Alex Cabot for the People

She’d always been praised for being especially eagle-eyed and sharp minded, whether it be by the judges who could only let out an amused scoff by the legal exceptions she managed to rustle up or the detectives whose relieved sighs when she explained how she’d managed to get them off the hook for their schemes again replayed in her head when she wanted to feel smug. 

She’d been very proud of herself when she overheard rumors that higher floors had been whispering about her potential being lost in white collar- that someone of her expertise should be tackling much bigger challenges. 

Casey supposed she’d always been praised for that- growing up in her family, she’d always been the one her mother held a little tighter as though she knew she’d grow up to go far. 

Of course, there were the exceptions where teachers would grow irritated with her pointing out odd loopholes to the classroom rule book, but that had more to do with perception and only reinforced the fact she was, very much so, not an oblivious person. 

So perhaps that's why she felt, in this moment, incredibly caught off guard. She should've noticed something, surely?

She’d been exhausted the night Alex, who at the time she’d characterized as an angelic shepherd ushering her somewhere warmer, invited her in. 

The case Casey had been tasked on was running long, and she had been working on nearly fifty cases that week, and she couldn't close her eyes for longer than thirty seconds without someone calling her up- victim’s families asking for updates, case workers needing warrants, Donnelly on her ass for things she hadn't done yet. 

The coffee maker in the precinct was broken again and with all the running she was doing back and forth detours to the coffee cart in the DA’s office seemed like a waste of a few seconds of being able to sit down. 

She assumed her secretary was being sympathetic because there was a coffee on her desk every morning, but with the workload- it was spring, people got bolder- or perhaps just less able to hide in thick coats and the increasing daylight hours- she thought she might need at least five to get through the day chipper.

Her bike had gotten a flat tire as if that wasn't good enough- some dumbass construction leaving a nail out in the street- and she’d had to try to section a time off to fix it herself. 

So: conclusion, she was utterly exhausted and far past her limits when she got a call from her apartment building’s manager that a pipe had busted completely in her building. 

No running water and no heat, since the older building used hot water to warm the last tendrils of winter clinging to the nights and predawn mornings. Construction buzzing constantly and at odd hours. 

Elliot mentioned she should get a good night's sleep and Casey nearly started screaming, or crying, or maybe both. At the time she’d been utterly and entirely done. 

She’d thrown up her hands and made some snapped excuse of a comment that under the conditions her apartment was in, if he wanted her to sleep, he better be prepared to take the couch. Even added a portion under her breath about how Kathy might prefer a bed partner who didn't snore as much as she assumed Elliot did. 

Bless his heart, all she’d gotten in response was an amused look and raised eyebrows, but still. It was obvious to everyone who had just witnessed it that she was borderline unstable. 

She’d apologized, obviously. Been mortified about it. 

When Alexandra- all casual smiles, long blonde hair, eyes that shone constantly like she knew something no one else did and was excited for the opportunity to tell- offered her a spare bedroom, it felt like an opportunity too good to pass up. 

Casey had played about the point for a while, saying there was absolutely no way she could accept such kindness from a stranger, but Alex had insisted. 

Said it was repayment for her putting the man who tried to kill her away, insisted to the point that her hand had wandered up Casey’s arm under she was nearing her collar. 

She didn't know her that well, but saying Alex was a stranger wasn't entirely true either. They’d been at the same parties, the same conferences. Had their own small exchanges. She’d found herself seeing Alex more regularly regardless until the offer; she decided not to think too much of it. 

A comfortable bed was enough. She’d be a liability to the course of justice if she had to listen to one more minute of jackhammering and men screaming. 

Saying she liked Alex’s building was an understatement, Jesus Christ, Alex’s building was insane. 

The apartment itself- top floor, height ceilings, marble counters, spotless walls. 

Alex looked almost out of place in her own home, but in an odd way where it suited her, how she looked so elegant in such a clearly expensive place despite the fact she was wearing fuzzy sweatpants with little pictures of the cookie monster from Sesame Street on them, and a sweater that hung open to show collarbones as sculpted as the genuine sculptures she had were. 

Casey had pointed them out once, the small sculptures she had, made a joke of how much they must be worth, since the odder art was the more expensive she assumed it to be. 

Alex beamed and said priceless, since she’d taught the kids that made them how to work with clay herself. She clearly had little clue. 

Casey decided Alexandra was adorable. 

She’d told her so. 

Alex’s eyelashes had fluttered oddly, a shade of red kissing her face- but the blonde had shaken herself out of it quickly. 

Looking back, Casey felt stupid for not thinking much of it at the time. 

Casey’s favorite thing about the apartment, though, was the fact the building had a goddamn gym. 

When she’d mentioned it Alex had told her to take her key and by all means welcome herself to it- of course, the blonde had never been there herself- and Casey soon realized apparently no one in this building had, because the few machines and racks were almost always completely empty. 

It was nice. Calming, definitely. The gym she was subscribed to was never this quiet and she liked the fact there weren't people to awkwardly wait around for specific machines- although of course, this one did not have many machines at all- and didn't have to worry about men gawking at her. 

She’d been there for five days and since the second, when she first found herself in the gym, she’d decided to make a routine of it. She normally got back before the Homicide Bureau Chief did, and she decided to give Alex some time to decompress in solitude while she decompressed the way she knew best would be good.

But today, picking up a weight to do curls made a specific muscle feel like it was singing in a very off tone, and Casey winced. 

She must've pulled something without really noticing. Running around with a briefcase as heavy as hers surely didn't do her many favors. 

Casey normally spent at least an hour, normally an hour and a half, and used the shower right after. 

At least two hours on average that Alex had become accustomed to having alone. 

Casey had come back into the apartment only twenty minutes after leaving. Her legs were sore from yesterday and she didn't want to forfeit heels for court tomorrow. 

At first, she had thought Alex was crying. 

The door wasn't completely closed. Casey had crept forward gently, wondering if comforting her was okay or if the blonde would be mortified to be caught when she’d thought she had the solitude to let herself crumble. 

Casey had constructed a whole story in her head about why Alex might be crying and was debating herself on if she should impose until she realized, no, sobbing didn't sound quite like that. 

Alex had a very pretty voice, Casey thought, the way she made her vowels curt and the way a certain tempered softness often lingered somewhere in her larynx. 

It unfurled like silk in the air just around her frozen form inches away from the crevice between the bedroom door and doorframe. Breathy- breathless. Lingered on the skin of her face, heated her cheeks into a fluster. 

She’d wandered into something she wasn't supposed to. 

She was moaning. 

Casey froze.

Unabashed and yet still ghostly, something gentle but not at all fragile. Beneath it, a hum, mechanical and monotonously eager. Casey didn't have a guess to know what that was, what was happening. 

A woman’s pleasure, unmuted and meant for no audience, but Casey was there- an eavesdropper with no right to overhear something so intimate. 

The faux blonde slowly stepped backward, a hand clamped over her mouth and nose like breathing might give her away.

She should go back to the gym. Run on the treadmill for a while until she couldn't remember the way Alex sounded, so vulnerable and so undeniably- Jesus Christ, Casey couldn't say she wasn't incredibly hot.

She forced herself to swallow. She took a second step back.

“Ca-” Alex was murmuring something now, something that Casey’s brain connected a second before she really heard it, something that sent heat flooding between her thighs. 

“Casey-”

Casey’s body stilled- like the malformed porcelain Alex was so proud of- for the second time. 

Her? 

Alex was thinking of her?

Alex liked her? Well, of course Casey had known to some extent that she liked her in a sort of friendly way because Casey was temporarily living in her goddamn apartment, but- like that? 

Oh God, Casey was stupid.

She was an idiot! 

All those smiles with narrowed eyes that lasted a second longer than expected, the way her gaze averted the second Casey said anything nice related to her, the way her breath caught when Casey placed any hand on her even if only to move her, the way she seemed to seek out any excuse to put a hand on her. 

The way her eyelashes fluttered. 

The way her fingers had crept up Casey’s arm the longer she was trying to convince her to stay with her. 

Was it modesty that Casey hadn't thought about it long enough to connect the dots, or was she just frankly oblivious? 

Oh God, she was really, really stupid. The coffee wasn't from her secretary. She shared a secretary with four other attorneys and there's no way that- Christ, Alex had been trying to flirt with her. Or at the very least been some kind of secret admirer and Casey wanted to blame her exhaustion for not questioning any of that but frankly, no, she was just… oblivious. 

Prided herself on being perceptive, but she hadn't realized the blonde had wanted her until she accidentally stumbled upon the blonde literally fucking herself out of want for her.

God.

The only thing that got her out of her thoughts and self-face-slapping was Alex repeating her name, once and then again, more drawn out each time she said it.

The end half of her name tapered into a whine on the ‘y’, and it cut off abruptly when she gasped, and there was the sound of a hand thumping against a pillow.

It came again, louder slightly, like Alex was trying to find it. Casey could picture it, her eyebrows furrowed, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she shut her eyes and tried to find the spot she needed too- she then, of course, felt guilty for picturing it. 

She couldn't stop picturing it now that she had started. 

Alex coming into the apartment, checking to see if the key she’s given her was on the rack where she’d instructed Casey to leave it, the small exhale when it wasn't. 

Walking with the same impatience she had in court into her bedroom, flicking her hand at the door with not enough care to ensure it shut fully. 

Fighting her with clothes, forcing off the restraint of tight fitting courtroom attire, the sigh and huff when her blouse met her skirt on the floor. 

Her heels weren't on the shoe shelf when Casey had re-entered the apartment; they were probably scattered, one having fallen over on the bedroom floor. Her underwear flat on the carpet Alex had laid out beneath her bed, probably something- god, Casey could not be trying to think of that. 

Alex’s head thrown back, her gorgeous face tilted up, eyebrows high- perhaps low- with need. Lips parted, the slightest sliver of her somehow perfect teeth showing as soft sounds escaped from the depth of her throat. Her long legs- Jesus Christ, the expanse of pale skin that she was in a tangle with the sheets she had kicked at, thighs parted, knees up to angle her pelvis so she could touch herself to the thought of her.

Casey’s heart was a very enthusiastic bird trapped in her chest, ramming against the confines of the cage that was her breast trying to make it to the source of the emotion. She realized with her hand over her nose she probably hadn't breathed in the half minute she’d been standing there stupified. She couldn't move. 

And Alex just kept going. A constant stream of sound like water humming over smoothed rocks and teased Casey as it slipped through her ear.

Of course she kept at it, she had no reason to stop, and Casey had every reason to go. To stop listening to something that simultaneously belonged to her and most certainly didn't. 

But she couldn't- she couldn't control the pulsing feeling from herself, the way the gym shorts she wore felt constricting. She couldn't- move? She couldn't force herself to be responsible. Not when it came to- her. 

A soft whimper left Casey’s mouth when she tried to let her hand release herself. Her own face now reflected what she assumed was on Alex’s; she wondered vaguely that if she mimicked what the blonde was doing, who would finish first. 

Perhaps Alex would be in the same situation if she came too close to the guest bedroom, perhaps Alex would want that. 

Guiltfully of course, regardless, would she?

Alex’s voice had gotten steadily louder, less censored, settling into the pleasure she was providing herself. Casey’s name had only come up once, when she was trying to find where she needed the toy she was using to be, but she repeated it in an utter groan of a broken voice just when Casey’s spinning brain was beginning to question if she’d heard right. 

“Casey,” she whispered, and then again louder, “Casey-” as if it was her she was begging for release. Casey’s throat was dry when she tried to swallow. Her fingers crept towards her own center before she stopped herself. She couldn't- God, she couldn't do that. It was hard to think of doing anything but.

She was close if her vocals were any indication. She was close to climaxing at the thought of her until the soft buzz of the vibrator abruptly let out. 

Alex groaned, not out of pleasure but out of painful frustration, and Casey winced backward instinctively when she heard the thump of silicone against the wall. Alex must've thrown it out of irritation.

“All the money in the world and I can't find something to get me off,” she said in a voice that might be described as a growl, but only in the interpretation of a month old dog’s annoyed yelp when failing to win a tug of war game with a rope twice its size. 

“I need- I just need-” Alex continued rambling to herself, voice high and cracking, and then she cut herself off with another groan, and there was a sound as though she’d thrown her head into a pillow. 

Her, Casey’s mind supplemented, Alex wanted her. Evidently the vibrator had not done its job to satisfy the ache the thought of her brought the blonde. 

She skittered back a few steps and then realized Alex was too stubborn to revert back to- not this. Her swallow felt like sandpaper when her mind brought her the image of Alex's lithe fingers, tapered and long, creeping towards her sex. 

Alex’s sound resumed a moment later. As though through gritted teeth, little huffs of desperation dotting through. 

Casey envisioned- rather, her mind forced her too, the reasonable part of her did not want to think of such things, but her damned animal brain wanted to fantasy so fervently she was forced through it. 

Slamming the door open, dismissing Alex’s frantic attempt to hide her body beneath blankets with a cocky smirk and a shove of fabric, kissing those pretty lips and finishing the job herself with her tongue. 

Casey’s breathing grew heavy. She couldn't help it. 

Alex would probably grip at her hair, first out of confusion, then a vice to keep her there. Casey did always have a thing with having her hair pulled. She had no complaints about ensuring she could breathe, not if she had the opportunity to have her face between the thighs of Alexandra. 

She’d taste- oh god, oh fuck. Casey needed cigarettes and a bottle of vodka. Casey needed the vibrator Alex had just haphazardly thrown against the wall, her own was at her broken apartment and she needed it vulgarly. 

Her own panties were surely ruined. She couldn't imagine how wet Alex’s sex probably was at this exact moment without ruining her shorts, too. 

She needed to grab Alex by the throat and show her how easily she could’ve gotten her off if Alex had simply asked. She needed to taste her and feel Alex writhe and gasp above her. She-, fuck- her exhales were about to begin being accompanied by whines and nothing was even happening to her. 

Alexandra had found something that worked for her, if her choked moans were evidence, which they surely were. She was loud now. Loud enough Casey would've known better than to come anywhere near this space had she been like this when she came back in. 

“Novak,” she slurred like she was bargaining while drunk, like she was sighing in a conference room over some stupid joke the faux blonde had told. 

“Casey,” she said again like she was about to sob.

Casey’s body was moving. Not away, closer. One eye wide against the crack in the door. She shouldn't be doing this.

She was face down- face to the side, but down- on the bed, ass up, her hand disappearing against the upwards slope of her stomach, and Casey knew what she was thinking about. Herself behind her, one hand’s digits deep inside her, other hand on her shoulder blades to keep her head firm against the pillow. Perhaps her mouth planting kisses on the line her spine would make. That's what Casey knew she wanted to do, should that be a reality.

Alex’s eyebrows were scrunched and high on her head and her eyes were squeezed so tight shut she must be seeing stars for two reasons, but both were inadvertently Casey’s fault, or rather, Alex's imagination of Casey. Because she was- imagining her, that is. 

Alex went quiet and her spine stiffened and her mouth moved, an oval shape that ended in a sigh and then a soft sob. “F-fuck- Oh,” she breathed as though for the first time in a while she could manage, “oh, God.” 

Her thighs were shaking. Her back collapsed back down, and then her entire body tipped over to the side. 

Casey’s eyes fell to the bed. Alex’s hand- the hand she hadn't been using to fuck herself- was gripping something tightly. 

Her jacket. 

The thinner one, baby blue with a zipper, that she used when the temperature dropped an extra few degrees that would battle her coat.

Casey was absolutely sure it had been hung on the coatrack the last time she’d taken it off- yesterday- Alex must've taken it for the sole purpose of having something of hers to fantasize with.

To bury her nails into when she came thinking of how much she’d rather have Casey bring her there.

Casey backed away. All the way away. She glanced down at the floor in equal parts of shame, lingering shock, and as though searching for evidence on the floor that could give herself away.

She settled herself on a barstool on the kitchen counter. She pulled out her phone and pulled one leg up to her chest like that would calm the heat inside of her. Thank god the gym was her excuse. The redness heavy on her face and on her neck would be- well, she had an excuse. 

Rummaging sounds. Then the door opened properly. 

“Oh,” Alex said, startled, her voice laden and thick when she saw Casey seated there. She forced herself to clear her throat, but it did not help. 

Her cheekbones had already been painted a gorgeous shade of a specific breathless pink. As Casey watched, it deepened into a red. Casey felt very guilty and also very… smug.

She'd come out in Casey’s own jacket; the one she’d been clenching with white knuckles like it had been a lifeline. Panties that were surely plastered to her core from the orgasm she’d just had barely hidden beneath the fabric. Oh God, no, she probably hadn't bothered to put them back on at all. Casey forced herself to only look at her face and not the length of her inner thigh that she would kill someone for the opportunity to bite at.

“Jesus- I’m sorry, I didn't- I thought you were still at the gym,” Alex forced out, an awkward chuckle dying in her throat, and she took a half step back as though about to turn tail for sweatpants and a sweater that wasn't hers.

Apparently Casey’s ability to hide where her eyes really wanted to go and otherwise casual demeanor- this was making her think she should pick up gambling if her poker face was truly this good- emboldened her enough to allow Alex to fulfill her task of fetching a glass of water. 

“I just got back,” Casey said and was very surprised her voice came out so casually, “Had to cut it short, I messed up something in my arm.” 

“Aha,” Alex said very vaguely, and she poured a second glass of water without asking if Casey wanted one. She seemed a bit more solid with the cut-off the counter provided between them; Casey could no longer see the bare expanse of her legs. 

God, her legs. Casey drank from the glass she slid across the counter and hid the way she had to lick her very dry lips in that motion.

Casey set the glass down and forced her brain and heart to try to still so she could make some semblance of use of them. 

She couldn't not acknowledge what she’d just… intruded on, not to herself. She couldn't make the guilt subside and she was sure she’d hate herself if she let the thump of her heart settle.

Casey couldn't go back in time and walk away when she should've, and she couldn't make herself have known to stay put in the safety of the gym.

But maybe she could make it worth Alexandra’s time.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said carefully, Alex’s reaction then seemed relieved, but that shifted the second Casey continued with a lofty, “Care to join me?”

The blonde went absolutely scarlet-faced.

“I,” Alex forced, then her lips moved wordlessly, frantically, utterly lost, “Come again?” 

“You're red in the face, your hair is all messed up, and you're- you're naked except for that jacket, and that's my jacket, isn't it?”

Alex blinked at her, eyes a gateway to a mind that was absolutely tripping over itself trying to race for some kind of response that wouldn't make her sound perverted. Oh, if only Alex knew. 

Casey downed the rest of the water Alex had given her. Licked her lips again, this time slower, so Alex could see the pink of her tongue against her bottom lip. 

Alex swallowed very shakily. Casey smiled.

“I’m not naked, I- I’m wearing a bra,” Alex said defensively, as if that were some kind of adequate defense, and then grimaced and averted her eyes so stubbornly Casey had no other option but to chuckle. 

“I can fix that,” Casey responded, so confidently it surprised both of them. 

Alex looked as frozen as Casey had felt watching her, blinking too quickly without breathing, and the faux blonde stretched her arms over her head in an arch as if this was all entirely casual to her. 

She unzipped the sports attire she was wearing herself, showing Alex exactly how well her sports bra hugged her cleavage to feel cocky, before standing and turning towards where she knew the bathroom was.

“Well, I’ll be in there, if you make up your mind.” Casey said casually, although her voice got more raspy than she would've preferred and that probably revealed her own arousal, but she didn't linger long enough to see if it had.

She turned the water on and let it run to allow it the moment to grow warm, wrestling briefly with the tightness of her sport clothes and flatting her lip when she saw what watching Alexandra had done to her underwear, before tossing it in the hamper. 

Her hair had only just begun to get wet when the shadow of the door opened and through the hazed glass she saw Alex come in, discard her- her- jacket on the floor, and open the shower door as gracefully as she could. 

“You knew?” Alex said shakily, her eyes still averted and her brow furrowed, but with the way her eyelids lowered and her gaze shifting to the faux blonde’s face when Casey’s hands found her waist and the way her body tilted without much hesitation, she wanted a second orgasm- this one certainly more satisfying than her first- more than she wanted to be embarrassed. 

“I’m not oblivious,” Casey said, although in her head she was still rather dumbfounded because she absolutely was. 

“Look, I’m not saying she didn’t do anything wrong,” she said in between bites of salad. “But, look at our current District Attorney.”

“I’m not following.”

“Don’t be obtuse. He’s been known to hide witnesses, throw people in jail for months without indictments.”

Abbie winced. “He was not found in violation of any ethical rules in either of those cases.”

“I’m sorry.” Alex regretted going there. “So, he wasn’t found in violation. He sure as hell could’ve been, though, Abbie.”

Abbie drawled an elongated “Sure.”

“Then look at either of us! Show me one prosecutor who hasn’t crossed a line, or at least blurred a few. The disciplinary committee made an example out of her.”

Abbie softened a bit, nodded. “So, your plan is to follow her around the city and what, give her a great pep talk?”

Alex scoffed. “I’m just going to talk to her when I run into her again.” Abbie grinned. “What?” Said Alex.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d call you a stalker.”

---

Alex wasn’t willing to call it stalking.

She wasn’t planning to stalk Casey-- by definition. According to the statute, for it to be stalking, her conduct would need to be obsessive, harmful, unwanted. On the contrary. Alex was going to help her. It wasn’t like she was going around planting bugs in the woman’s apartment.

She was just going for a Saturday afternoon coffee, and that definitely wasn’t a crime. She brought a book, so really, she had a legitimate reason to be at this cafe, nevermind it was forty-five minutes from her apartment.

Alex looked up each time she heard the bell that signaled the door opening. It jingled exactly thirteen times before Casey was behind it. She looked deep in thought, earbuds in. Her hair was down. She tucked it behind her ears, took the earbuds out. Then, Alex saw a surprised spark of recognition in her face. Casey ordered, waved, and walked over to her table.

“What brings you to this neck of the woods two weekends in a row, counselor?” Casey said. “You’re a long way from the Upper West Side.”

Alex hadn’t thought of what she would say to that very obvious question, and didn’t come up with a great response: “I was in the neighborhood,” she said. “It’s a nice neighborhood.”

Casey chuckled. “I’ve grown fond of it,” she said, letting Alex get away with that. “And what’s on the reading list this week?” She turned the book towards her. “Oh, nice. I loved that one.”

“Prosecutors and our mystery novels,” Alex said. The barista called an iced chai, and Casey got up to grab it. When she came back, Alex asked her again: “So, why haven’t you appealed your suspension yet?”

Casey looked taken aback. “I’m not sure it’s a matter of yet.”

Alex tsk’ed. “Even after I gave you a week to think about it?” Casey gave her a baffled smile.

“I’m surprised you’re so interested in my professional status,” she said. “Did you come here in case I showed up?”

“I came here for coffee. But, I thought you might,” Alex said. Casey opened her mouth and then closed it.

“So, you traveled forty-five minutes on a Saturday afternoon to ask me about the Bar Association appeal I haven’t decided if I’m going to file?”

Alex paused. Abbie had a point. But, she was already here. Before she could respond, Casey spoke.

“What’s got you so invested?”

That, Alex could answer. “I wanted a latte. I also happen to think your punishment was capricious.”

“Enjoy your latte,” Casey said with a tone Alex couldn’t quite place. She gave her a nod, and went to sit on the patio.

When Casey left, Alex intended to catch up to her after a block or two. It turned out the woman’s building was only a block from the coffee shop. Alex tried to turn around before she noticed her, but heard her voice from behind her.

“Cabot,” she said, “did you follow me home?”

Alex cringed, and turned to face her. “In my defense, you live really close to that cafe.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m there all the time,” Casey said. “You don’t.”

“No, I don’t.” Casey gave her a raised-eyebrow look and a gesture that said explain yourself.

“Will you just hear me out?” Alex tried. “I’ll buy you lunch.” Casey laughed.

“Sure,” she said. “You are… insistent.”

Alex couldn’t argue with that.

---

“Do you see my point?” Alex said after she had laid out her reasoning for the woman, as though she was giving a closing argument over fried rice and beef and broccoli.

“I do,” Casey said, resting her chopsticks on the side of her bowl.

“Have I convinced you?” Alex was confident.

Casey smiled. “You haven’t said anything I haven’t already thought of, though it’s good to hear someone else share my perspective.”

“Donnelly has it out for you,” Alex said. Casey shook her head.

“I deserved to be hauled in front of the disciplinary committee.” She held up a finger when Alex tried to speak, “I did. Their decision though… it could’ve gone a number of ways. And it went this way, whether it should or shouldn’t have.”

“So, appeal it,” Alex said.

“I’m still not so sure why you’re so interested in my suspension. Is McCoy that desperate for ADAs?”

“You’re deflecting. And, yes-- your talents are missed at Hogan. Don’t tell me you’ve discovered your true passion for copywriting. I know you miss it.”

“Of course I miss it,” Casey said. “I’ll think about appealing.”

“Good,” Alex said. “I know someone who could represent you, when you do decide.”

Casey bit off the top of a piece of broccoli.

---

You know, you could’ve texted me instead of stalking me. - Casey read the text she received that evening.

I didn’t have your number, Alex replied.

And we don’t have any mutual friends.

Are you going to appeal?

... Casey was typing. The dots appeared and disappeared seven or eight times. Yes. was the final answer. Who were you going to recommend as my representation?

Alex Cabot. She’s good.

I’ve heard so.

You can meet her on Saturday afternoon. There’s a cafe in Brooklyn she likes.

I’ll see her then, Casey wrote. Alex could almost see her smile.

---

“What’s this I hear about you representing Novak in front of the disciplinary committee?” Jack McCoy said after an early-morning meeting, a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Where did you hear that?” Alex asked, though she could guess.

“Abbie,” he confirmed. She always forgot how bad her ex was at keeping secrets from the man.

“We’re discussing the possibility of an appeal,” Alex put it.

“She’s in good hands,” Jack said. “I’m with you. Her punishment was too severe. But, be careful.”

“Why do you say that?” Alex restrained herself from rolling her eyes.

“You’re putting your reputation at risk for hers,” he said. “I’m not saying don’t do it,” he finished, and sipped his coffee, walking back to his office. Alex thought about his words. She found herself completely willing to do what he’d pointed out she was.

---

It was even hotter than it had been last weekend. It took Alex too long to pick out an outfit to wear, but she landed on the closest thing she had to a sundress and some swiped on lip gloss. She pulled her hair back in a claw clip.

Her hair was falling out of the clip by the time she got to the cafe, and sticking to her forehead with sweat. She patted it off of her skin with a paper towel in the bathroom, glad she’d arrived before Casey. She got in line, and checked her texts, and then felt a tap on her shoulder.

“So you are always early,” Casey said when she turned.

“Guilty,” was what Alex came up with. Casey looked really good, in a way that Alex thought she probably wasn’t trying to: she wore a gray tank top that showed off her toned arms, and a pair of linen-looking shorts that showed off her legs.

“Are you going to order?” Casey asked.

“I’d like an iced coffee, please,” Alex hurriedly told the barista. “And whatever she’s having.”

“Iced chai,” said the barista when she saw who she was gesturing to.

“Thanks Kaitlyn,” Casey said. “You didn’t have to get mine,” she said when they sat down.

“It’s my pleasure,” Alex replied. “So, let me take you through our strategy.”

---

The committee was scheduled to hear their appeal in two weeks. The heat that started in July did not wane in August, and after a second sweltering meeting in the cafe’s lack of air conditioning, they’d scheduled the next one at Alex’s apartment, on a Friday evening.

“Can I ask you something?” Casey said, after their conversation had drifted away from the appeal.

“You can,” Alex said. She’d opened a bottle of wine. She sipped her almost-empty glass.

“Are you doing this, my appeal, because of the Connors trial?” Casey finished hers.

“How do you mean?” Alex hadn’t really considered that, and wanted to know what Casey meant before she gave an answer.

“Like, to thank me? I don’t want you to feel like you owe me, for that.”

“I,” Alex started. “I don’t feel like I owe you. But, I am thankful.”

“That’s good,” Casey said. She looked out the window at the setting sun. “I’m glad. I was a little worried… I wanted you to be doing this for the right reasons.”

“I’d like to think I am,” Alex said. “Would you like another glass of wine?”

Casey let her pour another round.

It got later than Alex could’ve expected-- when the bottle of wine was gone, she looked at the clock on her oven, and it was eleven. She and Casey had never had the opportunity to spend time together this way, but their conversation was flowing like they’d been close friends for ages.

She looked good again tonight. She liked the casual Casey she was getting to see so much of, in her attire, but also in her demeanor. There was something relaxed about her that she’d never gotten to experience before, and when she thought about that, she realized she felt relaxed around Casey, too.

And attracted to her, in a way that was suddenly very difficult to ignore.

“Alex?” She heard.

“Hmm?” She responded.

“You just haven’t said anything in a moment. Are you tired? I can head home, I probably should head home.”

“Oh,” Alex said idly. “No, I’m not really tired.”

“Then what’s got you so quiet?”

“Nothing,” she said, not convincing even herself.

“Is it what I said about the Connors trial? Maybe I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

“No, no. I’m,” she shook off the creeping nervousness she was feeling. “It’s not that.”

“Okay,” said Casey, who was beginning to sound worried. She started to put papers into her file organizer. Alex’s hand shot out to stop her before she thought about it. Casey gave her a confused look. She hadn’t noticed how little space between them there was to close.

Casey kissed her back after making a surprised mf sound. She put her hand on Alex’s cheek, but Alex popped away from the kiss almost as fast as she’d started it. Casey smiled with her tongue between her teeth.

“I was wondering when that was going to happen,” she said.

“You,” Alex said, “what?”

“Yeah, when you followed me home, and bought me lunch, and then offered to put your professional reputation on the line for me, I kind of thought, hm, maybe she’s into me.”

Alex considered that. She could see where she was coming from. “You’re one step ahead of me, then.”

“You’ll catch up,” she replied.

Casey was a good guide. She led her quickly to lean against the arm of the couch, and then got her out of her shirt without too much preamble. Alex was glad they were on the same page, that Casey was showing her that she wanted her as much as she was discovering she wanted Casey. Maybe it was the heat of the day that had them both wound up-- their pace lingered just on the edge of hasty.

Breathy sounds filled the room. Casey’s mouth explored Alex’s, her hands roamed over her skin, and before long, Alex nearly demanded: “the bedroom.”

---

Casey stretched out on the couch with her legs laying over Alex’s lap. She paid a bit of attention to the radio. “You know, I really miss writing people’s blog posts for them,” she said. Alex looked up from her crossword.

“Really?” She said.

“Nope,” Casey said. “You’re so cute when you’re all focused like that.”

Things that used to be inconveniences had been turning into blessings for Casey lately. She thanked herself for not moving out of her Brooklyn apartment the last time her lease was up, despite its tiny size and long commute to the office. She could’ve afforded a bigger place then, and had resigned the lease more out of a lack of motivation to move than anything else, a rare moment of laziness that paid off.

Had it been two months already? The date on her Blackberry said so, as did the birds chirping outside her cracked-open window. An ordinary July would have seen her cheerfully going about her Saturdays, but they felt hollow this year. She couldn’t revel in the warming weather under these circumstances. Running could still settle her spirit, so she slipped on her sneakers and went out the door.

Her running schedule had been drifting later by increments, even though she wasn’t sleeping much later these days. She checked her watch when she got to Prospect Park-- it was already ten fifteen. A different crowd gathered at this hour, the coffee vendors were joined by nannies pushing strollers, teenagers laid out on picnic blankets, elderly couples resting their canes on benches. As she ran she felt her body start to fill with a gentle, pleasant contentment that was usually out of her reach. She sped up towards the end of the long loop, pushing. Maybe she’d sign up for a half-marathon soon, give herself something to look forward to. She slowed to a walk, then stopped to stretch by a bench in front of the lake.

She rolled her neck out, rested her hands behind her head. She was hungry. A bagel and a latte on her way home called her name, though she knew she should really eat what she had at home, use the nice coffee machine her mother bought her for Christmas. She sipped water from the bottle in her drawstring backpack. She started walking again, beginning the short journey back to her apartment. The park was getting truly crowded now, as it did at this time in this weather. She checked her phone: no texts, no messages. She counted that as another blessing.

---

She got the bagel, but not the latte. She showered, and blow dried her hair, did some Sudoku while listening to Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me!. She tidied her bedroom, and did the dishes, and it was still only two o’clock.

She guessed she’d go get some work done. She was bringing in money the way she had in law school, freelance copywriting. It was monotonous, mind-numbing even, but that meant it was very easy. It wasn’t the most lucrative thing she could do, but neither was being an ADA. Building her own schedule was a plus. Even if, ever the workaholic, she couldn’t resist the temptation to do things like work on beautiful early summer Saturday afternoons. At least she could do it in a sweatshirt and a pair of old jeans.

With not too much deliberation, she wound up at one of the few cafés in her neighborhood that had seating and tolerated people working there on the weekends. She set herself up in a shady spot on the patio with an iced chai (this place had the best chai) and a croissant beside her. She had several commissions to get done by a week from today, and she typed them out in a to-do list. She let herself get sucked into the work, and knocked out the two Linkedin profiles on her list in about an hour. She closed her laptop, the only way she was able to force herself to take a break.

The screen had been blocking something, or rather, someone sitting at the table just across from her. Someone who waved at her as she closed the novel in her hands. She looked good. Her hair was longer than Casey had ever seen it. She looked polished, put together, and Casey felt conscious of the flyaways poking out of her claw clip and the holes in the cuffs of her shirt. She took out her earbuds.

“Casey Novak,” Alex said. “The rumor mill is wrong then. You didn’t run off to Colorado.”

“Alex Cabot,” Casey replied. How the collective consciousness of the New York City legal community learned of her week at her sister’s place in Boulder escaped her. “I did, for a moment. The altitude doesn’t agree with me.”

“Too much fresh air will drive a girl crazy.”

“Yeah, so will little sisters. You’re well-dressed,” Casey noted. “What’s the occasion?”

Alex looked at her dress and cardigan. “Lunch with my mother. I only wish it was early enough for a drink now. Coffee just doesn’t quite do the trick.”

“You could always splash some whiskey in there.”

“Tempting,” Alex said. “I don’t think this place has any in stock.”

“You don’t carry some in your purse?” Casey joked. It got her a laugh.

“What’s on that laptop that has you so focused? You were typing like a maniac on that thing. Writing the next great American novel?”

“Close, it’s work.”

“Of a Saturday afternoon, how dreadful.” Alex shook her head.

“I’m sure you work plenty of weekends.” Casey knew she was back at the DA’s office. “It’s not so bad. Maybe I’ll take Monday afternoon off.”

“Now there’s an idea,” Alex said.

“I’d better get a little more done if I want to,” Casey said, though she didn’t really want the conversation to end.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Alex said, and returned to her book. Casey opened up her ancient laptop again, and returned to her maniacal typing.

---

Taking Monday afternoon off seemed more and more likely as the morning dragged on. She was almost finished with the week’s work already. She had no clue how she’d fill the rest of her suspension year at this rate. Maybe she should take Alex’s suggestion, but she’d never been one for writing fiction.

Her mind had been occasionally drifting to the conversation with her old colleague over the past few days. They’d never been close, knowing each other how anyone in different bureaus did at the DA’s office. The extent of their relationship had been small talk, but it had always been nice small talk. And yet, they’d shared the intense experience that was the Connors trial. That case had done a lot for Casey professionally, but it had also been a large moment of personal growth for her. And, she imagined it had given her a perspective on Alex Cabot that few people would ever have: she’d seen her as a victim.

At the coffee shop, though, it was like that had never happened, like they were making idle chat at the work Christmas party or something. There was a mismatch there that stuck in Casey’s brain, like a skipping CD playing at a low volume.

What to do with a self-imposed free afternoon? There was an exhibit at the MoMA that she might like to see, but the thirty-dollar admission price didn’t appeal to her. She’d gone for a run that morning, but she could go to the batting cages, or go lift at the gym, but she couldn’t remember the last rest day she’d taken-- maybe two workouts in one day wasn’t the best idea. She had some overdue library books, she remembered. She could make an activity out of it, go to the main branch. There were usually exhibits up there, so she could satisfy her museum craving, and she could pick up something new to read.

There was a F stop close to her apartment, but even the short walk was sweltering. She’d read somewhere once about how all the concrete traps heat and makes it artificially warmer in the city in the summer time. They were due for some summer rain. She passed a popsicle cart, and as she stepped down the stairs, saw some kids playing in a fire hydrant down the street. There was no relief from the heat in the station. A young man jumped the turnstile. She reloaded her Metrocard. She put in one earbud plugged into her iPod shuffle. A song from The Reminder played.

Nine-and-a-half songs, and she got off at forty-second street. People rested on the steps of the main branch building. A group of men were bucket drumming for tips. Casey walked in, and immediately dropped her books in the first return box she saw. It was pleasantly cool inside, and busy, but not crowded. People sat at tables. Casey almost wished she’d brought her laptop-- she liked to work here. She browsed the magazines, and the newspapers, but found nothing particularly interesting there. None of the exhibits particularly caught her eye either.

The visit was mostly a bust, then. At least she found the memoir her sister had recommended last month.

---

She would’ve stayed longer if the library hadn’t closed at five. The book was really good, and she loved the reading room on the top floor. She didn’t feel like going home yet. If she went home, she’d probably put the TV on and be bored the rest of the evening. A bar she liked did its happy hour from five to seven on Mondays. A crisp glass of white wine sounded like the right way to extend her outing. It was a short walk, but she still got slightly sweaty, and was glad she was wearing a skirt. She was early enough that she got a seat at the bar. She got her wine, and went back to her book.

She read happily through her first glass, and ordered a second. A quarter of the way through it, she felt a tap on her shoulder, and looked up to see the woman she had been thinking of earlier that day.

“Alex,” Casey said. “What a surprise.”

“You’re certainly engrossed in that book,” Alex said. “I’ve been sitting here for half an hour.”

“Really?” Casey said, a bit embarrassed.

“No,” Alex said with a smile. “I just walked in. I’m meeting Abbie Carmichael for dinner in,” she looked down at her cell, “thirty minutes.”

“Are you always so punctual?” Casey said.

“I was working at the library, and they closed on me. I went home and changed, and I was still early.”

Casey laughed. “That’s how I ended up here, too.”

“I thought you were taking Monday afternoon off,” Alex said. Casey was taken aback that she remembered.

“I was reading this,” she gestured to the book. Alex took it out of her hands. “Left the work at home.” She opened her bag. “See, no laptop.”

“Aren’t you disciplined,” Alex said, reading the back. “This looks good.”

“I endorse it,” Casey said. “Why don’t you sit, while you wait for Carmichael?”

Alex slid into the chair, and got the bartender’s attention. She ordered an Aperol Spritz.

“Do you have business with the Southern District?” Casey asked, even though she didn’t exactly want to talk law.

“It’s personal,” Alex shook her head. “We have a standing dinner once a month, for years actually.”

“That’s nice,” Casey said.

“We couldn’t let go of the tradition after we broke up,” Alex winked.

“I wouldn’t want to either,” Casey said, masking her mild surprise at the notion of that couple, and her milder surprise at Alex’s confirmed sexual orientation. She’d always had an inkling (of course, she knew Abbie was gay-- that was not a well kept secret). “This is one of my favorite places in the city.”

“Mine too,” Alex said. “So, what is the work that you can’t seem to bear tearing yourself away from these days?”

“I’m afraid I’m this way about any work,” Casey said. “You should’ve seen me scooping ice cream in high school.”

“I would like to see that,” Alex chuckled. “Did you wear a little hat?”

“And an apron,” Casey said, allowing herself to be teased. “I’ve been freelancing. It’s mostly writing blog posts, product descriptions, things like that.”

“How riveting. I can see why you can’t get enough.” Casey felt herself roll her eyes.

“It’s thrilling, truly,” she played along. “It’s fine money, and I can do it in my sleep.”

“There are worse things than boredom,” Alex said. Casey raised her glass to that.

“How is it being back?” Casey turned the conversation on Alex.

“At the DA’s office?” She asked.

“That is what I meant,” Casey said. “But, the other thing too,” she continued, daring the conversation to go there. “If you want to talk about that.”

Alex nodded. “Nobody asks me to,” she said.

“You don’t have to.”

“No,” Alex said, sipping her drink. “I wish more people would.” She paused, looking around the room for a moment. “It’s odd, though work is good. It took a lot for me to be ready for it again, but I am now.”

“I bet it feels good, being back doing what you do best.”

Alex breathed a laugh. “I was a pretty good claims adjuster, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m sure,” said Casey.

“You asked me a question, so I get to ask you one now.”

“Go ahead,” said Casey.