Yeah You Could Say I’m Doing Numbers On Tumblr. And That Numbers? One

You are my Sunshine | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak

Casey and Alex are married and trying to hold onto a sense of normal. But when Alex begins to withdraw, Casey’s world begins to crack at the edges. What starts as subtle changes spirals into something irreversible: a devastating diagnosis Alex has kept secret for months.

Hurt/ Comfort, angst without a happy ending major character death... 9k wc

AO3 link !

Please take care while reading. Contains themes of love, loss, and terminal illness that may be triggering for some.

The mornings were always the quietest part of their day. Before court filings and legal memos, before the clang of the city found its way through their windows, before the world asked too much of either of them. Casey woke first, as usual, padding barefoot across the kitchen floor in the faded yellow hoodie Alex always threatened to steal. The coffee machine gurgled to life as she pulled two mugs from the cabinet, setting one in its place on the counter without looking. She didn’t need to. Alex always used the dark blue one with the chip in the handle.

Alex appeared a few minutes later, wrapped in her robe, hair damp from the shower. There was a small hitch in her step as she crossed the room, subtle enough that someone else might have missed it. But Casey noticed. She always noticed. 

“You okay?” she asked, pouring coffee into the chipped mug. Alex nodded and smiled, brushing a kiss to Casey’s cheek. 

“Just slept funny,” she said, reaching for the sugar like she always did, three teaspoons even though she swore she liked it black.

It wasn’t the first time Alex had brushed something off lately. Two weeks ago, she’d come home late from arraignment and winced when she bent to take off her heels. Last weekend, she sat through an entire dinner with their friends gripping the edge of her chair like she was in pain. It was subtle at first, missed steps on the stairs, the way she rubbed her knee absently, how she started favoring her right leg when she thought no one was looking. She hadn’t complained, hadn’t said a word about it, but Casey could feel something was off.

Later that morning, as Casey prepped her opening statement for the day’s trial, she heard Alex moving around upstairs. Closet doors opened, drawers shut, footsteps muffled on the carpet. Then, silence. When Casey went to check on her, Alex was sitting on the edge of their bed, fully dressed, staring down at the floor like she’d forgotten what she’d come into the room to do. She looked up, smiled like nothing was wrong, and said she had a meeting uptown. Casey didn’t press her. She never wanted to be the person who pushed too hard.

Days passed, and the pain seemed to worsen. Alex began carrying icy hot packets in her purse and started taking ibuprofen with her coffee in the mornings. Casey offered to call her friend, a sports medicine doctor, just to rule out a nerve issue. Alex brushed her off with a laugh, saying it was probably from sitting too long at the office. “I’m not twenty-five anymore,” she said, trying to make it sound like a joke. Casey just smiled.

Alex started working later, coming home exhausted and quiet. She curled into bed without changing out of her suit. She stopped reading at night and started canceling plans. Casey took over groceries, errands, and the cat’s vet appointments. Small things, but they added up. And when she asked if something was wrong, Alex always gave the same answer. “I’m fine. Just tired. It’s nothing.”

She started coughing. Dry at first, occasional, barely more than a throat clear at night that Alex dismissed as seasonal allergies. The windows were open, and the city air was never kind to her. Casey offered to grab some Claritin from the pharmacy, but Alex said she already had some at work. She smiled when she said it, then turned her head to cough again.

The cough didn’t go away. It deepened, hollow and sharp, like it came from somewhere deeper than her lungs. Then came the night sweats—first once, then twice, then almost every night. Casey would wake to find Alex’s side of the bed soaked through, her body twisted in damp sheets, hair clinging to her temples. The first time it happened, Casey reached for her in a panic, only for Alex to murmur something unintelligible and roll away, too exhausted to care. The second time, Alex got up in the middle of the night and changed into dry clothes without saying anything. She barely opened her eyes. The third time, Casey woke to find Alex sitting on the edge of the bed in silence, wrapped in a towel, staring at nothing. Her hands were shaking. She said she was cold, but her skin was burning.

Alex stopped eating breakfast. Then lunch. Then dinner. Food lost its appeal, she said. She felt bloated, nauseous, just not hungry. But her clothes started hanging differently, and the shadows under her eyes deepened. She took to drinking protein shakes in the morning, which she left half-finished on the counter. Casey noticed, of course, but Alex was always a little forgetful when she was under stress, and stress came with the job. That’s what Casey told herself as she rinsed out another barely touched glass and watched Alex sleep through an entire Saturday afternoon.

The stomach aches came next. Dull, low, always brushed off with a wince and a hand wave. “I ate too fast” became her new catchphrase, even when she hadn’t eaten at all. She started avoiding the stairs when she could. Casey once found her doubled over in the bathroom, her face pale and her arms gripping the tub so hard her knuckles were white. “It’s just a stomach bug,” she’d said breathlessly, swallowing back. She smiled through it like it didn’t feel like her body was turning traitor beneath her skin.

They stopped going out. No more Sunday brunches or wine on the balcony or long walks through Prospect Park. Casey chalked it up to work fatigue. Trials were draining and Alex had never been great about balancing rest with ambition. But it was more than that. Alex was fading, and Casey could feel it like a draft slipping through the walls of their home. She tried to tell herself she was imagining it. She tried to remember that Alex had always been tough, private, a little closed off when things got overwhelming. But some mornings, when Casey rolled over and looked at her wife’s sleeping face, drenched in sweat, hair limp against her forehead, arms curled protectively around herself, she felt an unshakable fear rising in her throat.

Still, Alex smiled. She kissed Casey goodbye in the mornings, still said “I love you” before bed. She still made coffee, even if she didn’t drink it. She still wore lipstick when she went to court, even if her skin was grayer than usual beneath the blush. Whatever was wrong, she wasn’t ready to admit it. 

Not to Casey. Not even to herself.

It was the missed appointment that finally tipped the balance. Insignificant on its own, but jarring in its inconsistency. Alex never missed doctor’s appointments. She kept her calendar obsessively organized, color-coded down to court dates, press briefings, and annual checkups. So when Casey came home early one afternoon to find the reminder card from Alex’s pcp still pinned to the fridge with the old magnet from their London trip untouched, something inside her tightened. The date had already passed.

She didn’t bring it up right away. Instead, she moved quietly, watching. It was easier than she wanted to admit. Alex seemed to live in half-light lately, shadows under her eyes, shoulders always tight. Her suits hung more loosely on her frame than they had just a month before. The tailored lines that once hugged her body now hung limp, and Casey noticed the way she avoided mirrors, changing in the bathroom with the door shut instead of pulling on her pajamas while chatting about her day.

One night, while Alex was in the shower, Casey went looking for toothpaste in the downstairs guest bathroom and found the drawer stuck. When she finally got it open, her eyes caught on a small zippered pouch tucked beneath a pile of travel-size shampoo bottles. Inside were three orange pill bottles. Two for anti-nausea medication, one for painkillers. All were recent. None had been mentioned. All were prescribed under the same reduced initials. A.C.

Casey stood there for a long time, one hand still gripping the edge of the drawer, her breath catching. The sound of the shower running upstairs felt impossibly far away. She closed the drawer slowly, gently, as if being too loud might set something irreversible in motion.

That night, they ate takeout on the couch. Pad Thai and spring rolls. Alex pushed her food around for a while before declaring she wasn’t hungry. Casey leaned in just enough to brush a hand over her arm. 

“You’ve barely touched anything this week,” she said softly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Alex looked at her like she had rehearsed the answer a hundred times. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine, Case. Really. Work’s just been… a lot lately. I’m not sleeping well. But I’ll catch up this weekend. Promise.”

She leaned over and kissed Casey’s temple before setting her plate down, untouched. She curled up under the blanket like her bones ached. Casey let it go for the moment. But as she sat in the kitchen rinsing off two mostly full plates of food, she stared down at the sink and felt the kind of quiet that had nothing to do with peace settle around her chest like a weight.

That night, Alex kissed her longer than usual before falling asleep, like she was apologizing for something she hadn’t said yet.

***

They were supposed to meet Olivia and Elliot for brunch downtown, something casual and long overdue. Alex had seemed more alert that morning. Less pale. more herself. She even smiled when Casey handed her coffee, a real one this time, not the protein shake she barely touched anymore. 

“Maybe I’ll even order pancakes,” she giggled, tugging her hair into a low ponytail. Her eyes still looked tired, but her voice had that dry lilt Casey had always loved. For a moment, it was easy to believe they were fine.

They never made it out the door.

Casey had gone to grab her coat from the closet when she heard a crash. It wasn’t loud, just a muffled thud, the sound of something soft hitting wood. She turned on instinct, heart hammering, and sprinted back into the bedroom.

Alex was on the floor, crumpled beside the dresser, one hand braced against the hardwood, the other clutching her side. Her breathing was shallow, rapid. Her face had gone ghostly white, and sweat clung to her forehead.

“Alex—Jesus—Alex.” Casey was on the floor in seconds, hands on her, trying to lift her upright, trying to make sense of what was happening. Alex winced and shook her head, mouthing something Casey couldn’t make out. 

“You’re burning up,” Casey whispered, reaching to touch her cheek, and Alex flinched.

“I’m fine,” Alex murmured hoarsely, barely above a whisper.

“No, you’re not. You’re not fine.” Her voice cracked. “You just collapsed, Alex.”

Alex wouldn’t meet her eyes. She tried to sit up, limbs trembling with the effort, and Casey steadied her, heart pounding. “Let me call an ambulance—please—”

“No,” Alex said, stronger this time. “Not… not yet. Just help me up.”

Casey wanted to fight her. She wanted to scream, to shake her and demand answers right there on the floor. But something about the way Alex gripped her arm like it was the only thing tethering her to the room made her swallow the panic rising in her throat.

She helped Alex to bed and got her water. Turned off the bedroom light even though it was barely noon. Sat on the edge of the mattress while Alex curled in on herself, one arm still cradling her side like something inside her was splintering.

She didn’t go to brunch. She texted Olivia a vague excuse, “Alex’s not feeling well, sorry, next weekend?” and then sat alone in the kitchen with the lights off and her untouched coffee cooling in her hands.

When Alex finally fell asleep, Casey slipped into the home office. She didn’t have a plan. Just a sick feeling that there was more to find.

The file drawer was unlocked. Inside, behind the tax folders and old case summaries, was a manila envelope marked insurance . Casey pulled it out, hands trembling. Inside were medical receipts. Imaging center bills. Oncology appointment summaries. There were names of specialists she didn’t recognize and diagnostic codes she didn’t understand. One word kept repeating: sarcoma .

Beneath it, she found more pill bottles. Stronger ones. Not hidden this time, just filed away like facts in a case she hadn’t been allowed to read. The paperwork wasn’t complete, no diagnosis letter, no treatment plan, but there was enough to shift the ground under her feet.

The paperwork was meticulous, of course. It always was with Alex. Everything labeled, tabbed, arranged by date. If Casey hadn’t been sick with fear, she might’ve found it impressive—might’ve made some dry comment about her wife’s compulsive organization habits. But now, as she sat cross-legged on the floor, documents spread around her like broken glass, it felt like sifting through a stranger’s life. Cold. Distant. Prepared.The receipts blurred together, dates and numbers meaningless against the thudding drumbeat of cancer cancer cancer .

She pulled out another folder—no markings at first glance. Just plain cream paper, thicker than the rest. She almost passed it over. Almost didn’t open it. But something stopped her. Maybe it was the weight of it, heavier than it should’ve been. Or maybe it was instinct.

Her thumb slipped under the flap. Inside, everything was neatly stacked. A manila envelope with Casey written across the front in familiar, looping cursive. Another labeled Mom and Dad . Both were sealed, untouched. Beneath them, clipped between two notarized forms, was a third document, printed, dated, signed.

Her eyes caught the words immediately. Do Not Resuscitate Order. She didn’t need to read the fine print. The name Alexandra Cabot leapt off the page in black ink, sharp and deliberate. The signature dated three weeks ago. Notarized. Witnessed. No room for doubt. No room for hope.

She read it once, then again, slower, her eyes refusing to blink as if keeping them open might stop the floor from disintegrating beneath her. The paper was cold in her hands.

Casey didn’t open the letters. She couldn’t. Her hands were already trembling, her stomach twisting violently, bile rising in her throat. She pressed a palm to her chest, trying to breathe, trying to ground herself in something, anything , other than the fact that Alex had already written her goodbye. Had done it in secret. Had made the choice to die quietly, alone, without giving Casey the chance to fight for her, with her, next to her.

A quiet moan tore itself from her mouth, somewhere between a sob and a gasp, and she folded forward, her arms hugging the envelopes to her chest like she could will them into nonexistence. Her knees drew up instinctively. She was no longer a prosecutor. No longer composed. No longer anything but a wife who had just learned the person she loved most had chosen not to tell her she was dying.

Casey pressed her palm against her mouth, trying to keep the sob down. The air in the room was thin. The shadows felt deeper, heavier. Every detail—the soft hum of the radiator, the smell of old paper, the faint city noise outside the window—taunted her with the knowledge that the world was still turning when hers had just stopped.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to shake Alex awake and demand the truth, force it out of her with trembling hands and all the grief she’d just been handed. But she didn’t. The weight of what she knew was too massive to move with anger alone.

She put everything back exactly as she found it, down to the creased flap and the placement of the folders. Her hands moved on autopilot. If Alex saw any disturbance, she would retreat deeper. And Casey, God , Casey wasn’t ready to confront her. Not yet. She couldn’t face that calm, practiced voice lying to her again. Not when she knew now what it was hiding.

She walked out of the office in silence. The world tilted. The hallway felt longer than usual.

In the bedroom, Alex was still asleep. Her face looked peaceful in a way that felt cruel now. Her hand lay over her stomach, twitching faintly with every shallow breath. Her face was pale, gaunt. Her wedding band glinted faintly in the afternoon light.

Casey stood in the doorway and watched her.

The apartment was still. Alex was propped up in bed with a book on her lap, glasses sliding slightly down the bridge of her nose. She looked up when Casey entered the room, offered a faint smile. “You didn’t have to do the dishes. I was going to—”

“Don’t,” Casey said.

The word came out too quiet. Not angry. Not even sharp. Just… hollow.

Alex blinked. “Case?”

Casey stepped forward slowly, hands at her sides. They were still trembling. She hadn’t stopped shaking since the office. Her pulse was a dull roar in her ears, and her throat burned with something unspeakable.

“You signed a DNR,” she said flatly. “And wrote me a goodbye letter.”

Alex froze.

“I found it. In the office.” Casey took a breath, shallow and uneven. “Were you planning to just die and leave me a goddamn note?” Her voice cracked at the end, high and raw and unforgiving.

Alex stared at her, color draining from her already pale face. She closed the book slowly, set it on the nightstand like she needed a shield. “You weren’t supposed to find that.”

Casey let out a laugh, bitter and sharp. “Well, I did. Between the painkillers you shoved in a drawer and the oncology bills you buried under tax returns, it was really just a matter of time, wasn’t it?”

“I wasn’t hiding it to hurt you—”

“Then what were you doing?” Casey’s voice rose again, sharp and desperate. “What is this, Alex? What the hell is this? You were just going to wither away in silence and leave me with a folded piece of paper and a funeral to plan?”

Alex opened her mouth. Closed it. Her hands twisted in the blanket, knuckles white.

Casey stepped closer, eyes burning, lips trembling. “You’re my wife. You don’t get to shut me out of this—of you —because it’s easier than watching me grieve in real time. You don’t get to take that choice from me.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Bullshit.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Casey could feel her heartbeat in her teeth. Her breath caught again, and when she spoke, her voice cracked open completely.

“Do you know what it felt like? Seeing my name on that envelope? Knowing you sat down and wrote out your last words to me without saying a single one out loud?”

Alex’s eyes were glassy now too, but she didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Casey shook her head, tears sliding down her cheeks unchecked. “You were planning to die without me, Alex. You were planning to go through this alone like I’m some—some stranger you used to know.”

“I couldn’t let you watch me disappear.” Alex finally spoke. Her voice was fragile, cracking with every syllable. Her face was buried in her hands, and her body shook as though it was fighting a war it couldn’t win. “I’ve seen what this does to people, Casey. How they break watching someone they love fade away. I couldn’t let you... see me wasting away —see me become a ghost.”

Casey stood there, frozen, her breath coming in ragged bursts. She reached for her, instinctively, but stopped herself just short, as if she feared the touch would burn her. And it would. Everything burned.

Alex’s words continued, trembling, barely more than whispers between sobs.

“I wanted you to remember me before. Before all of this…” Her voice broke entirely. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you watching me go, piece by piece, until there was nothing left. You deserve more than that.”

Casey’s chest heaved with each breath, struggling to keep it together. But Alex’s words shattered her composure completely. She let the tears fall now, no more holding them back. Her heart was breaking, cracking open in ways she hadn’t known were possible.

Alex’s body convulsed with the weight of her sobs. It was ugly, desperate crying, the kind that seemed to come from somewhere deep and unreachable, a place where you couldn’t breathe until you let it all out. Alex’s shoulders shook violently, and she curled into herself as if she could disappear into the mattress.

The sight of her so small and broken pulled something loose in Casey. She moved forward in a rush, desperate, grabbing Alex’s shoulders with both hands, her grip tight enough to anchor them both in the storm of grief.

“No,” Casey choked out. “ No. ” Her voice was fierce, raw, almost unrecognizable. “I married you. I chose this, Alex. Don’t take that away from me.”

Alex flinched at the force of Casey’s words, looking up at her with eyes so full of pain, of guilt, of something far too heavy to hold. And then, she collapsed into Casey’s arms, her sobs coming in violent bursts that shook both of them.

Casey held her tightly, her own body trembling with the weight of everything she hadn’t known—everything Alex had kept hidden from her. “You don’t get to choose for me,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I chose you, and I will stand by you. I will fight for you. But you have to let me, Alex. You have to let me in. ”

Alex’s arms wrapped around Casey’s waist, pulling her in closer as if trying to hold on to the last sliver of herself, of them. Her voice was barely a rasp as she spoke, thick with tears. “I didn’t want to make you suffer.”

“I would have suffered with you, Alex. ” Casey’s words were fierce now, desperate in the quiet room. “I would have stayed. Always. I’m not going anywhere.”

The following morning, she marched into the kitchen with purpose. Alex was sitting at the table, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, her face pale but still holding the calm, composed mask she wore so well. She didn’t look up when Casey entered. She hadn’t looked at her much since the argument, and Casey felt a knot of frustration tighten in her chest.

“You’re going to every treatment from now on,” Casey said, her voice firm, unyielding. “No more hiding this from me. No more pretending.”

Alex blinked, her gaze flickering up at Casey, but there was no response. Just that same tired look: the one that said she was done, the one that said she didn’t want to argue anymore. The one that said she was already bracing for the inevitable.

“I’m coming with you,” Casey repeated, taking a step closer, her words relentless. 

“Every appointment. Every round of chemo. I’m not staying home pretending this isn’t happening. You don’t get to make that choice for me anymore.”

Alex opened her mouth to protest, but before she could speak, Casey pulled a folder from the counter. The one she had found the night before. Her fingers trembled with a mix of anger and heartbreak, but she didn’t hesitate.

She ripped the paper in half, then in half again, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

The DNR fell to the floor, pieces scattered like the fragile hope she had left. She didn’t look at it. Didn’t need to. Her eyes were fixed on Alex, who had gone completely still, her face frozen in a mixture of shock and helplessness.

Casey’s breath was ragged as she knelt down to gather the torn fragments. She shoved them into a trash can, too forcefully, her hands shaking with rage. “I can’t make you fight this, Alex. But I can be right there beside you while you do. And I won’t let you give up.”

“I signed it because I didn’t want to hurt you,” Alex said, her voice small, quiet. She didn’t raise her eyes, her hands still holding the mug in front of her like some kind of shield.

“You’re not hurting me, Alex,” Casey responded fiercely, her voice breaking at the end, emotion thick in her throat. “You’re making me watch you die while you push me away. You’re making the decision for me before I even have a chance to be there.”

Alex’s eyes closed slowly, and she let out a ragged sigh. “You don’t know what it’s like to—”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare.” Casey’s voice was sharp as she cut Alex off. She moved closer, standing right in front of her now. 

“You’re not doing this alone, no matter how hard you try to push me away. I’m not leaving. I’m not giving up on you. And I’m not going to stand by and watch you make decisions about our life like it’s yours to handle on your own.”

The air between them crackled with tension. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Alex finally looked up at her, eyes filled with an exhaustion Casey had never seen before. The weight of what was happening pressed down on her, and for the first time, Casey could see the bone-deep weariness in Alex’s expression. The way the fight had slowly drained from her over the past few weeks. The way she was slowly fading.

But Casey refused to look away. She couldn’t.

“I love you,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, but firm with everything that she had. “I choose you. Let me be there for you, Alex. Let me help carry this with you.”

Alex’s shoulders sagged, her head dropping as if the world had suddenly become too much. “I don’t want you to watch me die.”

“I already am, ” Casey said softly. She knelt in front of Alex, cupping her face with both hands, making Alex meet her eyes. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Alex closed her eyes, letting out a breath that trembled. The fight had gone out of her for the moment. The DNR was gone. The decision had been made, even if Casey couldn’t override the legal document. The choice had been taken from her, but she knew one thing for sure: she was not letting Alex go through this alone.

***

Alex’s fall had come out of nowhere. One moment, she was standing in the hallway of their apartment, reaching for a book on the top shelf, the next, she was crumpling to the ground, her body slamming against the floor with an awful crack.

Casey had been in the kitchen when it happened, rushing to Alex’s side the moment she heard the sound of her name gasped through labored breaths. She had rushed her to the hospital, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break free from her chest.

But now, a week later, Alex was still in the hospital, her condition only worsening. They had found more complications. The fall had broken her wrist, but the pain in her ribs had grown unbearable as the days wore on. She was coughing more now, and every breath seemed harder than the last. The doctors were working tirelessly to manage her pain and administer the treatments, but the fear that she might not make it through this remained thick in the air.

And Casey? Casey hadn’t left her side. Not for a single moment.

It was late, well past midnight, and the hospital room was quiet, save for the faint beeping of the monitors and the occasional sound of footsteps in the hallway. Alex lay in the hospital bed, her face pale and drawn, eyes closed but clearly awake. Casey sat beside her, her fingers gently tracing the back of Alex’s hand, her thumb brushing over the pulse point in her wrist. The touch was tender, almost reverent. She had learned in these past few weeks how much she took for granted. The little things. The way Alex would make her coffee in the mornings. The way she smiled when she saw Casey walk into the room. The way she would reach for her hand without thinking, just because.

Now, there was only the stillness of the hospital room. Casey’s fingers didn’t leave Alex’s skin. She wouldn’t let them. She couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Alex’s voice broke the silence, rough and weak. Her eyes fluttered open, and she turned her head slowly toward Casey, her expression a mix of exhaustion and vulnerability. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Casey squeezed her hand, her heart aching. “You didn’t scare me. You woke me up, Alex.”

Alex’s eyes softened for a moment, but she quickly turned her face away, trying to hide the tears that threatened to spill. Casey noticed everything, every little shift in her posture, the way Alex’s body clenched when the pain hit, the way she struggled to keep it together, as though it was her responsibility to protect Casey from the inevitable.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Alex whispered, her voice cracking as she spoke. “I don’t know how to ask you to stay... through all of this. It’s too much. I’m too much.”

Casey shook her head, brushing the hair from Alex’s face with the gentleness that had become second nature. “You’re not too much, Alex. You never have been.”

“I’m all broken,” Alex continued, her voice almost a whisper now, as though she was afraid the words would be too heavy to say aloud. “You deserve someone whole.”

“No,” Casey said firmly, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you. I always have. And I’m not leaving you, not through any of this.”

Alex closed her eyes, the tears slipping free now, hot and silent, slipping down her face. Casey reached up, cupping Alex’s face in both hands, lifting her chin gently. Her heart broke with every tear she saw, but she refused to look away.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Alex whispered, barely audible. “I’m scared, Casey. I’m so scared.”

“I know,” Casey replied, her voice soft but steady. “I’m scared too, but I’m right here. Every second. You don’t have to be scared alone. Not anymore.”

For a long time, they stayed like that. The machines beeped softly, the room bathed in the soft glow of the nightlights. Casey didn’t let go of Alex’s hand. She didn’t dare. She stayed there for every painful moment through the quiet nights and the tests and the treatments, through the quiet moments of terror when Alex’s body seemed to fight back against the disease. But Casey stayed, unwavering, her love for Alex only deepening with each passing second.

The improvement in Alex’s condition was marginal at best. The chemo had begun to show a flicker of progress. Her pain was more manageable, her fever finally broke, but her body still seemed fragile. Fighting. The doctors had said it might be a remission, but everyone in the room knew that even the faintest glimmer of hope was just that. Faint.

Casey had been by Alex’s side through it all, and the weight of the endless days in the hospital, the slow march of time where progress came in incremental steps, had begun to take its toll on her. The quiet hours spent in the sterile, monotonous environment had started to wear down her usual tough exterior. She could feel the cracks beginning to form, the mask of calm she wore starting to fracture.

One night, as she watched Alex sleep, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath, her face pale but softened by the faintest hint of relief, Casey felt a wave of exhaustion crash over her. Her shoulders slumped, the burden of everything pressing down on her, and before she could stop it, a sob broke free from her throat, too sharp and raw to be ignored.

She hadn’t realized she was crying until the tears started to fall, hot and uncontrollable. She had kept so much inside. So much fear, helplessness, the desperation to fix things, to make Alex better, to take away the pain. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t do anything. And it was that realization that shattered her. She curled up on the chair beside Alex’s bed, her body trembling. She wasn’t supposed to break like this. Not in front of Alex. She had been the strong one, the one who had promised Alex she wouldn’t leave, that she would be there through every dark moment. But now, in the quiet of the hospital room, Casey found herself utterly undone.

“Casey?” Alex’s voice was soft but filled with concern. She had woken, her eyes blinking open slowly, her hand reaching out to touch Casey’s shoulder. “Casey, what’s wrong?”

Casey shook her head, the tears falling faster now, her face hidden in her hands as if she could somehow stop the flood. 

“I can’t—” Her voice cracked, and she couldn’t finish the sentence. She couldn’t find the words to say what had been pressing on her chest for so long. “I can’t watch you… I can’t watch you die, Alex.”

Alex’s eyes softened, and she slowly shifted in the bed, wincing at the pain, but she pushed through it to sit up, her arms reaching for Casey. “Hey, come here,” she said gently, her voice still hoarse from the illness but steady enough to offer comfort. “Come here, baby.”

Casey hesitated for a moment, the weight of everything keeping her rooted in place, but then she let go of the chair and crawled onto the bed beside Alex. She curled into Alex’s arms like she had so many times before, letting the older woman’s warmth and presence surround her.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. Casey clung to her, her face buried in the crook of Alex’s neck, trying to put herself back together. The air between them was thick with unsaid words and unspoken fears. But there was something about the way Alex held her that made everything feel just a little more bearable.

Alex’s hand ran through Casey’s hair, the motion slow and soothing. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Casey,” she whispered, her voice low and comforting. “I’m right here. I promise.”

Casey’s sobs started to quiet, and she pulled back just enough to look at Alex, her red-rimmed eyes filled with an aching sadness. “How can you say that? How can you promise something like that when—”

Alex silenced her with a soft finger to her lips, the smile that appeared on her face only faint but sincere. “Because I know you, and I know we’re not done yet.” She took a deep breath, her eyes locking with Casey’s. “I know it’s not going to be easy. I know I’m sick. But I’m still here. And I’m still fighting. And I’m not doing it without you.”

Casey’s heart twisted in her chest, the weight of Alex’s words both a relief and a fresh wound. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to steady her breathing.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Alex,” Casey whispered. “I don’t know how to keep watching you go through this.”

Alex’s fingers gently caressed the side of Casey’s face, a tender touch that made Casey’s chest tighten. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’re doing this together.”

And then, in a moment that felt almost surreal, Alex began to sing. Her voice was soft, raspy, but there was a warmth in it that made Casey’s breath catch. It was a lullaby from a different time, something simple, something pure. 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…” 

Alex’s voice cracked slightly, but she continued, the words slow and steady as she rocked Casey gently in her arms.

Casey closed her eyes, allowing herself to be swept up in the simplicity of the song. The pain didn’t go away, the uncertainty didn’t disappear, but in that moment, all she knew was that they were together.

“You make me happy when skies are gray…” 

Alex continued, her voice a little stronger now, and Casey pressed closer, resting her head against Alex’s chest, letting the warmth of the moment fill her. 

“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you…”

Casey breathed in the words, letting them settle in her heart. There was so much they didn’t know, so much they couldn’t control, but they had this. They had each other.

“And please don’t take my sunshine away…”

When the song ended, there was a long silence between them, but it was different this time. There were no more tears, no more fear—just love.

“I won’t take your sunshine away,” Casey whispered, finally finding her voice again. “I’ll hold on to it for both of us.”

***

Alex’s condition had plateaued. There were moments of progress where her pain was slightly more manageable, the cough less frequent, but there were also the inevitable dips, the days where the weight of the cancer seemed to crush her all over again. The nights were the worst. The pain would surge at odd hours, and she would be left shivering, drenched in sweat, gasping for air, while the machines beeped in the background, relentless and cold.

But through it all, Casey was there. 

Tonight, as the sterile lights of the hospital room flickered dimly in the distance, Alex found herself unable to sleep. Her body was aching, her limbs heavy, and yet there was something more pressing, something beyond the physical pain that gnawed at her.

Casey had fallen asleep in the chair next to the bed, her head resting against the side of Alex’s. The stillness of the room was punctuated only by the quiet hum of the machines and the soft rise and fall of Casey’s breath. Alex watched her, the woman who had been her rock, her everything. She was so still, her face relaxed in sleep, but Alex could see the dark circles under her eyes, the weight of the constant worry that never left her.

Alex felt a pang in her chest. A deep ache that threatened to consume her. She couldn’t stand the thought of Casey carrying this burden, of watching her break under the weight of everything. Slowly, cautiously, Alex reached out, her fingers brushing against Casey’s hand. The touch was enough to stir Casey, who blinked her eyes open slowly, still half-asleep, her face scrunching as she adjusted to the dim light.

“Hey,” Alex murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Casey’s eyes flickered open completely at the sound of Alex’s voice, and she immediately shifted, her hand finding Alex’s. “Hey, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Alex took a moment before answering, unsure how to put it into words. She wasn’t sure if she could explain it, even to herself. There was a weight pressing down on her, an unshakable sense of dread, and yet there was something else that she couldn’t name. She could feel Casey’s presence beside her, and it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

“I’m okay,” Alex finally said, though the words felt hollow in her mouth. She wasn’t okay. She was far from it, but she wasn’t ready to face that just yet.

Casey didn’t press her. Instead, she squeezed Alex’s hand gently and shifted closer, her head now resting on the edge of the bed. The warmth of her body, the closeness of her presence, seemed to calm Alex in a way nothing else could.

“I’m sorry,” Alex whispered suddenly, her voice heavy with the weight of things unsaid. “For making you go through all this. For… for putting you in this position.”

Casey’s hand tightened around hers, a firm reassurance that she was there. “Don’t say that,” she murmured softly. “Don’t apologize for being sick, Alex. You didn’t choose this. But I’m choosing to be here with you. Every step of the way.”

“I never wanted to be a burden,” Alex continued, her voice wavering. “I never wanted you to have to watch me fall apart. I don’t want to be the reason you—”

“Don’t,” Casey interrupted, her voice a little rough, but filled with an unwavering strength. “You’re not a burden. And I’m not going anywhere. Do you hear me? I love you, Alex. And I’m not leaving you. Ever.”

Alex’s chest tightened at the words. She didn’t know how to respond. There was nothing she could say that would make the situation better, that would ease the weight of what they were going through. But Casey had a way of making her feel seen, making her feel like she wasn’t alone in the dark.

Casey sat up slightly, her eyes scanning Alex’s face with a tenderness that made Alex’s heart ache. “You’re my sunshine, you know that? Even on the days when it’s hard to find the light. You’re my sunshine.”

Alex let out a soft laugh, the sound weak but genuine. “You’re not supposed to steal my line.”

Casey smiled, brushing her thumb over Alex’s hand in a slow, soothing motion. “I’m allowed to steal it if it’s for you.”

There was a pause before Alex spoke again, her voice quieter now. “I’m so scared, Casey. I don’t know if I can keep doing this. I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending like everything's okay.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” Casey said, her voice unwavering. “You don’t ever have to pretend with me. It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared too. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Alex’s eyes softened as she looked at Casey, her heart full of gratitude and sorrow all at once. She reached up, brushing the back of her hand against Casey’s cheek, the touch tender, full of emotion.

“Stay with me tonight,” Alex whispered, her voice small, fragile.

Casey’s heart clenched. “Always,” she said, her voice thick with emotion as she climbed into the bed beside Alex. She pulled the covers over them both, holding Alex close, as the two of them lay in the quiet of the night, letting the silence wrap around them like a blanket, offering comfort in its stillness.

The transformation was so sudden, so striking, that neither Alex nor Casey could fully process it at first. One day, Alex had been frail, drained, and sick, her body a shell of what it once was, the weight of her illness taking its toll on her every minute. But the next morning, she woke up feeling different. Stronger. The fog of exhaustion seemed to lift, if only slightly, and with it came a flicker of energy, of hope.

It wasn’t a dramatic shift. There was no miraculous recovery, no sudden return of perfect health. But for the first time in months, Alex could breathe without struggling, could sit up without wincing in pain. The ache in her bones wasn’t gone, but it was less intense. And it was enough.

Casey was the first to notice how Alex seemed to be able to sit up straighter in bed, how her eyes were clearer, less clouded with the constant fatigue. She was still pale, still fragile, but there was a spark in her that had been absent for too long.

“Good morning,” Casey said, her voice soft but full of cautious hope. She leaned down, kissing Alex’s forehead gently. “How do you feel?”

Alex took a moment, feeling the difference in her body. It wasn’t normal, not by any means. But it was better. 

“Better,” she whispered, her voice hushed as though saying it out loud would make it disappear.

Casey’s heart soared at the word, a flutter of hope filling the pit of her stomach. She had been so used to the daily battles, the constant worry, that this sudden shift, albeit small, felt like a gift.

“We’ll take it slow,” Casey said, her voice tender, though she couldn’t completely hide the excitement that was creeping in. “Let’s get you some breakfast. Maybe go outside for a little while. Just a walk, okay?”

Alex nodded slowly, her eyes brightening with something that felt almost like excitement. “I think I can handle that.”

Casey stood up, quickly retrieving a blanket and draping it over Alex’s legs, covering the cold air that still clung to her body. She moved around with a newfound energy as she prepared for what had once seemed like a distant, impossible possibility—a day outside. A day where Alex could feel like herself again, if only for a moment.

It had become a routine in their lives to cling to small joys and moments of light in the midst of the darkness. But today, as Casey wheeled Alex through the park, it felt different. The air was crisp, the sky a pale blue, with the sun shining down just enough to warm their faces. The park was quiet, almost peaceful, with only a few joggers and dog walkers scattered across the walking path.

Alex, who had spent so many days confined to a hospital bed or the apartment they shared, now found herself taking in the world again. The scent of fresh grass, the sound of birds overhead, the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. It was all so alive, so vibrant, and she drank it in as if it was her first taste of life in months. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed the outside world until now.

Casey pushed her wheelchair gently along the winding path, her hands warm on the handles, her gaze occasionally flickering to Alex with a soft smile. It was a smile that Alex had missed, the one that carried warmth and relief instead of worry.

“I missed this,” Alex said softly, her voice barely audible as she looked around at the park, her eyes wide and almost childlike in wonder.

“I missed you like this,” Casey replied, her tone teasing but full of love. “You know, not falling asleep after two bites of food.”

Alex laughed softly, the sound light and true, something that had been absent for far too long. The laughter felt like a promise, a small piece of normalcy returning to their fractured lives. “I don’t think I’ve ever had the energy to complain about breakfast before.”

Casey smiled warmly, leaning down to brush a lock of hair away from Alex’s face. “Well, it’s your turn now. I’m giving you a full breakfast. No more of that hospital food crap.”

Alex rolled her eyes, but there was a glint of amusement in her gaze. “You know, I really missed your over-the-top breakfasts,” she said. “You always made everything feel like a celebration, even when there wasn’t anything to celebrate.”

Casey chuckled softly, pushing the wheelchair until they reached a park bench under the shade of a large oak tree. She stopped and carefully helped Alex out of the chair, guiding her to sit beside her on the bench. Alex was still weak, but the effort of simply being outside seemed to breathe some life back into her. They sat in silence for a moment, just breathing in the tranquility of the park.

Casey unpacked the breakfast she had prepared—a basket full of fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, pancakes, and coffee in a thermos. She handed Alex a plate, watching her closely, her heart in her throat as she waited for Alex’s response.

Alex’s fingers trembled slightly as she took the plate, but she managed a small, contented smile as she looked up at Casey. “I don’t know how you do it,” she whispered. “How you keep holding me up.”

Casey looked at her, her heart swelling with a mixture of love and sorrow. “You don’t have to thank me for this,” she said softly. “You’re worth it. You’ve always been worth it.”

Alex’s eyes softened as she looked at Casey, her heart full in a way she hadn’t felt in so long. “I’ve always loved you,” Alex said, her voice breaking slightly with the weight of the words. “Even when I couldn’t say it, even when I was too afraid to let myself feel it, I always loved you.”

Casey’s breath hitched in her throat. She reached for Alex’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “I know. And I’ve always loved you, Alex. Always.”

The moment was quiet, the soft sounds of the park surrounding them, but it was enough. It was a peace they had both desperately needed—a reminder that, even in the midst of all the pain and the uncertainty, they still had each other.

They sat there for a while, eating their breakfast, the world continuing on around them. It wasn’t a perfect moment. It wasn’t the end of their journey, but for the first time in so long, Casey felt like they were on the right path again. They were together. And in that moment, that was all that mattered.

***

author's note

it's about to get really sad. leave now and pretend they live happily ever after. or don't.

***

Months had passed since Alex had shown any signs of improvement. Despite the brief moments of clarity, the hope that had once surged through both of them faded quietly as Alex’s condition worsened. It was slow at first—just a dip in her energy levels, a few more days spent in bed—but then the decline was unmistakable, relentless. The doctors had said there was nothing more they could do. Alex had chosen to stop the treatments, to spend her last days at home, surrounded by the people who loved her most.

Casey had been there through it all. There was no leaving her side, no matter how hard it got. She had kept the promise she made to Alex to stay with her until the end. And now, as the world grew quieter around them, she sat in the dimly lit room, her hand clasped around the letter Alex had written.

The letter was simple, written in Alex’s neat handwriting, the words familiar but now carrying an unbearable weight. It had been left for Casey in case she wasn’t there when Alex’s body finally gave in. Alex had known. She had always known that this day would come, that her body would give out before they could have everything they’d dreamed of. She had written about Casey’s strength, her love, her resilience, but there was one thing Alex couldn’t write: goodbye .

Casey had been waiting for the end, but it hadn’t been any easier than she’d imagined. When Alex’s body finally gave up, when her last breath left her lips, Casey had held her close, whispering the words she hadn’t had a chance to say. But now, with the letter clutched in her shaking hands, she finally let herself cry.

She read it slowly, over and over again, unable to stop the tears from falling.

Casey,

I know I won’t be able to say this to your face, so I’ll say it here. I’m sorry for all the things I didn’t do. For all the things I didn’t say. But mostly, I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the person you needed me to be when you needed me the most.

I love you with everything I am. You were my home, my safe place. And I don’t want you to carry this pain for the rest of your life. I need you to go on, Casey. Live. Find peace again, even if it seems impossible right now.

I’ll always be with you. But you have to let me go.

Forever yours,Alex

P.S. don’t spoil the cat too much. 1 treat per day.  

The letter slipped from her hands, the words blurring as her tears hit the paper. Casey’s sobs were raw, uncontrollable. She pressed her face into the pillow where Alex had once laid, inhaling the last remnants of Alex’s scent, but it only made the ache in her chest grow.

Her fingers reached for the delicate chain around her neck, the one that held Alex’s wedding ring. She refused to take it off, no matter how many times people told her she needed to move on, to let go. But she couldn’t. Not when Alex had been everything.

Sobbing into the pillow, Casey couldn’t stop the memories from rushing in. The way Alex had laughed at her ridiculous attempts to cook, the way her smile had been everything, the quiet nights when they had held each other, not needing to speak. It was all gone now.

But even in her grief, even as her heart broke with every breath she took, Casey whispered the words Alex had always loved, the words she had promised Alex they would always share.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray..."

Her voice cracked with the weight of the sorrow, but she kept going, softly singing the song that had been theirs since the beginning, the melody laced with love and loss.

"You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away..."

As Casey’s sobs grew louder, the weight of the loss sinking deeper with every note, she held the ring tighter, the one thing she had left of Alex. And for a moment, just a moment, she could feel her—feel Alex in the air, in the space around her.

But when the song ended, Casey’s heart shattered all over again, the silence of the room deafening in its finality.

Law and Order SVU: Season 3, Episode 16: Popular

i just ran my hands through my hair and a Big Ass Chunk fell out

sawdust flavored sandwich

Every day I mourn what we lost:

currently watching season one of ncis. if ANYTHING. happens to kate. i swear. i love her so much.

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

thank you polly very cool

cute puppy and stupid cat P.2 ig

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

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.