Casey's Wife 💍

It started with a screaming match between her and the thorn in her side that called itself Olivia Benson, and if Stabler hadn't grabbed the brunette by the arm Casey was sure she'd be making frequent stops at a convenience store to pick up concealer for a shiner. Her own arms had itched to lash out, and she felt disgusting in her skin after listening to the comments made- her demeanor, her manner, her skills and her language, all under constant scrutinization simply for not going to be the name 'Alex Cabot' and being a blonde shark in the courtroom who she'd bet Olivia had slept with at least once in order for this kind of ridiculously unprofessional loyalty.

Don't even get her started on Alexandra Cabot. God, that- that bitch. Insufferable, rich brat.

A cold shiver went down her spine and Casey tried real hard not to think about how that woman's lips had felt on her pulse point, sucking softly, sharp blue eyes with blown pupils when she had resurfaced. She shook herself out of it quickly.

It had continued with her new favorite way to cope- lashing out her anger, the swings she couldn't take out on perpetrators, on Olivia, or at herself, at softballs. In a cage with the bat she still had from high school, all the anger and stress were physically burned out of her as her muscles pushed back the weight of what her brain couldn't carry. She tried not to note how she had stayed longer than anyone else she had seen go to that batting cage, tried to forget the employee that had at some point asked her very gently to get lost because she had been there for nearly four hours and they wanted to close.

Restless nights of hours of sleep she could count on one hand for weeks straight, skipping meals and neglecting hydration, the only real care she put into herself as of late being cold showers for an hour as she stared blankly at the wall from where she had seated herself on the floor of the bathtub. That counts as self-care, right? Cold showers are supposedly good for you. And with all the muscle strain she had started feeling from her only method of coping, freezing herself to shivers was the only way she didn't have to feel what she was doing. Feel the ache underneath her skin, the burn of exhaustion.

But still, exercise was healthy. And she was showering. And yes, she skipped meals, but she bought sandwiches from a vending machine in the courthouse and that should be enough, right? It's not like she was depressed or had some kind of anxious disorder. She was fine, just pissed.

But still, the rejection she faced continued. The cold glares the squad gave her when they heard a 'not guilty' verdict sent her straight to the cages, where she swung and swung until she felt nauseous and dizzy to the point she couldn't focus on the guilt, she could only focus on the employee's face as she tried not to throw up on his shoes.

Pain seared through her whenever she lay down, which didn't help the fact she was pretty sure her new job was causing her to develop insomnia, her arms aching no matter what position she tried to put them in, and a purple bruise blooming like a decrepit flower across the space of skin right above her wrist. She had to uncuff all of her blouse sleeves to cover a portion of her hand for good measure. Olivia commented that it made all her clothes look ill-fitting.

She had assumed- and served her fucking right for assuming, she'll never assume shit anymore with these people- that once she had procured a streak of 'guilty' verdicts read loud and clear for the court, and turned around with a small, relieved smile, she'd meet the eyes of the people she was supposed to be on the team of and they'd be happy. But they never were, and they only become more mad, then, when she fucked up and a perpetrator got off, no matter how hard she tried to fight the political dynamics that influenced court decisions or their own faulty evidence or whatnot. It was never enough, and her amount of exercise started to feel similarly. She never got tired anymore. She only left when she felt appropriately battered or when a well-meaning employee suggested lightly she might take a break. She tried not to meet the eyes of the desk manager whenever she passed him on her way in and out of the batting cages.

Her life has started revolving around a steady rhythm of waking up, going to work too early, leaving work too late, going to the cages till her reactions were too erratic, and then crashing home.

It got worse, still, when the man Elliot Stabler noticed. She had gotten up while he was badgering her for an arrest warrant. Her spine had ached for hours, and she got up to stretch out, only for her blouse to pull more than she had meant it to and for him to catch a glimpse of the purple and grey and disgusting yellow she hid under layers of clothes and a facade of a bitchy ADA. The look of concern on his face made her even more irate, added to the adrenaline of stress coursing through her with every second she spent working in this job.

"I'm single, Stabler." She had chuckled dryly, "So, there's no bad guy for you to lock up. Sorry to disappoint. I'm just clumsy."

Maybe if she had let someone lock up Charlie all those months ago she'd be less of a wreck- but that was blaming the poor man she must have somehow fucked over for her own issues, so she felt guilty seconds after thinking it.

He left without a word, but she caught Olivia staring at her coldly that evening, and the next day she had another bruise overlapping the one Stabler had seen in a way that made her stomach churn when she looked at it. She couldn't help it.

What else did she have to turn to? No one's arms would encompass a raging witch like the squad thought she was, and the last person who had held her honestly had since then tried to kill her.

The last person who had held her apparently not so honestly she did not want to think about.

The burn and the satisfaction in the cracking sound the ball made when it hit the bat was enough to soothe her enough to choke down late dinners over files she was too exhausted to read during the day.

She realized, after three weeks of the same cycle, that the employees at the batting cages would soon force her out. To negate this, she signed up for a gym membership. It wasn't as good, but the burn in her arms felt almost the same as the burn in her legs when she spent a straight hour on the stair master, or longer on the treadmill. The movement was repetitive, also, and that was soothing. That was good. That could keep her together.

At some point, her hushed manifestations of 'it feels good' and 'this is healthy' and 'this is what I need' started to convince her. When she stumbled trying to stand up to hear a verdict, the pain shooting through her spine in a way that made her jaw snap clenched, she coaxed herself into believing the pain felt good, and at some point when it became a regular occurrence it was normal.

The only places she got bruises were when her reaction speed was fucked over and she got hit in the arm or the abdomen, especially because some of the machines at the batting cages acted vaguely irregular, so it was fine. Other than Stabler and whoever Stabler told- and, Casey thought slyly- Olivia probably didn't consider her human enough to take what he had told her seriously- no one knew, or would ever know.

She had to quit wearing heels. She had forced herself to as long as she physically could, but when she could barely walk and barely stand with agony cursing through her calves she resigned to buying flats.

It wasn't as bad as she was describing to herself, she mused, or at least, that's what she thought until about a week ago.

"I'm sorry," the pharmacist had said gently, "but- I've seen you here a least five times in the past month. I don't think I can sell you more of the extra-strength Tylenol. We have policies for repeat customers. I have to advise you to go to a doctor and get a prescription."

"Please-" Casey had tried, gritting her teeth, but the pharmacist had shaken her head, looking at her sympathetically but firmly, and Casey wasn't willing to humiliate herself by begging for painkillers. She wasn't able to break from her routine long enough to find a different pharmacy or bike to it, either.

She hadn't realized how much she had been relying on pill-popping to make the nausea of the pain more tolerable until it was absent and she felt every spark of her nerves in her gut and in her mind like the laughter of vultures who circled above her spinning head.

And that's why she was now thinking this entire situation over while cursing to herself, waiting with a judge whose eyes were fixed on some paper or other for the defense counselor to show up to go over something for the upcoming attempted prosecution of a domestic abuse charge- a man had accused his wife of raping him.

It was always complicated to prosecute such cases, as the jury always leaned to be sympathetic towards women in these situations, and it didn't help that the husband was a working-class man who had married into the family of an esteemed heiress who was now bringing identical charges against him. Classic he-said v. she-said situation involving fetishes and sexual fantasies that Casey believed she wasn't being paid enough for. Initially, she had been rather dismissive of this case, but upon a minor screaming match with Olivia and a sit-down with the victim- a pitiful man- she had become committed to tearing this woman to shreds.

And then the defense attorney showed up, and Casey had another woman she wanted to rip to shreds.

"Good to see you, Alexandra," the judge greeted warmly- fuck, of course, Casey had known Alex had had close bonds with several judges, of course, everyone loved Alex, and of course, she could never measure up to her predecessor.

Alex's hair, which had been a bit shorter the last Casey remembered, was swept up in a ponytail that showed off the delicate curve of her neck. The bite mark Casey had left on the curve where said neck met her collar was long gone, but Casey could see where it would've been above the dipping neckline of the black top Alex had on. Paired with an unbuttoned black blazer and dress pants, Alex had cleaned up nicely the way she always did. Casey tried not to hate her so hard she thought maybe she was trying to convince herself she did.

"Your Honor," she heard that crisp, feminine voice say, returning the warmth that she had been greeted with, and then, "Miss Novak."

"Alexandra Cabot," Casey turned her head, and although her vision had started to worsen over the last couple days with exhaustion, the figure of that woman was something she was not likely to forget. "You're working defense, now?"

Alex opened her mouth, then pursed her lips and smiled calmly, "apparently so."

That lack of a real response irritated Casey only further and she swiped her tongue along her teeth, wishing she had a bat in her hands and the looming shape of a pitching machine in front of her.

"You two know each other?" The judge looked over her eyeglasses, looking back and forth slowly as Alex set her bag down and settled in the armchair identical to Casey's opposite the judge's desk.

"No," Novak bit, and Alex glanced at her at that, emotions unreadable. "But I've heard good things from the detectives who used to work with her. I trust we'll have a productive session."

The judge seemed pleased with this response, nodding to Casey's apparent professionalism.

"It's not every day we have an ex-ADA going up against the ADA who replaced her," the judge mused, "so I appreciate that, Miss Novak, I urge both of you to keep things clear and just."

"We will," rang Alex's reply, her turn to dictate the response, and Casey chewed her own teeth.

"I've called you both here because I'd like to urge a settlement." The judge said flatly, "It's to my knowledge that this case is both high-profile and incredibly complex, and I'm worried it's not in the interest of justice for this to be disputed in front of a jury. I've reviewed all the submitted evidence and testimonies, and I've seen cases like this play out before, and it's never pretty. A long, drawn-out trial is not what is best for anyone in this case. I'm giving you a day to discuss with your clients and see if something can be mutually arranged."

"The People would affirm that due to the complexity of this case, especially the imbalance in the spousal power dynamics, a settlement might not adequately ensure justice for the victim." Casey spoke, her voice firm although her heart inside her chest was anything but.

Alex was staring at her coldly, studying every inch of her as though through an MRI, and Casey wanted to shrink away, or she wanted to hit her, and she wasn't sure which one she wanted to do more, so she just dissociated. She was a good attorney- good enough that she could make it through this conversation without being very mentally present for it.

The rest of the meeting passed briefly, the result a simple agreement to speak to both parties and then reconvene, and Casey slipped out, speed walking through the halls as fast as she could to escape the feeling of Alex's eyes, as sharp and cold as glaciers, piercing her spine.

"Thank you for meeting me," Casey had murmured in a low tone as the skittish, thin man settled into a couch across from her, hours later in her office. He seemed like a strong wind could blow him over, in dress pants and a dark blue turtleneck. His voice sounded vaguely accented, and Casey placed him from somewhere in southern Europe.

"I understand this must be difficult on you."

"It's worse on my daughters," he sniffed, looking uncomfortably away from her, and she tried her best to look encouraging, softer, the way Olivia kept chastising her to be, except she knew full well on the outside she still looked judgemental.

"I want you to know," she said carefully, "I will do everything possible to win this one. I don't want you to be discouraged. But you need to understand that cases like yours have a very low success rate in court. Juries are sympathetic to women, and your wife's lineage holds a reputation. I can work out a deal with the defense, and hopefully-"

"Will she accept some sort of deal where she's guilty?"

Casey hesitated and then shook her head. "I really doubt it. She's pulled allegations against you. A deal would probably involve a mutual dropping of charges, or a cash settlement."

The man looked at her shoes, his eyebrows furrowing, and Casey realized he was shaking slightly.

"I want custody," he said finally, "of our daughters. Sole custody, because I'm taking them far away from this god-forbidden city. This abuse it's- I've- I've dealt with it, I could man up, but- I don't- my girls aren't stupid and they're old enough that they started catching on. I don't want them growing up with this."

Casey swallowed. The feeling of knowing the extent of the injuries a person held beneath their clothes while talking to them about their suffering was something she had not gotten used to in the few weeks she had been doing this for. She had seen the pictures taken during the rape kit- the red marks from a whip, bruises from slaps or punches. A collection of small cuts on his neck and down his stomach.

"I thought, if I managed to get her arrested, it would- I wouldn't have to fight for custody." He said breathlessly, "I want my girls and I want them to be safe and I work my ass off- even though she comes from money, I pay for everything in the household, and I can barely afford her tastes- and I know I can be the dad they deserve. But a court would place them with her because of her assets, I'm sure."

He laughed dryly and Casey pursed her lips, listening to him continue with, "I need it to be set in stone that she's a sadist. That she does this-" he pulled the collar of his turtleneck down, revealing the cuts- in the pictures Casey had seen, they were fresh, newly scabbed over with little ruby pearls. Now they were outlined with bruising in the stage of healing that seemed nauseating to look at.

Casey sighed, rubbing her temples, but then nodded. "I understand, but this is a very heavy risk. If your allegation is dropped by the court, then hers is open, and she can try to frame you for assault, lock you up, and take your daughters for the hills. Really, I-"

"Please." He muttered, "I just need to protect my girls. I know I'm a man, but I- I need you to help me protect them. From her. I can't settle for less than that."

She didn't bother going back to the DA's office, or to the precinct to update the detectives on the fact she now knew there was no way to avoid a courtroom debate. She called in and told them she had been called out in an emergency, and walked out the turbulence inside her organs on the treadmill until she felt as though she could not take another step without blacking out.

And then she rode her bike all the way home.

This case was a fucking mess, and everyone involved knew it, but that never helped anything at all. The plaintiff seemed completely sympathetic when one was speaking to him, but several aspects of his story didn't hold water the way she needed them to and Elliot was starting to doubt the story altogether, concerned that he was only filing to give himself an advantage for a later divorce and custody sentencing. Casey half-thought to agree. Plus, there'd be at least several jurors who'd assume it was just a disgusting fetish instead of a 'real' assault. And the fact they were married made everything even worse.

Olivia and Casey had been bickering like children for days, always about the same details of the case, and the victim was now not cooperating very well out of fear his grandmother would get deported and Casey couldn't figure out how to fix the situation despite Olivia's superduper helpful suggestions of 'just let her stay here'.

Casey was not immigration. Did Olivia know that? Casey was not immigration? This was getting fucking ridiculous.

At least, in court, Casey had someone to take her anger out on because she ended up really despising the defendant and it worked well for her because the defendant apparently couldn't handle that.

"So," she started in clipped, curt speech, "How long have you two been married?"

The woman, a tall, slim statuesque woman, with smoothed back hair, young eyes, and a permanent crease between her eyebrows and in the sides of her cheeks as though she was permanently disgusted with everything around her, glared.

"Five years."

"Isn't your eldest five?" Casey glanced at the jury, already knowing Alex would object to that line of questioning, which she did and Casey moved on smoothly.

"In what month did you meet your husband?"

"October."

"Where did you meet your husband?"

"Objection, relevance." Alex barked, and Casey smoothly tilted her head at the judge, stating firmly, "Laying proper foundation, Your Honor."

"I'll allow it," the judge said after a second, "the defendant will answer."

"He was a ball boy. At a tennis court I frequent."

"So, when you met him, there was no way to know if he would or wouldn't be into your sexual fantasies, correct?"

"I- they're not my-" Casey could tell her anger had flared, and she narrowed her eyes predatorily. She was getting somewhere.

"Ripping your husband apart wasn't your fetish? People's evidence 5B, Your Honor."

Casey paced to her desk, selecting a piece of paper, before handing it over to the defendant.

"Can you explain what this document is?"

"It's- it's a receipt from a credit card."

"Whose credit card?"

"Mine."

"What did you buy?"

"I- I only bought that because-"

"Please answer the question, Mrs. Connings." The judge said smoothly, looking sternly over at her from over her glasses. The defendant looked stiffly furious, like a trapped animal, and almost as though she wanted to lash out at the judge. Casey knew that she hated, beyond everything else, feeling as though she was below someone. In her mind, she saw Casey as her equal, but the judge was not.

"It's for an online subscription to a- to a fetish site."

"Why did you buy this?"

"I wanted to learn what my- what my whore of a husband wanted me to do."

"But this is dated as being from October, five years ago. How soon after meeting him did he ask you to start playing into what you're claiming is his fantasy?"

"Objection, badgering the defendant." Alex snarled, and Casey didn't have an override, so she let herself be scolded by the judge with a bite to her lip and then switched tracks. What she had said wasn't stricken, though.

"How did acting on your fetish evolve, then?"

"It's not my fetish. We were just in bed together, and he asked me if I'd cut him, so I did."

"So, what exactly is he into? What does he ask for?"

"I- I don't even know how to" She didn't know how to come up with a convincing lie, more like.

"Did he ask you to buy the subscription?"

"Yes."

Casey glanced at the plaintiff, who was staring at the desk, but in their conversations, she knew it wasn't him who asked that. She willed very hard for him to look up at her, for him to look less guilty. He did not.

"So, what's your safe word?"

The woman looked positively affronted, recoiling. "Excuse me?"

"This site has a constant disclaimer that it mandates participating partners should ensure open communication and a safe word be established so both partners can opt-out immediately whenever boundaries are crossed. What safe word did you two establish?"

"We didn't need one-"

"How would he tell you if he wanted to stop?"

"He wouldn't, he wanted everything I could dish out, and worse-"

"So he always submitted to your fetish whenever you wanted him to?" Casey's eyes flicked over to the jury, some of who looked mildly concerned. They had already been presented the exhibit of the wounds on the plaintiff, the old scars that had been raised, and the new ones that had bruised over. It seemed hard to wrap one's head around the defendant's words.

"Yes. But it's not my fetish."

"So when it came to acting out on your fetish-" Casey started, only to feel as though she was being physically knocked backward by the explosion of anger from the witness box. She prided herself on the fact she didn't even flinch- but maybe her muscles were just too strained to employ any motion that wasn't deliberate. They could barely handle the deliberate ones, anyway.

"It's not my fucking fetish!" The woman snarled, standing up, slamming her hands down in a way that made the judge wince. "It's not! It isn't a fetish, it's just making my bitch so exactly what I fucking want because that's what he fucking deserves and I won't let a whore like you-"

The judge slammed the gavel, a cold loud sound that rang out equally as loud as her voice as she barked, "That'll be a five hundred dollar fine, Mrs. Connings, do not use such language in my courtroom-"

"You think I can't pay that?" She laughed with some twisted, furious version of glee, before pointing directly at Casey. "This fa-"

Casey's eyebrows shot up at the slur, and she glanced at Alex coldly, who thankfully wasn't looking at her but instead in shock at her client. Casey knew it was somewhat known she was bisexual, she had entertained an interview about it once when she was still in white collar, so if the defendant had done any research she would've found that out on her own, but a voice inside her snarled that Alex must have told. But Casey knew, despite how much she hated the blonde, Alex would never be that unprofessional. She was a god in court, and a god would never stoop that low to gossip.

A god would never stoop to run her fingers along the hair of a stray dog like her, either. Not again.

Casey knew she was on a fine line with the judge's good graces, but watching the defendant be sentenced to spending a night in the lock-up because she had screamed a homophobic slur at her in the courtroom was satisfying enough that she managed to regain a bit of her lost appetite. She ate a portion of grilled chicken with rice, on the table this time, not at her desk, and felt very good about that.

But then the case took a turn, and everything became a mess of garbled wires that reminded Casey wryly of the mess inside herself in the way that she'd probably die trying to fix either of them. Still, though, despite it being grueling and thankless work, she wanted to see justice served. Kids were involved.

Alex was a god in the courtroom, Casey had already known that from the rumors, and it was only proven through the way she fought tooth and nail, dismantling her witnesses and objecting to every third sentence she said, stalking around on those long legs of hers like she owned everything in sight. She shot Casey looks the woman couldn't begin to start reading constantly, and Casey always ignored them.

Alex effectively disabled two experts Casey had put on the stand, and the case started to seem like it was riding exclusively on speculation. The defendant's explosion at her had seemed like enough to show she had violent tendencies, but Alex was determinedly convincing that fetishes and such rage issues weren't correlated in a way that mattered, and Casey was starting to lose arrows.

"Did you tell her to stop?" Alex's voice soothed, not a bark like Casey's was but a clear pitch that sounded undeniably convincing.

"I did. Many times." The plaintiff shrank away from her instinctively, similar to how Casey felt now.

"But she thought it was part of the game?"

"She- I guess so, yeah."

"And you never thought to bring charges until now?"

"My daughter asked me about the cuts. She walked in while I was changing. I realized I needed it to change, that I couldn't- I couldn't handle raising my daughters in an environment like this."

"So, filing these charges had nothing to do with your recent discussions with a divorce attorney?"

"I-"

"Objection-" Casey spoke, standing, a bolt of pain down her sides as her legs screamed at her for the sudden movement. Alex spared her a glance, a look that lingered too long, time seeming to freeze for a moment as Casey stared at the judge and Alex stared at Casey.

Then, court proceeded as usual, and Alex refused to look at her for the rest of the day.

At some point, Casey's ability to work had started to fray, while Alex had only been building up, this being her first case back since being shot- well, she wasn't working for the state, so one couldn't say she was 'back' more so that she had resumed working to some degree- and she had something to prove. Casey had something to prove to the squad by beating her. It wasn't a good combination.

Her sleep reduced to naps consisting of a few hours, the time she spent awake instead being spent at the cages, and on the day before what was going to be the final day of court Casey had managed to slip up something fierce.

Squinting through itching dry eyes at the pitching machine, she had lost her footing as her vision blurred, stumbling to the side and when the softball came rocketing out she had failed to swing entirely, the ball hitting her directly in the center of her left ribcage. She stumbled back, hard, and managed to hit the button to stop it before any more damage was done, dropping to her knees and staying there for a long second, unless she wanted an employee to come running over and force her to stop coming. Through gritted teeth and burning, frayed nerves she managed to change, spotting the dark red and purple mark through a mirror as the bruise began to claim her pale skin, pack up her things, and make to go home. She called a cab- she'd come back for her bike when she went tomorrow.

She wasn't exactly sure how she made it up the stairs, but she had, and she curled up on the floor next to her bed, so close to blacking out from the pain and the stress and the exhaustion of it all that she felt tears began to prick the corners of her eyes, which she angrily swiped away, feeling disgustingly juvenile. She just stayed there, fighting it, head bowed, arms clinging onto the sheets while the rest of her body lay limply on the floor, and eventually, she got too tired of trying to stop herself from sobbing.

"It hurts," she whispered to herself out loud, "it hurts."

"It's okay," Casey cooed the next day, one arm around the eldest daughter of the couple who was sobbing into her shoulder, while Olivia glared at her suspiciously as if Novak was about to bite a five-year-old's head off. "I'm here, and I've got you. It's going to be okay," she continued regardless. Because a five-year-old didn't deserve to have to realize how life really feels just yet. The agony of knowing what living was and what that entails should come later.

They were all waiting to hear the verdict of the trial- Olivia and Stabler were here personally on their break, and Alex was standing with the wife, her lithe hand on the woman's shoulder- great, the two women who infuriated Casey to a phenomenal degree were comforting each other- and the husband, as well as the two daughters, were bundled next to Casey as if they trusted this insanely broken shell of a woman to provide them with comfort she had no clue on where to even begin trying to give.

The large courtroom doors swung open, and everyone was invited back inside, Casey counting her breaths in a manner she had grown used to doing recently so she wouldn't limp, wouldn't appear damaged. She could feel Alex watching her out of the corner of her eye as the other attorney took her stance across the courtroom.

It was a very normal proceeding, and Casey was entirely prepared for the not-guilty verdict until the judge read the slip of paper given to her and nodded to herself.

"In the case of The People v. Connings, this court has found the defendant-

Guilty."

Casey's eyebrows knit over her dry eyes and she stood, frozen, for a long second until she felt the plaintiff's arms slam around her in a grateful hug that only infuriated the injury she was hiding. She gritted her teeth so hard she thought her molars would burst but held him back, patting him on the shoulder, and she felt his tears soak into the fabric covering her shoulder. Relieved tears mixed with the already damp fabric from his daughter's terrified ones. Casey had won.

This was a historical case. Martial rape was hard enough to prosecute when it was a woman against a man, and a man winning in court like this was entirely unheard of. Maybe she was lucky it was a man against a woman. Ms. Connings wasn't careful to ensure her marks weren't permanent, and wasn't careful enough to sugarcoat her abuse the way male perpetrators did because she relied so heavily on her gender and her status to give her the automatic societal out. Casey wasn't entirely sure why it hadn't. She had no clue why it worked. She knew Ms. Connings would most likely win on an appeal. It must've been a miracle jury.

The man didn't let her go for a long moment, and Casey stared forward, glad her face was hidden in his shoulder so she didn't need to face anyone- she didn't want to see anyone, she didn't want to face these people anymore, she was so done, she needed out- god, she needed out, it was well-meaning but his arms around her ribcage hurt so bad she was worried she was going to start crying too, and that was a shitty look on a lawyer.

He let her go and she nodded at him, hoping the tilt in her eyebrows from pain and the haze clouding her mind seemed like sympathy to him, patting the five-year-old's head- she hadn't realized that the little girl had latched onto her waist- before excusing herself, brushing past the thrum of people getting up and talking to each other to dart out.

She vaguely noted Olivia watching her leave, Stabler's eyes narrowing with concern, and the ice-cold eyes of Alex on her back was something that cut through her overwhelmed senses like a dagger to the neck, but she ignored all of it, scurrying off like a wounded animal.

If she had food in her stomach, she would've thrown it back up the second she slammed the door of the courthouse restroom behind her, but all that came out was saliva marring the porcelain bowl of the sink, hands gripping it tightly as if it could save her.

She won, she should have felt eased, but the tension had built in the blood vessels surrounding her heart and she felt like everything inside of her was snapping, everything was breaking, and god it hurt.

Her ribcage really fucking hurt.

She released the edge of the sink with one hand so she could slide a palm to cup the injury, trying to ease the burning, savage flesh with the sensation of cold, shifting all of her weight to the other arm which shook under it. It hurt. It didn't help, not enough, anyway. She wanted to choke down a bottle of Tylenol she wasn't allowed to have. She wanted to swing even harder, despite the injuries, or walk until she actually did black out this time. Her head whirled and she choked again, coughing, as if she had anything to give back up.

"Casey."

She didn't manage to hold back the groan that bubbled in her throat at the sound of Alex Cabot arriving in the small space, trapping her. She had come to gloat- but she didn't have anything to gloat about, right? Maybe she just wanted to remind Casey what a decrepit wreck she was.

She didn't meet the blonde's eyes when she shakily raised her head- but that was partially because she couldn't find them. She must look utterly stupid, still leaning over the sink, her face scrunched up with her eyes squinting. Everything was blurry, everything was spinning.

Alex moved closer and Casey wanted to scramble back, but she knew if she tried for it she'd fall, so she just stood there as Alex crept closer, slowly, like one might approach a snake that one was worried would bite them if they made sudden movements.

Alex reached out, freezing fingertips along the skin on her arm, and Casey hadn't realized she was burning up until she felt it. Alex was trying to free the hand Casey was using the clamp over her rib, trying to see what the problem was, and Casey didn't have the energy to fight her, so she just stared at Alex blankly as Alex pulled her arm to the side, still holding it by the wrist then she used her other to nudge Casey's blouse up.

"Jesus Christ, Casey." Alex exhaled when she saw it, dark eyes darting up to try to find something in her eyes that Casey knew she wouldn't find.

Casey chuckled, a low, biting sound, turning her head back over the sink. As much as she wanted to spit at Alex, she wasn't going to.

"Did someone do this to you?" Alex breathed, her voice so, so quiet, and Casey rolled her eyes inwardly.

"You think you have a right to know?" She snapped back, indignant, "You think you have a right to ask me anything?"

"Casey," the blonde sighed, trying to scold her for her disrespect, but Casey just shook her head resentfully, and she knew she wouldn't get anywhere. Alex let go of her wrist.

The younger woman pawed loosely at the side of the sink with her now-free hand, trying to grab onto it while her other arm shuddered erratically, head dipping further and her eyes squeezing shut, and then she felt Alex nudge her away from the sink, accepting Casey's weight onto her as she forced her backward, slightly, until Casey was leaning on her instead of her sink, Casey's forehead on her collar, stuck in a perpetual state of falling.

Alex helped her to the side, holding her against the wall so Casey could slide down it to sit- not a second too late, because her screaming, burning legs gave out quickly- and then stood over her while Casey balled herself up, aching knees to her shaking chest.

They stood in an uncomfortable silence for a long second, and Casey realized Alex was waiting for her to talk, so she did the best she could. If she argued and fought, Alex must give up on her eventually and get the hell out, leave her the fuck alone. Stop pretending to care about things she knew the blonde didn't.

"You left me." Casey looked up, glaring, and she regretted that being her leading phrase the second it left her mouth because holy shit did it sound beyond juvenile.

"You fucked me- in my office, no less- and then you left me."

"I got shot," Alex corrected her reprimandingly, and Casey barked a harsh laugh.

"You know how I found out? No texts, no calls, and you know I don't listen to rumors. I only found out when they called me in to force me into your job."

"I got shot," Alex repeated again, harshly, "I'm not sorry I didn't make that about you."

Casey bit into her cheek, tucking her knees even closer to her chest, biting her lip, and glaring to the side instead of up at her. Alex hissed softly- after a second Casey realized she was protesting Casey's agitation of her injury. Alex lowered herself to her knees to push one of Casey's legs away, not letting her push against the bruise. Her eyes seemed softer than Casey wanted to let herself admit.

"Do you think I'm a whore?" She snapped, instead of the apology that was heavy on her tongue.

"I have no idea where you'd get that from," Alex responded, smooth and cold as her fingers as she checked Casey's temperature, not meeting the redhead's eyes.

"I don't have sex with just anyone-" Casey continued, seething, but she didn't shake Alex's hand away as the blonde pushed sweaty strands of hair out of her face, "I don't- It means something to me. You thought that was just a quickie with some colleague you could toss aside?"

Alex's nostrils flared and she pursed her lips. "I'm surprised you have such a low opinion of me."

"You haven't given me much else to think", she muttered, but a portion of the fight had left her body. Alex was right, of course. She had no right to be so angry. She had no right to take out the swings she couldn't make at a softball at Alex verbally. Alex was not someone she could hurt.

"I courted you," Alex said with an emotion Casey couldn't distinguish through her blurred vision, creeping a bit closer to unbutton four buttons on Casey's blouse, pushing the fabric to the side to get a better look at the injury, and Casey did not fight her, so she rewarded her by continuing, "I did not sleep with you out of convenience."

Casey growled in the back of her throat, swiping at Alex's wrist with a grimace when she felt the pads of the fingertips tracing her ribs. "Stop, stop-"

"Can you take a deep breath, Casey?"

"You're not a doctor." Casey bit, and Alex arched an eyebrow at her.

"Would you let me take you to one?"

Casey let out an angry huff of an exhale, and then straightened her spine slightly, taking a deep breath, gritting her teeth in pain once she reached a capacity of her lungs at which she thought she'd throw up if she tried to increase. Alex clicked her tongue, but pulled back, resting her body on the heel of her foot, still on her knees.

"Are you trying to avoid the hospital to protect the person who did this?" Alex murmured, and Casey snorted in response.

"Don't act so concerned, Alex, you aren't the Sex Crimes ADA anymore, you're the defense now- for some reason- and no, this wasn't a person's fault, other than mine. I got hit with a softball."

By now Casey's vision had returned enough that she could see the sharp look Alex shot her, but Casey was unrelenting.

"I'm the defense because I thought I was helping," Alex said after a pause, rubbing the space between her eyebrows with her middle finger to soothe the tension there, "god knows I needed to do something."

"So now that that attempt failed you're getting your savior complex fix with me?"

"Casey." Alex warned her, gently, a flex of the eyebrows that told the redhead to quit pushing.

"Don't pretend to care about me," Casey retorted instead, and now that the tremors had subsided she was more than thrilled in a depressed sort of way to grab onto the edge of the sink from the floor and pull herself up to her feet again, feeling every muscle in her body scream at her in the process. She just had to make it home. Just home, and she could go to the gym tomorrow, she'd let herself skip today. Alex was still in her way, thought, and the defense attorney casually pushed herself up too, and despite them being the same height she was in heels that allowed her to look down at the redhead incredulously.

"Casey," her tone was admonished now, "tell me you don't mean that."

"Did I mean anything to you?" Casey snarled back, but it sounded more like a whine which she hated herself even more for.

"Yes." Alex barked, "Yes, you did. And you still do. And I don't like watching you hurt yourself so please sit the hell back down."

"I want to go home," Casey argued instead, trying to walk away, but Alex grabbed her wrists as gently as some could and pushed her back against the sink, pinning her against it with her body, Casey's arms suspending in the air as they went rigid trying to fight with her.

"Then I'll come home with you. I'm not letting you get away from me, not when you're like this."

"Like what?" Casey scoffed, wriggling, which rewarded her only with the feeling of cold porcelain pushing firmer into her spine. The second she stopped moving, the confinement lessened. Alex was trying very hard not to hurt her. "You don't trust me to take care of myself?" She snarled instead of the 'thank you' she should've.

"I just saw your ribs," Alex snapped, her face suddenly closer to Casey's as though proximity would in turn snap Casey out of her protest, "I just saw your ribs, and they did not look like that before."

Casey froze, eyes flashing, and Alex's grip loosened considerably.

"You're not eating- god, I'm not sure if I should be glad I can tell your rib isn't actually broken because the only way I can tell is because it's so prominent if it was broken it would've just cracked out of your skin- you weren't this thin when we slept together-" Alex babbled, suddenly seeming almost frantic, and Casey tried to shrink back like a shameful toddler.

"Please. I understand that I need to regain your trust after leaving so suddenly. But we were somewhere, weren't we? Don't I have at least a little stature with you?"

The redhead's teeth clamped together, muscles in her jaw going rigid, and she looked away, before realizing Alex really did mean it. She wasn't going to let her scramble off. Casey wouldn't be able to bite or insult her way out of the sympathy.

It's because she cares about you, stupid, a voice inside her said, one she hadn't heard in a while. Stop arguing. It won't help.

"Let me help you," Alex coaxed, as if she could hear the thoughts play out in Casey's mind.

Casey let her arms go limp, held up only by Alex, who slowly let them move down to her sides, before she took a step back, giving Casey room to breathe.

"I'm sorry," Casey said after a second, gaze fixing on Alex's shoes. She didn't know what to say after that, so she just blankly offered up another "I'm sorry," so she wouldn't start crying.

"I don't want you to be sorry," Alex leaned down slightly, trying to catch Casey's eye, but she just looked to the side instead. "I want to make sure you're okay."

"I will be." Casey muttered, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

"What can I do to ensure that?"

Casey bit her lip, and Alex instinctively moved her hand up to soothe over her cheek, trying to make sure in her mess of emotions the redhead didn't break her skin. Casey let her lip go obediently.

"We can get dinner." She said finally, letting air out of her lungs.

Alex nodded, straightening, and motioned for Casey to lead her out of the bathroom. The redhead sucked in another pained inhale and began walking, before faltering slightly, her hand pausing on the doorknob.

"Alex," she started, her voice low and heavy with exhaustion, but her mind still had fight written on it, and she knew Alex could tell. "Do you actually care-"

She turned around while saying it, hearing Alex's incredibly exasperated sigh, expecting her to be mad but greeted by the now-defense attorney's lips on her's instead, her hands cradling Casey's cheeks to coax her face upwards to do so.

It lasted barely a second, but it was enough to shut Casey up. Alex released her quickly, but another small kiss was placed gently on Casey's forehead, before the attorney let her go with a small huff.

"Casey," Alex started, and then stopped.

"Yes?"

"Do you regret sleeping with me?"

The blonde's voice was small in a way that Casey wasn't used to- she sounded almost timid. It caught her off guard more than the kiss did. Casey was surprised when the answer surfaced so easily, but it was entirely honest. She had spent the last three months brooding over it, cursing Alex again and again for making her feel used. She had wished she could write it off to herself as a mistake, a hasty move by Alex that she had agreed to thoughtlessly. But it wasn't.

"No." She answered her, "I don't."

Casey watched Alex swallow, and the blonde's chest move as she exhaled, letting out a sigh Casey hadn't realized she was holding.

Alex stepped around her to open the door, inviting her out, and the two began walking side by side towards the exit of the courtroom, and Casey was glad she had her by her side when Alex shook her head quickly at Olivia who tried to approach her, and the detective obediently directed her attention elsewhere in a way that Casey thought bitterly she would never do for her.

"Let me take you somewhere nice." Alex murmured, "And then you tell me what's been happening, okay?"

Casey nodded, and she felt her hand be enveloped by another's. She hadn't realized her hand was shaking until it wasn't anymore.

↓↓↓

To read Alex's perception of these events, please continue: