”
Casey paces nearby, hands on her hips. “I gave her food, she had water, her diaper is clean. That’s the whole baby checklist, right?”
Jesse lets out a long, miserable groan and kicks a stuffed giraffe across the floor.
Alex glances at Casey, exasperated. “Don’t you have, like, eight cousins? Shouldn’t you know babies?”
Casey shoots her a look and rubs her temples. “Not when they’re surrendered with no warning at five in the morning.”
Jesse grunts and curls into a ball.
Alex sighs and crouches down. “Okay, maybe she’s—wait. Do babies… get tired?”
Casey blinks. “Oh my God. She needs a nap.”
Alex straightens. “We let her skip the nap. We broke the baby.”
“We broke Amanda’s baby,” Casey mutters, eyes wide. “She’s gonna kill me.”
Ten minutes later, the apartment is dimmed, the white noise machine is an old fan on medium, and Jesse is passed out in the middle of Casey and Alex’s bed, starfished and snoring softly.
Casey tiptoes out of the room like it’s a crime scene.
Alex meets her in the hallway, whispering: “That was horrifying.”
Casey nods, dazed. “I think she looked into my soul.”
Alex pats her on the back. “She’s asleep now.”
Casey leans her forehead against the wall. “I feel like I need a nap.”
Alex sighs and rests her head next to hers. “I say next time, we leave you on Amanda’s doorstep at five in the morning.”
By dinnertime, the illusion of control is gone.
Casey stands in front of the fridge again, hands clasped behind her neck, staring into the abyss of condiments, expired yogurt, and a suspiciously soft cucumber.
“Unless we want to feed her mustard and shredded cheese, we’re out of options,” she says grimly.
Alex sits at the kitchen table, Jesse balanced on her hip, chewing contentedly on her own fingers. “Didn’t Amanda leave snacks?”
“She left a pack of teething biscuits and three squeezable pouches that expired in March.” Casey closes the fridge. “We’re taking her out.”
Alex raises an eyebrow. “Like… to a restaurant?”
“Do you have a better idea? Because I’m five seconds from giving her dry cereal and hoping for the best.”
They settle into a booth at a quiet diner with the kind of sticky menus and warm lighting that says “we don’t judge.” Jesse is in a borrowed high chair—too big for her, but she’s thrilled regardless.
Casey orders pancakes and applesauce for her, pancakes and coffee for herself and Alex. The waitress coos at Jesse, who responds by flinging her spoon across the floor.
“She’s got an arm,” Alex mutters.
By the time the food arrives, Jesse’s in a mood again—fussy until the moment applesauce hits her tray. Then she digs in like she’s been stranded on a desert island.
Alex watches, completely entranced. “Okay, she’s… kind of cute.”
Casey sips her coffee. “Don’t say it.”
Alex gently brushes a crumb off Jesse’s cheek. “What? I didn’t want to like her. But she’s got these little—these cheeks.”
“You’re bonding.” Casey points at her, mock-accusing. “You’re emotionally compromised.”
Alex scoffs but she doesn’t put Jesse down for the rest of the meal. Even when the baby finishes eating and starts dozing against her shoulder, Alex just shifts her gently, resting her hand protectively over Jesse’s back.
Casey watches with a soft smile. “You’re a natural.”
Alex snorts. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I also once tried to microwave a frozen burrito with the foil still on.”
Back in the car, Amanda still hasn’t responded to any texts or calls. Casey sighs and taps the wheel at a red light. “We should swing by her place. Grab extra diapers, maybe a couple of changes of clothes.”
Alex nods, looking down at Jesse snoozing peacefully in the backseat. “If she stays another night, we’ll need reinforcements.”
Casey glances at her. “You okay with that?”
Alex smiles. “She’s already survived one day with us. We owe her a second one.”
Amanda’s spare key sticks a little in the lock, but Casey jimmies it open with a grunt and pushes the door inward.
The apartment is warm and cluttered, with baby toys scattered everywhere, an overstuffed diaper bag flopped in the entryway, and at least two mismatched socks on the kitchen counter.
Alex steps in cautiously, Jesse once again on her hip, peering around. “This place is… lived in.”
“Yeah,” Casey says, flicking on a light. “Lived in by a tornado.”
They start gathering essentials: diapers from the hall closet, a box of wipes from under the sink, a crumpled grocery list scrawled in Sharpie that just says “cheddar bunnies???” and “plums?”
Alex sets Jesse down on a play mat in the living room, where she immediately grabs a plastic truck and starts chewing on it.
Casey reappears from the hallway holding a tiny pair of dinosaur footie pajamas. “Okay, this is unfairly cute.”
Alex smiles. “You’re the one getting emotionally compromised now.”
Casey glares halfheartedly and tosses the pajamas in their growing supply pile. “I’m being practical. Pajamas are necessary.”
As Alex digs through the changing table drawers, she finds a small, dog-eared notebook jammed between a pile of extra bibs and a lavender-scented burp cloth. She flips it open curiously.
Inside are scribbled notes in Amanda’s messy handwriting: “Jesse loves ceiling fans,” “sings along to Grey’s Anatomy theme(??),” “says ‘mama’ only when mad at me,” and “likes when Casey talks. seriously, her voice calms her down.”
Alex freezes. “Casey.”
Casey looks up from the pile of baby socks. “Hmm?”
Alex holds up the notebook, open to the page. “You’re in here.”
Casey steps closer and reads, eyebrows rising. “Well, that’s weirdly flattering.”
Alex smiles. “Or incriminating. You’ve got baby-calming powers.”
“I demand that be added to my résumé immediately.”
Jesse lets out a squeaky giggle from the play mat. Casey looks over, watching her lift the truck and smash it gently onto her lap with great pride. She can’t help it. Her face softens.
Alex watches her watching Jesse and murmurs, “We’re kind of good at this.”
Casey turns to her, surprised. “You think so?”
“I mean,” Alex shrugs, “no one’s died. She’s fed, clean, and we only got banana in one shoe.”
Casey grins. “That’s basically parenting, right?”
They gather up the loot: pajamas, diapers, a handful of teething toys, and the weirdly sentimental notebook, and head out, Jesse now fast asleep in Alex’s arms again.
As they walk down the hallway, Alex whispers, “Think Amanda planned this?”
Casey glances sideways. “Planned as in… tricked us into babysitting to prove a point?”
“She is from Georgia. Southern guilt is a deadly weapon.”
Casey smirks. “Next time, I’m leaving you on her doorstep.”
The next morning dawns soft and sleepy. No new texts. No calls. Amanda’s radio silence stretches into its second day like a held breath.
Casey wakes to the smell of coffee and the faint sound of cartoon voices drifting down the hallway.
She rubs her eyes, pads into the kitchen barefoot, and stops.
Alex is sitting cross-legged on the couch, her hair loosely tied back, a mug of coffee balanced on the armrest beside her. Jesse is tucked into her lap, babbling quietly between spoonfuls of oatmeal.
Alex guides each spoon with a calm focus, occasionally pausing to wipe Jesse’s mouth with a napkin, murmuring, “Slow down, kiddo,” with a fond little smile that Casey can’t remember seeing before.
It’s gentle. It’s quiet.
Casey leans against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching.
She doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t want to break the spell, but Alex eventually senses her and glances over.
She startles just a bit. “How long have you been standing there?”
Casey smiles softly. “Long enough to question if I woke up in an alternate universe.”
Alex snorts, scooping up another bite of oatmeal. “You were out cold. Jesse and I decided to have an early breakfast.”
Casey steps forward, voice low. “She’s letting you feed her.”
“She also let me put her hair in these ridiculous little antenna buns,” Alex says, tilting her head toward the baby, who indeed has two tiny, lopsided pigtails sticking out like she’s halfway to becoming a Teletubby.
Casey grins. “Okay, that’s adorable. You’re doomed now. She’s imprinted on you.”
Alex looks down at Jesse, who’s now stuffing oatmeal into her own mouth with one determined fist. “Could be worse.”
Casey watches them for another moment, quieter now. “You’re good at this.”
Alex shrugs, pretending not to blush. “She makes it kind of easy.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Casey says. “That’s what makes it impressive.”
Their eyes meet—just for a second too long—and then Jesse sneezes oatmeal onto Alex’s shirt, breaking the moment entirely.
Alex groans. “Okay, no one tells Amanda about this part.”
Casey grabs a napkin and hands it over with a smile. “Too late. I’m mentally drafting the group chat now.”
Alex narrows her eyes. “I will take this child and flee the country.”
Casey laughs as Jesse squeals with delight, oatmeal-covered fingers waving in the air like she knows she’s won something.
As the sun sets on the second day, the apartment looks like a daycare collided with a crime scene.
There are board books in the couch cushions, a half-eaten apple on the windowsill, and someone (definitely not Jesse) has drawn on the wall with a purple crayon.
Casey is lying face-down on the rug, one arm stretched out dramatically. “This is how I die.”
Alex sits cross-legged nearby, her blouse stained with juice, gently brushing Jesse’s hair back as the baby dozes in her lap. “We survived. Barely.”
“You made her macaroni.”
“You bribed her with Tinkerbell.”
“You enjoyed Tinkerbell.”
“I was desperate,” Alex mutters.
They sit in exhausted silence, the only sound the faint hum of the dishwasher and Jesse’s soft breathing. For a moment, it’s peaceful again. Still, soft, even a little comforting.
Then Casey’s phone rings.
She fumbles for it and groans. “It’s Amanda.”
Alex perks up. “Put her on speaker.”
Casey does and Amanda’s tired face fills the screen. She’s clearly in some rundown motel room, hair up in a messy bun, a bottle of gas station iced tea in one hand.
“Hey,” Amanda says. “Don’t hate me.”
Casey and Alex exchange a look. “What happened?”
“My sister’s a trainwreck, my mom’s yelling at everybody, and I had to chase my nephew through a Walmart in heels. Anyway, I’ve got to stay two more days.”
Casey audibly groans. Alex slumps backward against the couch.
Amanda winces. “I know. I’m sorry. I owe you both like, ten brunches and a kidney.”
“Make it two kidneys,” Casey mutters.
Jesse stirs in Alex’s lap, then lets out a loud, dramatic sigh in her sleep. Amanda’s face softens.
“Is she okay?”
Alex adjusts the blanket around Jesse. “She’s fine. Chaos incarnate. But fine.”
Amanda smiles a little. “Thank you. Seriously.”
Casey waves a hand weakly. “Don’t thank us yet. You still have to come get her.”
Amanda laughs, and then the screen freezes for a moment—her connection dropping just long enough for them to miss her goodbye.
Casey stares at the frozen screen. “Did she hang up, or did we lose her?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Alex mumbles, already lying down. “We’re in this now.”
Jesse shifts in her lap, snuggles deeper.
Casey exhales, then reaches over to pull a blanket across both of them. “We really are.”
The three of them fall asleep tangled together on the couch.
Temporary Guardians | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak
the accidental baby acquisition you have all been waiting for
fluff (what else would it be?)
I will finish editing this when i have the energy to open my laptop
It’s 5:03 a.m. when the doorbell rings.
Casey stumbles toward the front door in her pajamas, hair a mess, eyes barely open. She peers through the peephole, squints, and opens the door a crack.
“Amanda?” she mumbles.
Rollins looks like she hasn’t slept in a week. She’s balancing a squirming toddler on her hip, a diaper bag slung over one shoulder, and car keys clenched between her teeth. She spits them into her hand and thrusts the baby—Jesse—into Casey’s arms.
“I have to go to Georgia,” Amanda says in a rush. “My sister got arrested again, my mom is spiraling, I booked the first flight out—can you please just—just take her for a day or two?”
Casey blinks. “Wait, huh—?”
Amanda’s already tossing over the diaper bag and fishing another key off her keyring. “Here’s the spare to my apartment if you need anything. Her snacks are labeled. Oh, and she doesn’t like oranges this week.”
Casey fumbles to catch the diaper bag while Jesse clings to her like a koala. She stares down at the child like she’s holding a live grenade.
Amanda’s halfway down the hallway. “Thank you! I owe you big time! Love you, bye!”
The door shuts.
Casey looks at the baby.
The baby looks back.
Five minutes later, Alex blinks awake to the sound of creaking floorboards and a faint rustling. She sits up groggily, rubbing her eyes.
“Casey?”
Casey is standing at the edge of the bed, frozen, holding Jesse at arm’s length. Her voice is quiet but wild with disbelief. “Alex…?”
Alex squints at the bundle. “…Why do you have Amanda’s baby?”
“I don’t know!” Casey whisper-yells. “She just showed up, dumped her on me, and vanished into the sunrise like some southern child-depositing cryptid!”
Alex stares for a long beat.
Then, because it’s 5:12 a.m. and nothing makes sense anymore, she scoots over and lifts the covers. “Get in. We’ll figure it out after sleep.”
Casey carefully climbs into bed, still holding Jesse like she might detonate at any moment.
Jesse curls into Casey’s chest and is asleep within seconds.
Casey glances down, awestruck. “She’s…kind of cute.”
Alex yawns and rests her head against Casey’s shoulder. “That’s how they get you.”
They fall asleep like that: Alex’s head on Casey’s shoulder, Casey holding Jesse like she’s made of glass, the early morning light just starting to peek through the blinds.
By mid-morning, the apartment is a war zone of makeshift baby safety strategies.
The coffee table has been repurposed as a gate. Couch cushions block off sharp corners. The actual couch? Shoved halfway across the room to form a barricade between Jesse and the bookshelves.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Casey grunts, shoving the armrest into place. “We are two very educated women. With degrees. And this is what we’ve been reduced to.”
Alex, sitting crisscross on the floor with Jesse, doesn’t look up. “You’re the one who opened the door.”
“I didn’t know there’d be a baby on the other side!”
Jesse squeals happily and bangs a toy dinosaur on Alex’s knee.
Alex winces but smiles. “At least she likes me.”
“Yeah, well,” Casey huffs, brushing her hair out of her face and heading for the kitchen, “I’m the one trying to keep her alive.”
She opens the fridge and stares at the contents like she’s defusing a bomb. “Okay… does it—does she—have teeth?”
No response from the living room.
Casey leans around the fridge door. “Alex?”
Alex glances up. “What?”
“Does. She. Have. Teeth? We have to feed her. I don’t want her choking and dying in our care.”
Alex looks at Jesse, who’s now attempting to feed her dinosaur a sock. “I think she has, like, four?”
“Four?” Casey mutters, turning back to the counter. “Great. So… mushy.”
She ends up chopping a banana into microscopic pieces, so small they look like they’ve been grated. She sprinkles them onto a paper plate with the care of a Michelin-starred chef plating caviar.
When she walks back into the living room, banana plate in hand, she stops in her tracks.
Alex is completely engrossed in Dinosaur Tales. Jesse is snuggled up beside her, wide-eyed and drooling slightly.
“Are you seriously into that?”
Alex doesn’t even blink. “It’s surprisingly educational.”
Casey raises a brow. “You’re watching it without her now.”
“She wandered off and came back,” Alex murmurs, eyes still glued to the screen. “There’s character development.”
Casey sits beside them, balancing the plate on her knees. “Do I give it to her like birdseed?”
Alex takes a banana piece, offers it to Jesse, and watches as she shoves it in her mouth with enthusiasm. “You did great.”
Casey leans back against the couch barricade and lets out a breath. “Okay. One banana down. Just… however long to go.”
Jesse claps and throws a piece of banana at the TV.
Casey sighs. “Perfect.”
Morning came and went, and Jesse is no longer the sweet, drooling cherub they woke up to.
She’s fussy. Grouchy. Whining just enough to fray nerves but not enough to indicate what’s wrong. She refuses banana. She throws her sippy cup. She lays on the floor, face down, in full silent protest.
Alex stands near the barricaded living room like she’s observing a wild animal. “What’s happening? Is she broken?”
Casey paces nearby, hands on her hips. “I gave her food, she had water, her diaper is clean. That’s the whole baby checklist, right?”
Jesse lets out a long, miserable groan and kicks a stuffed giraffe across the floor.
Alex glances at Casey, exasperated. “Don’t you have, like, eight cousins? Shouldn’t you know babies?”
Casey shoots her a look and rubs her temples. “Not when they’re surrendered with no warning at five in the morning.”
Jesse grunts and curls into a ball.
Alex sighs and crouches down. “Okay, maybe she’s—wait. Do babies… get tired?”
Casey blinks. “Oh my God. She needs a nap.”
Alex straightens. “We let her skip the nap. We broke the baby.”
“We broke Amanda’s baby,” Casey mutters, eyes wide. “She’s gonna kill me.”
Ten minutes later, the apartment is dimmed, the white noise machine is an old fan on medium, and Jesse is passed out in the middle of Casey and Alex’s bed, starfished and snoring softly.
Casey tiptoes out of the room like it’s a crime scene.
Alex meets her in the hallway, whispering: “That was horrifying.”
Casey nods, dazed. “I think she looked into my soul.”
Alex pats her on the back. “She’s asleep now.”
Casey leans her forehead against the wall. “I feel like I need a nap.”
Alex sighs and rests her head next to hers. “I say next time, we leave you on Amanda’s doorstep at five in the morning.”
By dinnertime, the illusion of control is gone.
Casey stands in front of the fridge again, hands clasped behind her neck, staring into the abyss of condiments, expired yogurt, and a suspiciously soft cucumber.
“Unless we want to feed her mustard and shredded cheese, we’re out of options,” she says grimly.
Alex sits at the kitchen table, Jesse balanced on her hip, chewing contentedly on her own fingers. “Didn’t Amanda leave snacks?”
“She left a pack of teething biscuits and three squeezable pouches that expired in March.” Casey closes the fridge. “We’re taking her out.”
Alex raises an eyebrow. “Like… to a restaurant?”
“Do you have a better idea? Because I’m five seconds from giving her dry cereal and hoping for the best.”
They settle into a booth at a quiet diner with the kind of sticky menus and warm lighting that says “we don’t judge.” Jesse is in a borrowed high chair—too big for her, but she’s thrilled regardless.
Casey orders pancakes and applesauce for her, pancakes and coffee for herself and Alex. The waitress coos at Jesse, who responds by flinging her spoon across the floor.
“She’s got an arm,” Alex mutters.
By the time the food arrives, Jesse’s in a mood again—fussy until the moment applesauce hits her tray. Then she digs in like she’s been stranded on a desert island.
Alex watches, completely entranced. “Okay, she’s… kind of cute.”
Casey sips her coffee. “Don’t say it.”
Alex gently brushes a crumb off Jesse’s cheek. “What? I didn’t want to like her. But she’s got these little—these cheeks.”
“You’re bonding.” Casey points at her, mock-accusing. “You’re emotionally compromised.”
Alex scoffs but she doesn’t put Jesse down for the rest of the meal. Even when the baby finishes eating and starts dozing against her shoulder, Alex just shifts her gently, resting her hand protectively over Jesse’s back.
Casey watches with a soft smile. “You’re a natural.”
Alex snorts. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I also once tried to microwave a frozen burrito with the foil still on.”
Back in the car, Amanda still hasn’t responded to any texts or calls. Casey sighs and taps the wheel at a red light. “We should swing by her place. Grab extra diapers, maybe a couple of changes of clothes.”
Alex nods, looking down at Jesse snoozing peacefully in the backseat. “If she stays another night, we’ll need reinforcements.”
Casey glances at her. “You okay with that?”
Alex smiles. “She’s already survived one day with us. We owe her a second one.”
Amanda’s spare key sticks a little in the lock, but Casey jimmies it open with a grunt and pushes the door inward.
The apartment is warm and cluttered, with baby toys scattered everywhere, an overstuffed diaper bag flopped in the entryway, and at least two mismatched socks on the kitchen counter.
Alex steps in cautiously, Jesse once again on her hip, peering around. “This place is… lived in.”
“Yeah,” Casey says, flicking on a light. “Lived in by a tornado.”
They start gathering essentials: diapers from the hall closet, a box of wipes from under the sink, a crumpled grocery list scrawled in Sharpie that just says “cheddar bunnies???” and “plums?”
Alex sets Jesse down on a play mat in the living room, where she immediately grabs a plastic truck and starts chewing on it.
Casey reappears from the hallway holding a tiny pair of dinosaur footie pajamas. “Okay, this is unfairly cute.”
Alex smiles. “You’re the one getting emotionally compromised now.”
Casey glares halfheartedly and tosses the pajamas in their growing supply pile. “I’m being practical. Pajamas are necessary.”
As Alex digs through the changing table drawers, she finds a small, dog-eared notebook jammed between a pile of extra bibs and a lavender-scented burp cloth. She flips it open curiously.
Inside are scribbled notes in Amanda’s messy handwriting: “Jesse loves ceiling fans,” “sings along to Grey’s Anatomy theme(??),” “says ‘mama’ only when mad at me,” and “likes when Casey talks. seriously, her voice calms her down.”
Alex freezes. “Casey.”
Casey looks up from the pile of baby socks. “Hmm?”
Alex holds up the notebook, open to the page. “You’re in here.”
Casey steps closer and reads, eyebrows rising. “Well, that’s weirdly flattering.”
Alex smiles. “Or incriminating. You’ve got baby-calming powers.”
“I demand that be added to my résumé immediately.”
Jesse lets out a squeaky giggle from the play mat. Casey looks over, watching her lift the truck and smash it gently onto her lap with great pride. She can’t help it. Her face softens.
Alex watches her watching Jesse and murmurs, “We’re kind of good at this.”
Casey turns to her, surprised. “You think so?”
“I mean,” Alex shrugs, “no one’s died. She’s fed, clean, and we only got banana in one shoe.”
Casey grins. “That’s basically parenting, right?”
They gather up the loot: pajamas, diapers, a handful of teething toys, and the weirdly sentimental notebook, and head out, Jesse now fast asleep in Alex’s arms again.
As they walk down the hallway, Alex whispers, “Think Amanda planned this?”
Casey glances sideways. “Planned as in… tricked us into babysitting to prove a point?”
“She is from Georgia. Southern guilt is a deadly weapon.”
Casey smirks. “Next time, I’m leaving you on her doorstep.”
The next morning dawns soft and sleepy. No new texts. No calls. Amanda’s radio silence stretches into its second day like a held breath.
Casey wakes to the smell of coffee and the faint sound of cartoon voices drifting down the hallway.
She rubs her eyes, pads into the kitchen barefoot, and stops.
Alex is sitting cross-legged on the couch, her hair loosely tied back, a mug of coffee balanced on the armrest beside her. Jesse is tucked into her lap, babbling quietly between spoonfuls of oatmeal.
Alex guides each spoon with a calm focus, occasionally pausing to wipe Jesse’s mouth with a napkin, murmuring, “Slow down, kiddo,” with a fond little smile that Casey can’t remember seeing before.
It’s gentle. It’s quiet.
Casey leans against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching.
She doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t want to break the spell, but Alex eventually senses her and glances over.
She startles just a bit. “How long have you been standing there?”
Casey smiles softly. “Long enough to question if I woke up in an alternate universe.”
Alex snorts, scooping up another bite of oatmeal. “You were out cold. Jesse and I decided to have an early breakfast.”
Casey steps forward, voice low. “She’s letting you feed her.”
“She also let me put her hair in these ridiculous little antenna buns,” Alex says, tilting her head toward the baby, who indeed has two tiny, lopsided pigtails sticking out like she’s halfway to becoming a Teletubby.
Casey grins. “Okay, that’s adorable. You’re doomed now. She’s imprinted on you.”
Alex looks down at Jesse, who’s now stuffing oatmeal into her own mouth with one determined fist. “Could be worse.”
Casey watches them for another moment, quieter now. “You’re good at this.”
Alex shrugs, pretending not to blush. “She makes it kind of easy.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Casey says. “That’s what makes it impressive.”
Their eyes meet—just for a second too long—and then Jesse sneezes oatmeal onto Alex’s shirt, breaking the moment entirely.
Alex groans. “Okay, no one tells Amanda about this part.”
Casey grabs a napkin and hands it over with a smile. “Too late. I’m mentally drafting the group chat now.”
Alex narrows her eyes. “I will take this child and flee the country.”
Casey laughs as Jesse squeals with delight, oatmeal-covered fingers waving in the air like she knows she’s won something.
As the sun sets on the second day, the apartment looks like a daycare collided with a crime scene.
There are board books in the couch cushions, a half-eaten apple on the windowsill, and someone (definitely not Jesse) has drawn on the wall with a purple crayon.
Casey is lying face-down on the rug, one arm stretched out dramatically. “This is how I die.”
Alex sits cross-legged nearby, her blouse stained with juice, gently brushing Jesse’s hair back as the baby dozes in her lap. “We survived. Barely.”
“You made her macaroni.”
“You bribed her with Tinkerbell.”
“You enjoyed Tinkerbell.”
“I was desperate,” Alex mutters.
They sit in exhausted silence, the only sound the faint hum of the dishwasher and Jesse’s soft breathing. For a moment, it’s peaceful again. Still, soft, even a little comforting.
Then Casey’s phone rings.
She fumbles for it and groans. “It’s Amanda.”
Alex perks up. “Put her on speaker.”
Casey does and Amanda’s tired face fills the screen. She’s clearly in some rundown motel room, hair up in a messy bun, a bottle of gas station iced tea in one hand.
“Hey,” Amanda says. “Don’t hate me.”
Casey and Alex exchange a look. “What happened?”
“My sister’s a trainwreck, my mom’s yelling at everybody, and I had to chase my nephew through a Walmart in heels. Anyway, I’ve got to stay two more days.”
Casey audibly groans. Alex slumps backward against the couch.
Amanda winces. “I know. I’m sorry. I owe you both like, ten brunches and a kidney.”
“Make it two kidneys,” Casey mutters.
Jesse stirs in Alex’s lap, then lets out a loud, dramatic sigh in her sleep. Amanda’s face softens.
“Is she okay?”
Alex adjusts the blanket around Jesse. “She’s fine. Chaos incarnate. But fine.”
Amanda smiles a little. “Thank you. Seriously.”
Casey waves a hand weakly. “Don’t thank us yet. You still have to come get her.”
Amanda laughs, and then the screen freezes for a moment—her connection dropping just long enough for them to miss her goodbye.
Casey stares at the frozen screen. “Did she hang up, or did we lose her?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Alex mumbles, already lying down. “We’re in this now.”
Jesse shifts in her lap, snuggles deeper.
Casey exhales, then reaches over to pull a blanket across both of them. “We really are.”
The three of them fall asleep tangled together on the couch.
newpopenewpopenewpope
calex, to no one’s surprise
One Week | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak
Casey brings home a cat.
fluff
“It’s just for a week,” Casey said, cradling a scrawny, orange creature in her arms like she was holding a human infant (which wasn’t too far off, because the thing had been screaming since she left the shelter).
Alex gave the cat a once-over. It looked like it had recently fought God, lost, and now lived with the consequences. Its fur stuck out at odd angles, it was missing a small chunk of one ear, and it was currently trying to climb into Casey’s jacket.
“She looks like she eats drywall,” Alex said.
“She’s perfect,” Casey cooed, stroking the cat’s crooked whiskers. “Her name’s Pickles.”
“Of course it is,” Alex sighed. “One week.”
Casey’s face lit up. “I love you so much.”
“One. Week,” Alex repeated, pointing.
“Totally.”
“No exceptions.”
“Absolutely.”
“She’s not sleeping in the bed.”
Three hours later, Pickles was curled up between them on the bed, snoring, her matted tail flicking over Alex’s bare leg.
Alex blinked at the ceiling, deadpan. “I hate you.”
Casey, already half-asleep with a smile on her face, murmured, “Love you too.”
Day Two started with the distinct sound of ceramic shattering on hardwood.
Alex bolted upright in bed. “What was that?”
Casey, groggy and wrapped in the comforter, barely opened one eye. “She’s just exploring.”
“She’s committing crimes,” Alex said, storming into the kitchen.
There, on the counter, sat Pickles—smug and entirely unbothered—next to the broken remains of Alex’s prized espresso mug. The one from Florence. The one Alex had bubble-wrapped and hand-carried back through airport security because “you can’t trust checked luggage with art.”
Pickles sneezed directly into the open sugar bowl.
Casey appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. “She’s got spirit.”
“She’s got a death wish,” Alex muttered, sweeping up the shards.
Pickles leapt down and immediately attempted to climb Alex’s pant leg like a tree.
Day 4.
Alex returned home to the sound of running water and the distinct, unmistakable sound of something being violently splashed.
Alarmed, she dropped her briefcase and hurried toward the bathroom.
“Casey?” she called out, knocking once before pushing the door open.
The scene inside resembled a crime scene. The floor was soaked. A towel hung halfway off the shower rod like it had tried to escape. Shampoo bottles littered the ground. In the center of the chaos, Casey sat on a tiny plastic stool, soaked from the neck down, with a defeated look on her face.
Pickles sat beside her in the tub, completely drenched and looking like a very wet, very pissed-off meatball.
Her fur clung to her bones in angry spikes. Her eyes were wild, pupils fully dilated, as she clung to the porcelain tub wall like she was scaling it to freedom. The water was shallow, barely enough to soak her paws, but Pickles made it sound like she was being boiled alive.
“What the hell is going on in here?” Alex demanded, eyebrows raised so high they nearly reached her hairline.
Casey looked up like a prisoner of war. “I thought she had a flea,” she said weakly. “She kept scratching and I panicked. I Googled it. It said to try a bath.”
“You Googled it?” Alex repeated, stunned. “You didn’t call a vet. You didn’t ask me. You just threw the cat in the tub like you’re washing a pair of jeans?”
“I gently lowered her in,” Casey said, defensive. “She launched herself out.”
As if on cue, Pickles made a sound like that of a kettle and tried to leap onto the windowsill. She missed, skidded on a bar of soap, and landed in Alex’s lap.
Alex screamed.
Casey screamed.
Pickles hissed, scratched, and bolted out of the bathroom, leaving wet paw prints and chaos in her wake.
There was a long pause.
Alex, frozen, slowly looked down at the claw marks on her thigh. “I’m bleeding.”
“She didn’t mean it,” Casey said, reaching for a towel and trying not to laugh.
“She’s a menace,” Alex muttered, yanking toilet paper off the roll to dab her leg. “You bathed her like she’s a golden retriever. She weighs five pounds and runs entirely on spite.”
“I panicked,” Casey said again, standing up and wringing out the ends of her hair. “I just—I wanted her to feel clean and safe.”
Alex gave her a look, but her expression softened. “You’re so lucky I love you.”
Casey stepped forward, wrapped her arms around Alex’s waist, and buried her wet face in her shoulder. “She’s kind of growing on you, though.”
Alex sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
From the hallway, a wet mrrp echoed like a vengeful ghost.
Alex groaned. “She’s plotting her revenge.”
“She just wants a cuddle.”
“She wants my soul.”
Day 6.
Alex had gone to the store for one thing: oat milk.
Just oat milk. Maybe a box of herbal tea if they had the kind Casey liked. A quick, efficient stop on her way home from court. In and out.
She did not plan to spend 18 minutes in the pet food aisle.
Yet there she was, dressed in slacks and a tailored coat, crouched on the linoleum floor comparing cans of cat food as if they contained ancient scripture.
“Why are there so many flavors?” she muttered to herself, holding up a tin of “Tuna Florentine in a Delicate Sauce” and squinting at the ingredient list. “Why does she need Florentine anything? She eats her own tail.”
A woman with a stroller passed by and gave her a sympathetic smile. Alex straightened abruptly, tucking the can under her arm like it was contraband.
Eventually, she walked out with three different flavors of “gourmet” wet food, a new ceramic food bowl shaped like a fish (because the current one was ‘depressing,’ Casey had claimed), and, inexplicably, a catnip-infused plush mouse.
She sat in traffic for twenty minutes afterward, staring straight ahead and re-evaluating her entire life.
When she opened the apartment door, she was immediately greeted by the sound of Pickles yowling. Not her usual war cry. This one was lower, more drawn-out. Sadder.
“Casey?” Alex called.
“In the bedroom!”
Alex toed off her shoes and followed the noise to find Pickles sprawled dramatically on the bed, head on Casey’s pillow like a Victorian widow. Casey stood at the dresser, folding laundry.
“She wouldn’t eat the chicken pate,” Casey said as Alex entered. “She stared at it like I’d offended her ancestors.”
Alex blinked. “That was the expensive kind.”
“She looked at me like I was a disappointment. Then she licked my leg and sulked off.”
Alex dropped the bag on the bed and pulled out the new cans. “What about Tuna Florentine?”
Casey gasped. “You got her a fish bowl.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Pickles perked up at the sound of the bag rustling. She rose slowly, suspiciously, and approached Alex.
Alex knelt down. “Look, demon. I brought you the kind with gravy. You better appreciate this.”
Pickles sniffed the air, bumped her head gently against Alex’s knee, then curled up against her side like it was no big deal.
Casey froze.
Alex stared down at the creature now purring like a chainsaw in her lap.
“She’s using me for food,” Alex said flatly.
Casey’s face was splitting into a grin. “She cuddled you.”
“She thinks I’m a vending machine.”
“She loves you,” Casey sang, grabbing her phone. “Smile for the ‘Alex Is Soft Now’ album.”
“I will end you.”
Pickles lifted her head and licked Alex’s hand once.
Alex blinked. “Okay… that was almost cute.”
“Admit it,” Casey said, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “You love her.”
“I—” Alex looked down. Pickles was now curled tightly in her lap, snoring. “I think I’m being emotionally manipulated.”
Casey walked over, kissed the top of her head, and whispered, “Welcome to cat ownership.”
Alex sighed and gently stroked a patch of Pickles’ fur that wasn’t sticking up like a cowlick.
“She’s still not sleeping in the bed.”
“She definitely is.”
Alex didn’t argue.
Day 7.
Casey was crying.
Not the cute, watery-eyed sniffles that made Alex melt a little. No. This was full-on, gut-wrenching, ugly sobbing. She’d clearly given up on tissues and was just using the sleeve of Alex’s hoodie, which she’d stolen again. Pickles was curled in her lap, purring gently and blinking in that vaguely condescending way only cats could manage, like she didn’t quite understand what the fuss was about.
“I just—she trusted me,” Casey hiccupped, pressing her cheek to Pickles’ bony side. “She’s finally not screaming all the time and now I have to take her back? She thinks she lives here, Alex.”
From the door, Alex said nothing. There was a brief scraping noise.
“I mean, I know it was supposed to be a week, I know, I know, but she’s mine, okay? She’s weird and loud and shaped like a brick and she bites you for no reason but—” Casey broke off with another sob, wiping her nose on the cuff of her sleeve. “I love her.”
There was a grunt. More scraping.
Casey looked up blearily, snotty and red-faced, just as Alex emerged from the hallway dragging in a cat tree the size of her.
It had platforms. Ramps. A tunnel. A little flower-shaped perch at the top.
“What… are you doing?” Casey asked between gasping sobs, brow furrowed.
Alex set the tree down with a thud, wiped her hands on her jeans, and looked Casey dead in the eyes.
“I signed the adoption papers three days ago,” she said casually.
Silence.
Pickles let out a single, satisfied squawk.
Casey stared at her, mouth open, blinking rapidly like her brain had short-circuited. “You… what?”
Alex walked over, knelt in front of the couch, and gently wiped a tear off Casey’s cheek with her thumb. “You really thought I was going to make you give her up after you made her a little hat out of yarn and sang her a lullaby last night?”
“That was private,” Casey whimpered.
“I know,” Alex said, smiling faintly. “I came out for water and heard you rhyming ‘Pickles’ with ‘tickles.’ It was disturbing.”
Casey laughed, then immediately hiccuped and cried harder.
“She’s ours?”
“She’s ours,” Alex confirmed. “Congratulations. You’re now legally responsible for a sentient dust mop with abandonment issues.”
Casey clutched Pickles to her chest, who tolerated it with a quiet wheeze, and reached out with her free hand to pull Alex into a hug.
Alex let herself be folded in, buried her face in Casey’s hair, and whispered, “She’s still not sleeping in the bed.”
From her new perch, Pickles blinked slowly, smug as hell.
She knew.
Law and Order SVU: Season 3, Episode 16: Popular