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.

“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.”

“You know, you haven’t written anything down in half an hour.”

Casey looks up from her spaced out state. Alex is right, she realizes when she moves her eyes to the clock on the oven in her kitchen. She rubs her temples. Alex’s tone of voice makes her feel something. Is it anger? She responds, assuming it is: “Your point is?”

“No need to snip at me,” Alex says patiently. Casey looks at Alex and stretches her arms above her head, rolling out her neck in the same movement.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to get aggressive.” She yawns, rubs her temples. “I’m getting a headache.”

Alex closes her book, takes a sip from her mug of tea. She looks at Casey over her glasses. “It’s okay. Can you take a break?”

Casey sighs. “I can’t,” she starts. The next words out of her mouth were going to be afford to, but the expression on Alex’s face lets her know what she means by “break.” It helps her place the tone in her voice, too. As if to drive it all the way home, Alex smirks at her with a raised brow. Still, though, Casey knows she should get at least a little more done. “Not really,” she finishes.

“Come on,” Alex says. She actually pouts, something Casey hadn’t considered fathoming before a few short months ago. “Please?”

And then, looking at her, then looking back to the work in front of her at the table, Casey has to sniffle some threatening tears away. She laughs into it a few times, hoping that will make it stop. She presses her fingers under her eyes.

“Fuck,” she says between a couple sniffs, “sorry, ugh, um. This case… I, I lost a motion today, and now the case is in the toilet, I have no clue how I’m going to salvage it, I. Fuck, sorry.” She coughs. She sees Alex looking at her, perplexed. Casey realizes that she’s never seen her cry before. She wipes her eyes again, and her fingers come back with black mascara smudges. “Like, it’ll be fine, you know? I know I’ll figure it out.” She does not sound convincing. “I always do,” she tries to smile. She coughs again, and the tears appear to be abated. Alex doesn’t say anything for a moment. She stands and walks across to where Casey is sitting.

“You need to take a break,” Alex says. She sounds sympathetic, yes, but stronger is that deepness that had infused her earlier words, and when Casey hears it, her heart jumps. It races like she’s being chased when Alex takes a deep breath, wraps her hand around her jaw, tilting her chin up so their gazes meet. “You’re right,” she says softly. “It will be okay, and you will figure it out. But, you need to take a break.”

Casey doesn’t think about it as she nods. She takes a matching breath, only sharper, when Alex’s forefinger touches her lower lip, and just as instinctually, she lets the tip into her mouth. Alex nods back, and murmurs something under her breath that Casey can’t quite hear. She doesn’t ask what she said, though (not that she could), because a second finger joins the first, and she doesn’t care anymore. Her breaths still shake as Alex starts to take over the movement, fucking her mouth. Casey makes muffled little mmf sounds that, combined with the slight slurping ones, make Alex smile.

“Don’t you already feel a bit better?” She says, smug. “Shame you didn’t let yourself cry, though, Casey.” She pulls her fingers out of her mouth.

“I did cry.”

“Not really.” Alex swipes her thumb across Casey’s cheek, brings it to her mouth, and licks it. “Not really.”

“Why do you want me to cry?” Casey asks, betraying a good amount of her real confusion.

Alex tilts her head. “I think it would feel good, to get it out, and…” She trails off.

“And what?” Casey asks, now with some clue.

“You looked so pretty with tears in your eyes.”

She’s been learning lately that Alex can reasonably be called “kinky.” It isn’t that she’d been hiding it from her— it’s been obvious since their first encounter. But, it keeps getting clearer as the two of them relax into a comfortable arrangement. Most recently, it was wrapping Casey’s ponytail around her fist and pulling from the base as she fucked her from behind.

The recollecting makes her shiver, as does the hand trailing down her throat to rest and caress her chest, just above and between her breasts.

“Don’t worry, Casey,’ she purrs. “I’ll make you feel much, much better.”

The smile she has when she says it could be misread as evil by the untrained eye. Casey knows better, but it’s still a bit nerve-inducing. The implication, of course, is that Alex wants her to make her cry. Casey swallows, ever-so-slightly in delighted fear.

“Thank you,” she says.

“Aren’t you polite?” Alex says, as she starts to roam her hand again. The other one starts too, stroking her skin almost as if she was petting a cat. “I like that about you. It pays.”

Casey opens her mouth to respond, but Alex’s lips meet hers before the words come out. The kiss starts soft, but doesn’t stay that way for long. Alex kisses like she has a plan: slowly but deeply, building her anticipation. Her hands keep moving and touching, and when Alex pulls away a short time after, Casey is nearly panting. She cups her cheek as she does it, and bites her lip. She tilts Casey’s jaw up again to face her. She kisses her forehead, then kneels.

“At my kitchen table?” Casey objects.

Alex only nods filthily, says “Uh-huh,” and without further response, slips her fingers under the waistband of her jeans. She closes the file and pushes it away from her.

“Out of sight, out of mind?” Alex laughs.

“Or something.” Casey sighs when Alex starts to unbutton her pants.

Alex moves, stretching like she always does, like Casey does when she’s warming up for a run. A marathon, Casey thinks she’s in for. Alex puts on a show taking off her pants. She undoes each button on the fly slowly, somehow making each movement sensual as she peels them off. She moves so slow, Casey begins to feel impatient. Her stomach is warm, and she starts to squirm, knowing that she’s wet.

“You’re polite, but you’re impatient, too,” Alex scolds.

“You’re torturing me,” Casey jokes. Alex looks up at her and widens her eyes.

“When I torture you, darling, you’ll know it.”

Casey goes to respond, but is again cut off by Alex’s touch. She bites her inner thigh without kissing it first, just hard enough to be painful. It’s a blessing in disguise, really. She wouldn’t have known what to say, with what she just said to her, and called her.

“That’s a promise,” she says when she releases her teeth.

Casey is comforted by the notion, by the tone. That Alex will be clear, if not always nice, if not always predictable. Alex touches the warm center of her unassuming underwear, her fingers curled as if feeling a forehead for a fever. She makes a contented hum at the information she gathers, surely, Casey has a temperature. She starts to pull off the dampening fabric, and as she does, says “I don’t want you to come until I say so. You can do that for me, right?”

Casey pauses. She has never been good at playing that particular game. “I’ll try,” she offers.

“You’d better.” Alex smiles, and takes off the panties. She sucks air in through her teeth at the sight in front of her— Casey feels her ego grow. Too late to sooth the blossoming bruise, Casey hisses in pain instead when Alex kisses the tender flesh she’d bitten. “Remind me of our safe word, would you now Casey?”

“It’s clementine,” she provides.

“Good,” Alex says. “You know how to use it,”

“Mm-hm,” Casey replies, and it comes out more pathetically desirous than she intends.

Alex must’ve heard it too, because “poor thing,” she says. It makes Casey twitch, and she whines. Alex is finally sympathetic: at last, she leans forward and touches Casey’s cunt.

It’s relieving, yet, because her tongue is so light on her clit, barely there even, her frustration continues to build. The feeling is still intense, and more intense are Alex’s eyes, dark with desire, staring into hers. Her look is vulgarly wanting, almost predatory. It gives Casey the impression that there’s another universe in which Alex is a dominatrix, or a politician, or a mob boss. It scares her a bit again. The fear makes her stomach clench, and her cunt too.

“Remember the rule,” Alex reminds her.

“You make it,” Casey twitches again when Alex increases her pressure a bit, “not easy.”

“There’s no fun in easy, even though you are.” When Alex pulls back to reply, Casey involuntarily shifts her hips forward. Alex swats her thigh, and she yelps. “New rule. Be good. Stay put.” Alex says, and as if anticipating a question, finishes, “Or I stop.”

Casey can’t do anything but nod, and she bites her lip when Alex touches her again. It’s anything but light. She moans loudly and feels how close she is. Alex must, too, because she decreases her speed and pressure. Alex goes back and forth between heavy and light, between fast and slow, in a way that keeps her just at the edge, for what feels like hours. Eventually, it is close to too much, and Casey warns her.

“Al-ex,” her voice shakes. Alex hums against her cunt, and the vibrations of it almost make her come. “I’m going to—“

Alex speaks. “Not without permission.”

Her frustration at the words is enough to make her sniffle, and then a sob escapes her. Alex moans in earnest. “Please,” she chokes out in a whisper.

“Come for me, angel.”

And Casey does, her entire body twisting in quaking waves as her cunt flutters. Her legs shake. And she cries. Heaving, brutal sobs escape her throat and hot tears stream down her face. It’s entirely inelegant. And it feels so, so good.

Alex keeps going until her orgasm is truly done. Casey’s tears calm, but they don’t completely stop, and she covers her face with her hands. Alex stands. She takes Casey’s hands and pulls them to her side. Gently, she kisses Casey’s forehead, each of her cheeks, and her lips. “Do you feel better?” She asks as she pulls Casey up to her and wraps their bodies together in a hug.

Alex hums. She sinks further into Casey's lap, sinks her fingers further inside her-- cramped though they are, in the back seat of this car.

"I didn't know you were so--" Casey says, and is cut off by her kiss. She breaks it: "I guess this dress--" another, and Alex is moaning, and moaning, and moaning into her mouth. When she collapses, breathes heavy out her nose, Casey gets to finish her sentence. "I guess this dress really had you going, huh. You couldn't get out of there fast enough."

She shakes her head against her neck.

Alex knew that this would eventually have to stop, that there was a deadline looming. That being said-- she was not trying to do anything to accelerate that eventuality. Casey was under her, rolling her hips up into hers. Her hands gripped Alex’s waist as she threw herself into their kissing, eager, yielding, responsive. She liked this part of Casey, her informal submission. She never demanded Alex’s dominance, but rather requested her guidance, like they were dancing. Casey made an mmph noise that helped Alex’s pulse as it was already starting to race. Alex took that opportunity to explore Casey’s soft mouth further, to slip a hand from where it rested on her shoulder under her sweatshirt.

It was going to have to stop because Alex knew that a) neither of them had time for this, and b) they were going to be sharing a bureau chiefship in about a week. McCoy had begged for them both back, said he had a vision to “revamp” Sex Crimes (whatever that meant) and that he wanted two heads. The offer had been interesting, appealing, and they were both willing to try. But, they both knew that they shouldn’t keep sleeping with each other if they were going to be working that closely together. It just didn’t make any sense.

Something about making the most with the time they had left had them fucking like they really meant it. Every day for the last three had seen them in one of their apartments, much like this. Alex had always liked having someone who let her have her way with them, who encouraged her to make the plan and see it through. It satisfied her urge for control without her ever having to take over. Casey, for her part, always seemed to enjoy the ride as much as Alex liked driving. She hissed and then moaned when Alex nipped, then kissed at her neck.

Alex hummed in satisfaction. Casey was so demonstrative, so clear. Alex thought that might make working together easier, once they couldn’t do this anymore. ‘This,’ now was Alex’s hand reaching up from where it rested on Casey’s ribs to catch a nipple gently between two of her fingers, and Casey sighing. Alex kissed her lips again, and wondered how much more teasing Casey would take from her tonight. She had never quite found a limit. That patience of hers worried Alex sometimes. She knew it translated into stubbornness. Alex would be crossing that bridge when she came to it. Besides, patience was not particularly among her virtues.

The unlikeliness of their circumstances occasionally would strike Alex, surprise her. She had slept with so many women she went to law school with, she had slept with plenty of colleagues, and many friends, some of them often-- none of them so consistently yet so casually as Casey. She was undemanding and enthusiastic at once.

“I wish we didn’t have to go into work tomorrow,” Casey said

“Why are you looking at the clock?” Alex replied. “Focus.”

Casey exhaled. “I know, it’s just,” she started. She was interrupted by a moan when Alex flattened her palm and squeezed, “less time for this.”

“It is a shame,” Alex said, “we really have been doing a lot of ‘this,’ haven’t we?”

“It feels like we’ve been fucking for seventy-two hours straight, yeah.” Alex grinned. She kissed Casey, then spoke.

“A little less than that.” Alex sat back, beckoning Casey to follow her. “We didn’t see each other until noon on Friday.” Casey laughed. That had been a long lunch indeed. Alex had vowed to come in early Monday to make up for that and the early evening they’d called. Looking at the clock now, that was seeming less and less likely. She begun taking Casey’s crewneck off and let her finish that job. Alex stretched her neck. She ran her hand along Casey’s collarbone and smiled when that got her a twitch.

“One more week…” Casey trailed off. Alex felt herself pout. “We’re going to be so busy.”

“I know,” Alex said. “Too busy for ‘this,’” she grazed the skin of Casey’s pale breast with her lips. Casey let out an exaggerated sigh. “Not to mention…”

“I know,” said Casey.

“It’s too bad,” said Alex. “Why did we take the job again?”

“Make a difference,” Casey said, unconvinced. Alex laughed, nothing more than an exhale.

“Yeah,” said Alex, “I guess.” The two of them knew how important this opportunity could be for them, to say nothing of how good they would be at it. Right now, though, with her friend of many years half-nude in front of her, Alex questioned her sanity. Casey idly slid a hand through Alex’s hair. She arched and hummed when Alex circled her tongue around, like she always did. She saw the clock against her will, and resolved to hurry up a little. She ghosted her hand over Casey’s shorts, at her hip, then between her legs.

It wasn’t that Jack McCoy would care that they were having sex, and it wasn’t that Alex thought it was inherently wrong to sleep with your coworkers. They were just going to be completely enmeshed in each others’ work lives. And she could acknowledge that when they weren’t in the same bed. Casey’s body responded to the gentle pressure. Alex removed her own shirt. Casey reached a hand up and took one of Alex’s in it. She kissed her knuckles. Alex appreciated the sweetness of the gesture.

It was chilly. It had almost hit 70 today, but the night was reminding her that it was still only March. Her open window had been their only exposure to the beautiful day, having only left the rumpled bed for coffee, breakfast (Casey had insisted on at least some food), and breakfast for dinner. The newspaper was on the floor, as well as several rounds of clothes, a detective novel that Casey was reading (weird choice in Alex’s opinion), and a few errant work files. There were two glasses of ice water on the side table, and Alex took a sip from one, which could have originally been hers or not.

Casey made an eep noise when Alex’s cold lips touched her stomach, then lower. She slipped two fingers on each hand under the waistband of Casey’s shorts and pulled. They had easily discarded the need for undergarments days ago, and Alex sat up to take in a favorite, familiar sight of hers, Casey nude on her back in the moonlight, the curls of her ample red bush, her hard nipples. Casey smiled up at her, and Alex went back to where she was. She took in the scent she knew so well.

“You know,” she said, resting her head against Casey’s right thigh for a moment.

“Hm,” said Casey, who never seemed to mind Alex’s propensity for having full on conversations during sex.

“I am going to miss getting to do this with you.”

“Me too,” said Casey. She wiggled a bit, getting comfortable. When Alex finally touched her, tasted her wetness, her tongue ever-so-light against Casey’s clit, her sounds of pleasure filled the room like fragrant smoke. “I’m going to miss it too.”

---

Their three-day marathon turned out to have been a smart move, because they saw almost none of each other during their last week in separate bureaus. Alex got swept up into her last case in Homicide, Casey had to put out several of the bureaucratic fires she was eager to leave behind in Appeals (she had expressed to Alex on more than one occasion just how ready she was to get out of there). The most they managed was happy hour on Thursday, and that hardly counted— Rubirosa and Cutter had been there too.

What’s more, Alex had come down with a (mid-spring? It was unfair) cold the next day, which had spoiled their plans for one last hurrah. Casey, germaphobe that she was, had dropped off a quart of chicken soup with rice (the kind she made when someone really needed it, that turned to jello in the fridge) on Alex’s stoop with a note that read get better before Monday, or else. It had made Alex laugh. She sent Casey an angry text in response, blaming her for a coughing fit that sent her back to bed.

She did feel better Monday morning, and came in energized and ready to take on their new challenge. From the moment she walked in, Casey projected that hard-won, unshaken confidence that Alex knew she had in her. Casey knocked on her open door, box in hand, just a minute or two after Alex started unpacking.

“You look good,” Casey said.

“Good morning to you too, Casey,” said Alex, putting down a paperweight.

“No, I mean,” Casey said with a smile, “you don’t look sick.”

“That’s very nice of you to say,” said Alex.

“Good morning, Alex.” Casey said, grinning now, starting over. Nobody else had arrived yet. Alex wasn’t surprised that they’d had the same idea. She look a deep breath.

“You ready?” Alex asked.

“As I’ll ever be.” Casey shrugged and nodded towards her office across the hallway.

---

Casey leaned back in her office chair, hands above her head. She puffed out her cheeks and closed her eyes. Their eyes met when she opened them, and Casey raised her hand in a half-wave, holding her fountain pen. Alex put down the journal she was reading and walked across the hall. She perched on the arm of the blue couch against the other wall.

They had never really worked together before. It really felt like they were collaboratively building the department from the ground up to their specifications. They’d been brought even closer in a matter of weeks. They were usually the first ones in and the last ones out.

“Do I need to kick you out?” Asked Alex.

“You do not have that authority,” said Casey.

“Sorry,” said Alex, “do I need to encourage you to leave?”

Casey took a deep breath. “That depends,” she said.

“On?” Said Alex, slipping into the banter they’d always saved for private places.

“On what I get if I do,” Casey replied, “because I really need to finish this opening statement.”

“You have a couple days still,” said Alex, “I’m the one who has court tomorrow.” She checked her watch. It was almost ten o’clock.

“And I know for a fact you finished yours three days ago.” Casey set down her pen. Alex bit her lip and saw Casey’s eyes dart there. Alex thought for a split second about slowing this down.

“Maybe,” she said instead. “What you get… do you want whisky or wine? Because I have both.”

Casey raised her eyebrows. “Shame,” she said. “I’ve been daydreaming about a gin and tonic.”

“I’m sure that could be arranged,” Alex said.

---

“You know, I thought you would take me somewhere a little classier,” said Casey as they walked in to the brightly lit store. Alex looked back at her. She cocked her head to the side.

“They have the actual good stuff,” she said.

“I see,” said Casey. She brushed her hand against Alex’s. “Always looking out for me.”

“You know me,” said Alex, locating the Botanist. She got the shop attendant to unlock it.

She would be lying if she said she hadn’t found certain aspects of her new position challenging, frustrating even. Casey’s emerald green sweater was on the list, as was her silver necklace.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t gone long periods of time without sleeping together before. Even without Alex’s time away or the monogamous relationships they’d both been in, they had gone months before, because of circumstances (once, because Casey had taken a temporary vow of celibacy). It had never taken a great amount of willpower before, but she was having a little trouble not kissing Casey in the fluorescent light of this liquor store.

“Alex,” said Casey. “Did you want something else?”

“Hm,” she said, “no, no. I have some tonic.”

“Limes?” Casey looked amused, like she knew she’d caught her.

“They have them at the register.” Alex double checked she’d gotten the right bottle. Casey placed her hand between Alex’s shoulder blades and turned Alex that way. Alex’s skin tingled.

---

“I promise I tried,” Casey said. She leaned forward and put her glass down on Alex’s counter, having only had a couple sips.

“Oh?” said Alex. “Tried what?”

“Not to do this,” she said, and took Alex’s hand, pulling her towards her, then touching her cheek with the other hand, kissed her.

“Yeah,” said Alex, inches away from Casey’s lips, “me too.” The hand that was on Alex’s cheek laced into her hair. The kiss grew deep and hungry.

“It’s hard when you’re across the hallway,” Casey said. “My resolve wears thin.” Alex’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath.

“Tell me again why we thought this was a good idea,” said Alex, playing with Casey’s necklace.

“I don’t remember,” said Casey. “We’re the best people for the job,” she revised.

“Ugh,” said Alex. “The curse of the competent.” Casey laughed.

“You do know what you’re doing,” she said. Alex raised her eyebrows.

“I do,” she said, “don’t I?” Casey rolled her eyes. Alex dropped the necklace and playfully pushed away from her. “You’re not so clueless yourself.” Casey pulled her back.

“Yeah,” she said. Alex kissed her this time and felt Casey smiling into it, parting her lips. “Not my fault you look at me like that.”

“Guess so,” said Alex. “My apologies.” Casey smirked.

“You sound very apologetic.” She said.

“Deeply,” said Alex. “I missed you, Casey,” she said, honesty winning over sarcasm.

“I missed you, too,” said Casey quietly, warmly, and kissed her again.

---

It was different in the morning. Alex made them coffee like she always did, early riser she was. The air smelled like spring, the morning sun shone through her window, birds cheeped.

“Don’t you think this is a weird time to start a new job?”

Her little sister’s voice is tinny. Ana is making a bottle for the baby, she has her on speakerphone. Casey is listening through her earbuds, walking to said new-old job bright and early on the third Monday of November.

“It is,” said Casey, “but, as we’ve discussed, this was when the position became vacant and they really need it filled. It was all--” Casey dodges an electric scooter-- “A little last minute.”

“You should’ve made them wait until next week. Mom’s mad you’re not coming home.”

Casey had been glad for the excuse. “Mom will be fine. Look, I’m not really in the position to negotiate here.”

“Your suspension has been over for months.”

“And I was offered a job despite the gap in my resume.”

“I just think it’s a little unfair,” Ana says, “You’re like, the best prosecutor I know. They’re lucky you even said yes.”

Casey scoffs lightheartedly. “I would take that compliment if I weren’t the only prosecutor you know.”

“You don’t know my life.”

“I’m here,” says Casey, “bye.”

“Bye.” Casey clicks her phone off and removes her headphones, and hears a voice beside her say her name.

“Alex,” she says in reply. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Casey,” says Alex, who is holding a to-go cup that reads decaf soy which she thinks is fitting. “First day back, right?”

“You are.” Casey sighs a little, remembering the last time she had left this building.

“I can’t believe they didn’t let you start after Thanksgiving,” Alex says.

“I didn’t much feel like flying anyway,” Casey remarks.

Alex checks her watch. “Good luck, Casey,” she says.

“Thanks,” Casey says, and waits for Alex to get a couple steps in front of her before she heads in, and up.

---

Alex doesn’t think much of how little she naturally sees of Casey over the next few weeks. There’s no reason she’d see more of Casey than any of her other coworkers. Casey’s been taking cases for Homicide since she started, or so Alex hears. When she sees her red hair from afar, she wonders for a moment how much of that was her choice. Then she gets drawn into a conversation with Mike Cutter and the thought leaves her mind.

Cutter wants to know if an arraignment went alright, and it did, the guy was remanded. He’s kind of been breathing down her neck, and she isn’t really sure why. She has things to do, so she tries to extricate herself, and succeeds after a while. She passes Casey, this time closer, on the walk back to her office and the woman gives her a polite wave that Alex returns. She sits back down at her desk and doesn’t get up for more than a restroom break until she heads home.

It isn’t pitch black when she leaves, but the sky is darkening rapidly, the last of the sun glowing orange behind the buildings. The chill in the air this morning had brought out one of her winter coats, and she can see her breath in front of her face. She’s grateful for the scarf around her neck.

Traffic stalls. She passes it on foot, and cyclists weave through in a way that makes Alex wonder if they all have death wishes. One particular cyclist zooms past, a red ponytail sticking out from under her helmet. At the stoplight on the corner, Casey gives her another smile and wave. Alex waves back, and as she descends the steps into the subway station, feels a little warm.

---

By week three, Casey feels like she’s just starting to settle in to the work. It’s the same, and it’s different, and she feels all jumbled up sometimes, scattered. They’ve rearranged things around Hogan, everyone’s office is somewhere different than she remembers, including her own. She gets halfway to her old one a couple times. She’s picking up cases as they get thrown her way, which is challenging, but not altogether more difficult than being assigned to one unit. It’s just different. She is mostly adapting.

On the start of her ride home from work (the refurbished Bianchi had been her celebration present to herself) she waves to Alex Cabot as she turns to walk into the subway station. It’s funny to run into her twice in one day, nice. Casey hasn’t made any work friends yet. She knows the scarlet letter of her suspension will inevitably fade as she wins more cases, but for now, many regard her with suspicion, or worse, pity. Alex might be the closest she has-- nobody else has dared to wish her good luck, anyway.

And there was the matter of the Connors trial. Casey begins to recap it in her head, and she recalls Alex, afraid in her office, asking if Casey was ready. Her predecessor had loomed over almost her entire tenure in Sex Crimes. Casey had witnessed, even shared in the experience of the trial that put the man who shot Alex behind bars. Yet, they’re almost strangers, Casey realizes.

She thinks she might like to change that.

---

The next time Alex runs into Casey, they very nearly collide. Alex stops just short of Casey, because she’s trying to text and walk. She should really know better.

“Hi Alex,” Casey says cordially, and takes a step to the side, starts walking down the hallway.

“Hi, Casey,” Alex says equally so, and Casey turns to face her.

“I’m getting coffee. Can you spare fifteen minutes?” Casey asks, and that is unexpected, though not unwelcome, not at all.

“I can, actually,” Alex says with a touch of the surprise she feels.

There’s a coffee cart right outside the office, thankfully. No decaf espresso, no soymilk, but Alex can drink a cup of black drip coffee too. She has an urge she’s had a few times over the years.

“Casey,” she starts after some small talk, “I never got to thank you, after the Connors trial.”

“You didn’t have to,” Casey says. “I mean, I knew you couldn’t, and I was doing my job. And it’s been a long time, Alex…”

“Thank you, Casey,” Alex reiterates.

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re tough,” Alex says. Casey laughs and looks puzzled.

“I am?”

“Yeah,” says Alex, who hadn’t really been thinking before she spoke.

“Coming from you.” Casey seems amused. She blows on her coffee (cream and sugar) and takes a sip. Alex nods to the park across the street and they walk that way, sit on a bench. “You’re a badass, Cabot.”

Alex shrugs and sips her own coffee, watches a woman pushing a stroller pass a man talking loudly into his phone. “Thanks,” she says, in lieu of argument.

The remaining ten minutes pass with lighter chat, about the brisk weather, office politics, and the new season of Top Chef. When Alex gets back to her office, she feels refreshed after the cold, pleasantly caffeinated, and goes back to her work.

---

There’s a horrible cold snap the week before Christmas. It makes Casey glad her landlord sorted out her heat quickly when it broke last month. She caves and rides the subway to work all week-- the roads are far too icy for the bike. The stations and cars are even more packed than usual with commuters who would generally walk and people just looking to escape the cold for a moment. She plugs her earbuds into her iPod and presses play on the new Black Keys album, rides the train for the first two songs and is halfway through the third when she gets to her office. It’s going to be a long day-- she has an opening statement to give, among other things.

The damn copier on her floor is busted (as it often is), so she has to go up one after she has lunch. She sees Alex at her desk on the way to their copy room. She has her glasses on and her hair swept back in a claw clip. She’s writing quickly in a notebook. Alex looks up for a moment, the end of her pen against her lips like she’s deep in thought. She nods and goes back to her work, but moments after Casey starts up the machine, someone speaks behind her. When she turns, it’s Alex.

“Needed a walk?”

Casey is okay with the teasing. That first coffee had turned into a nice, comfortable work-friendship that Casey valued in their office culture.

“The copier downstairs is broken,” she says, leaning against another large machine. Alex has a travel mug in her hand. “Work slow today?”

“Far from it,” Alex says. She takes a sip of what Casey assumes is green tea at this hour. It must be new, because she winces, like she burnt her tongue.

“Ouch,” Casey says, matching the playfulness. Alex rolls her eyes. “You gotta watch out for that.” Alex shrugs.

“What are you doing tonight?” Alex asks her. Casey thinks about it for a second, checking her mind for plans.

“I shouldn’t be busy. Why?”

“I have this reservation,” Alex’s fingers tap against her mug, “it’s at a new place, super hard to get. Would you like to come with me?”

“I,” Casey hesitates for a moment, only because she hadn’t been sure if they were that kind of friends. “Yeah, sure,” she continues, and then it hits her that this sounds kind of like Alex Cabot is asking her on a date. To interrogate that further, she asks, “how did you get the reservation?”

“My friend’s girlfriend left her, today, on their anniversary. She gave it to me.”

“Oh,” says Casey, finding that inconclusive. Instead of pushing her further, she just says, “well, yeah, dinner sounds nice. What’s the dress code?”

“Nicer than jeans,” Alex is specific, “but not too nice. I’m probably going to wear a nice sweater and a skirt.”

“Sounds good,” says Casey, picturing a dress she owns.

“Great, I’m glad. I didn’t want to go alone.”

Probably not a date, then, Casey thinks, and is fine with that. Casey does need to bring the copies she just made back to her office. She gets them and gives Alex a “see you” on her way out. She tries not to think about how she’d wanted it to be one.

---

“It’s so cold,” Casey says as they wait at the host stand. Alex agrees, it had been hard to drag herself out of the house in this weather after a long day of work. But she has it, and she invited Casey, so she’d braved the couple-block walk. Her fingertips are still a bit numb.

“I know, this weather is crazy. Have you been riding in this?”

“No,” says Casey, and Alex is glad to hear it. “She doesn’t like the cold.”

“Your bike?” Alex thinks, of course Casey’s bike is a she. Casey’s eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Bianca,” she says. Alex smiles.

“She sounds like a discerning lady.”

“She demands only the best.” Casey bites her lip, something Alex is learning is a habit of hers. The host leads them to their table.

Alex gets a good look at the necklace Casey’s wearing as they sit down, a delicate gold chain with an emerald at the center. As she takes in the candlelit restaurant, she realizes that this seems like a date.

“Happy anniversary,” Casey says with a wink, and Alex is grateful for the way it breaks the tension, makes her laugh.

“To you too,” Alex says. “Poor Jane.”

“Tell her thank you, from me.” That thankfully ends the last of the awkwardness, Casey’s so considerate and polite, genuine.

“So,” Alex says, trying to find the right topic. She considers work, she considers Top Chef (It’s shaping up to be Paul versus Sarah all season long, but Alex has a soft spot for Grayson), but she lands on something else, that she’s curious about, cares about. She asks, “How did you spend your suspension?”

Casey looks a bit taken aback at the question, but her expression is not offended.

“Nobody asks me that,” she says, “everyone just tiptoes, pretends that I didn’t exist for three years.”

“I know the feeling,” though Alex knows it isn’t the same.

“Right,” says Casey, somewhat disbelieving, which Alex figures she deserves. She turns her head to the side. “I did freelance work, volunteered at an LGBT center… I read a lot, mostly memoirs and fiction. I worked out twice a day. I watched the entirety of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD more than once. I mostly spent it by myself.” She looks back at Alex.

“That sounds almost restorative.” Alex is sure it wasn’t, really, but she’s trying to be positive, for Casey’s benefit.

“In a way,” Casey puts her hand on the back of her neck, “it was, in a way. I was pretty miserable for the first few months, pretty bored for the rest of it.”

“I never thought you deserved that severe of a punishment,” Alex says, and is telling the truth, based on what she had heard second hand.

“Maybe,” says Casey, “I was headed down a pretty bad path, though, dangerous. I would’ve gotten myself disbarred for something else if they’d let me get away with that.”

Alex admires Casey’s capacity for introspection, for honesty. She says “Hm,” encouraging Casey to talk. She doesn’t have more to say about the suspension, though.

“Since you asked me,” she says, “what was it like to be Alex Cabot again?”

Alex is glad that she hadn’t exactly reversed her question. “Incredibly difficult,” Alex says with a little laugh, figuring she ought to return Casey’s honesty. “I never got used to the program, really, but that time still passed, and nothing was the same when I got back.” She hopes Casey can forgive her vagueness. “Nobody asks me that question, either,” she finishes.

“Do you like to be asked?”

Alex thinks for a moment before she speaks. “Yes,” she says, “I do.”

---

As they leave the restaurant, Casey still hasn’t made her final prediction as to whether or not it’s a date. She knows she can just ask, she knows that. She worries, though, that if the answer is no, she’ll lose someone who is quickly becoming a valued friend. Alex shivers as they wait for Casey to find a cab outside. Casey’s teeth chatter, and simply out of instinct, the two of them move closer to each other until Casey can feel Alex’s body heat next to her.

And she goes for it.

Alex is stiff for an extremely long moment before she kisses back. She makes up for it, though, with a hand on Casey’s waist that draws her in suggestively. It might not have been a date, but Alex doesn’t seem to mind this. When Casey pulls away, Alex gives her a contemplative look.

“Should I not have…” Casey trails off, not finishing before Alex replies.

“No, I’m just a little surprised.”

“And is that a good thing?”

Casey watches Alex’s eyes as she looks at her lips. She bites her own.

“Yes,” she says. She sees a taxi and hails it. Casey holds out her hand as she starts to get in, and Alex follows her.

---

Alex notes, as they walk up the six flights of stairs to get to Casey’s apartment, that this desire snuck up on her. It is real, though, and she’s had the cab ride all the way to Brooklyn to think about it. Casey’s casually granted invitation is appealing, as is the view Alex is offered as Casey walks in front of her, from her hair to her heels.

Casey makes an exasperated sound as she’s unlocking the door. “Fucking thing always sticks.” She gets it to open on the third try. Her apartment is cozy, which is to say, small, but well-decorated and arranged. The radiator is on and a window is open. She has some real art on the walls, and when she notices Alex looking at it explains, “They’re by a college friend of my sister’s. We all got prints for Christmas a few years ago.”

“They’re nice,” Alex says, following Casey’s lead and removing her shoes. Casey takes her coat and hangs it up.

“Thanks,” Casey says, “I don’t think you’re here to admire my art collection.”

“No, no I’m not.” Casey leans against a wall in her kitchen-living room, and Alex steps forward, kisses her softly.

“That’s more like what I thought,” Casey says in a pause. Alex chuckles.

“Quite presumptuous, don’t you think, Casey?” Alex teases.

“I seem to be right.”

Alex considers this. She had asked Casey to dinner, it makes sense that Casey would’ve expected the night to go here. Alex feels like she’s playing catch up with her own intentions.

Alex nods, and leaves it at that as she kisses Casey again.

---

Casey is going to go home for Christmas, though she doesn’t want to. Ana needs her there, she hasn’t seen her nephew since he was born, her father’s health has been getting worse, and she just doesn’t have any excuse, any reason to stay in the city. She’s leaving on the 23rd, and the final three days in the office before she leaves fly.

Her friendship with Alex appears to be virtually unaltered, which Casey can’t quite bring herself to complain about, let alone change. She had been perfectly content to be nothing more than work friends. Now they were work friends who had slept together. Casey assumed it wouldn’t happen more than once. That dinner hadn’t been a date, she’d decided, and the sex had been nothing. That Alex is attractive, engaging, and great in bed doesn’t have to mean anything else.

Alex doesn’t give her any indication that anything has changed, anyway, except a warmer, fonder smile she flashes her sometimes. Casey chalks it up to comfortable familiarity, closeness, that also doesn’t have to mean anything else.

It’s just sex, just a one night stand. They don’t even acknowledge it. They barely see each other in the office before she leaves. Casey, at least, is trying to get ahead on work. No invitations to dinner are extended, either, so when would they? Their interactions amount to waves and nods. That’s going to have to be okay.

It is okay, and her flight home goes smoothly. Her mother doesn’t try to set her up with any of her friends’ (divorced or gay) sons at midnight mass. The baby is pulling up to stand, her father is in good spirits. They have a calm Christmas Eve and then a busy Christmas morning with Casey’s grandparents, aunts and uncles, her cousins and their kids. Her mom only gives her a couple passive-aggressive comments about having babies. It’s a tolerable, even pleasant few days.

Around lunch on the 30th, her last day at her parents’, she gets a text from Alex.

- What are you doing New Year’s Eve?

She’d heard that song that morning, in a Target. Another follows seconds later:

- I have a party I can’t get out of and nobody to go with.

Not a date, again, Casey thinks, and this time she allows herself a little disappointment. She still would like to go, though, If nothing else, to see what kinds of parties Alex frequents.

- I don’t have plans, but I might be jet lagged. A party sounds fun if you’ll put up with my grogginess.

Alex’s reply:

- It’s roaring 20s themed. I know, pedestrian. I think I have a dress you could wear, I know it’s late notice. - You can be as groggy as you want. We don’t even need to be there until midnight, I just have to make an appearance.

Casey is amused at Alex’s lack of enthusiasm and resolves to brighten her evening even just a little.

- Sounds like a plan :).

She doesn’t regret risking the emoticon.

---

Alex is nervous as she opens the door, jitters that she thinks are misplaced. It’s around eight PM, they have some time before they need to be at the party. She knows enough about Casey to know that she would never judge the themed outfit she has on. She hasn’t even committed all the way: she wears a low-waisted short black dress and a fascinator, and calls that good enough.

Casey has on jeans and a tee shirt under her coat, and Alex has never seen her this casual before. Her hair is curled, too.

“Wow,” Casey says, eyeing Alex.

“Too much?”

“No, not at all.” Casey has an expression Alex now recognizes, that suggests her outfit is perfectly fine. Alex returns it, eyeing Casey’s slight curves in the bootcut denim and snug top. Tonight might be a date. Alex has been thinking about Casey since before Christmas, unsure of what to do next, especially because she hasn’t seen her around. She’ll make tonight a date.

“I have a dress,” Alex says, “here, come see.” Casey follows her and when they get to her bedroom, she feels the acute familiarity of it, feels herself drawn to her. The dress laid out on her bed is short, red, with fringe at the hem. Alex had worn it to this party last year, and the year before that (with different accessories). It turns heads. The only reason she isn’t wearing it this time around is because she wants to see it on Casey. Her nerves start to pick up as Casey looks wide-eyed at the garment. “Oh, um. I can probably find another one that would work.”

“No need. It’s very,” Casey swallows, “nice.” Alex sees where her hesitation is coming from. She can’t help but enjoy it.

“I think so too.” Casey touches the material between her first finger and her thumb. Then she looks at Alex for a moment. “I’ll let you change.”

“Thanks,” Casey says, like her mind is elsewhere. When she opens the door to the bedroom, Casey is subtly blushing. She is breathtaking in a very literal sense. Alex wants to skip the party.

“I brought some jewelry,” Casey says, her hands on her hips, bending to pick up her handbag. “Silver and gold options. Help me pick?”

“Happily.” Based on what she’s seen, Alex likes Casey’s taste in jewelry. She pulls two necklaces and two pairs of earrings out of a zipper pocket in her purse. Alex steps forward to examine them. Her hand brushes Casey’s and burns.

Casey lays the necklaces on the bed first, the emerald Alex has already seen and a similar silver one, a little shorter, with an oval garnet pendant. Alex notices Casey’s had a manicure recently, her nails are a mauve color that matches her glossed lips. Casey holds her hair up with one hand and a gold earring up to her ear with the other one.

“The earrings depend on the necklace,” she says contemplatively, then exchanges it for the silver one. “What do you think?”

When she looks to Alex for her opinion, her head tilts to the side. “Which one?” She says with a smirk.

“Silver,” Alex says. Her mouth is dry. Casey hands her the necklace. Alex undoes the clasp and steadies her hands as she places it around her neck, Casey looks slightly down as she continues to hold her hair up. Alex appreciates the help. As the clasp closes, Casey releases her hair and turns around.

“What do you think?”

Casey’s voice is deep and low, and Alex thinks she knows what she’s doing. Her eyes are drawn to where the gem falls on Casey’s chest, right where her collarbones meet. She really doesn’t want to go to this party.

---

They get to the party around ten. It’s what Casey expected, at a very nice hotel ballroom. Hors d’œuvres (Casey likes the goat cheese and fig jam bites) and flutes of Champagne are passed around effortlessly by servers in crisp white shirts. Jazz plays from the exceedingly nice speaker system. Alex seems comfortable here, but in a practiced way. Casey has seen Alex at extremes, intensities, moments where she couldn’t put on a façade. Her guard seems up here, as she makes small talk with acquaintances Casey doesn’t know. Alex hesitates the first time she makes Casey’s introduction, before saying, “This is my friend, Casey Novak.”

Just a month and a half ago she’s sure Alex would’ve called her a colleague.

At around eleven thirty, three flutes in, Casey is starting to suppress yawns, and Alex seems to be getting restless-- judging by how she’s rubbing her knuckles against each other, a habit Casey’s picked up on.

“Come with me,” Casey says, holding a hand out for Alex’s. She thinks she saw a balcony at one end of the room. And yeah, it’s absolutely freezing, but she has an idea.

“Fu-uh-ck, it’s cold,” Alex says as she follows Casey out of the double doors. There’s a man finishing a cigarette, who leaves after Casey gives him a look. “I know it’s not quite midnight.” Casey uses the hand she’s still holding to pull Alex into her and kisses her gently. Alex responds, her other hand enthusiastic on Casey’s cheek. She deepens the kiss but keeps it calm, like she’s in no rush. Alex’s heels are higher than her own and the height difference they create is notable. Casey has to tilt her head up, and Alex uses that to her advantage, pulling back and placing a soft kiss near her earlobe. Casey’s sure her red lipstick leaves a mark.

“Let’s go,” Alex says seriously, her voice thick. Casey lets herself be led, through the now-dancing crowd, to the coat check, then out the door. A bank across the street’s sign shows they have fifteen minutes to midnight.

Though Alex’s apartment is not too far away, Casey still wishes she’d brought gloves, and curses her heels. Falling snow is turning into slush on the sidewalks and her toes are cold, she worries about slipping.

“Fuck!” Yells Alex, shivering, rubbing her hands together. “Sorry, Casey. We’re almost there.” Apparently, Alex thinks she controls the weather. Casey wouldn’t be surprised if she really does.

Casey laughs. “That’s okay.”

Alex reaches across the inches between them, grabs a handful of Casey’s coat and kisses her insistently. Casey takes a second to adjust. Alex’s cheeks are cold against her own but her mouth is pleasantly warm. As fast as the kiss begins, it’s over, and Alex keeps one of Casey’s hands in hers, pulls her faster until they reach her building.

The doorman nods to them on their way in. Were it not for the elderly woman already on the elevator when they enter it, Casey’s sure they would be all over each other. Alex’s apartment is a good-sized one bedroom, and a clock on the wall reads eleven fifty nine.

“Happy New Year, Casey,” Alex says to her, then, taking her hand again, leads her down her hallway into her bedroom.

---

Alex presses Casey’s hips into her own, then lets her knee come between her legs. She touches her necklace lightly, then runs two fingers over the length of her collarbone. Casey exhales. Alex uses that as an opportunity, kissing her, reveling in the sound of Casey’s breath in the air.

She sets a slow pace, she wants to take this in, now that she’s certain. With each movement of her lips, tongue, of her hands on Casey’s waist, her chest, she pays careful attention to what responses she gets where. An honest-to-God whimper comes out of Casey’s throat.

“Can you unzip me?” Alex says, standing up.

“I can,” Casey purrs. She rises too, and as she undoes the zipper, places a kiss every inch or so along her spine. Alex sighs. She steps out of the dress, revealing nothing but a delicate lace thong. When she turns around, Casey looks at her with a desirous smile. She steps forward and presses her palm into Alex’s ass, kisses her briefly. She turns around and Alex unzips her quickly, then pushes the dress off her shoulders. As soon as it’s off of Casey’s ankles, Alex pushes Casey back onto the bed, landing on her lap.

“I really like this necklace.”

“I can tell,” Casey says. “You were staring at it all night. I thought you would.”

“You think about me?” Alex hopes her self-consciousness is disguised with seduction.

“Yeah.”

“What about me?”

Casey grins. Alex hums. She admires Casey’s expanse of smooth pale skin and touches, traces idly along her chest, her ribs. Red marks appear where Alex’s nails drag even lightly. Casey pulls her down, then and holds her still with a hand laced into her hair.

“This,” she says, lips against her neck, “this,” she says again, running her thumb along the top of Alex’s panties. “This, too.”

---

Alex catches her breath beside her when they’re well and truly done. She yawns and swings her legs off the side of the bed, then gets up. She walks down the hall. Casey hears what sounds like medicine bottles rustling and opening, then footsteps further down the hall, then the sink running and turning off.

“I thought you might be asleep,” Alex says when she gets back. She sets one glasse of water down on a side table and hands the other to Casey.

“Thank you,” Casey takes a sip, “Happy New Year.”

“Any resolutions?” Casey thinks about that for a second.

“Get back in the gym,” she lands on.

“Like you’ve been slacking.” Alex gets up and goes into her closet and comes out with tee shirts and boyshorts. She hands a pair to Casey, who dresses in them. They smell like Alex. When she gets in bed beside Casey, she sits close, their thighs pressed together.

“For me,” Casey says. “What about you?”

“I want to pay better attention to what I want,” Alex says, and Casey doesn’t reply, waits for her to elaborate on her own. “I’m not the best at, listening to myself.”

“I get it.”

“How do you do it?” Alex asks. Casey’s not sure she’s that good at it, but hazards a response.

“I had three years to learn.” Casey’s voice is quiet and calm. “It’s a matter of paying close attention. Of deciding you’re worth paying attention to.” Alex just nods. “What are you hearing now?”

Alex sets her water glass down and dries her hand on the sheets. Casey follows suit. Alex wordlessly kisses Casey’s shoulder, squeezes her hand, and clicks off the lamp lighting the room.

---

New Year’s Day is a bright and clear Sunday, and the birds wake up Alex early. Casey has still beaten her, awake and sitting up. Alex is pressed into her side, her face against Casey’s thigh when she opens her eyes.

“Morning,” Casey says, more chipper than should be legal at, she checks the clock on her nightstand, seven AM. Alex yawns, blinks some leftover sleep from her eyes. They threaten to close, to give her just a few more moments of sleep, but Casey’s hand on the back of her own rouses her. She sits up herself and kisses Casey unhurriedly. Casey cups her cheek and under her jaw, and breaks the kiss to speak. “I’m craving a pastry.”

Alex can’t help the wide smile that she feels coming across her face.

“Very funny.” Casey, though deadpan, sounds amused. Then her stomach growls, and they both giggle.

“Maybe something more substantial?” Alex suggests.

“Sure,” Casey says.

Alex isn’t sure exactly where they’re going when they leave her apartment in two sets of her own clothes. Her neighborhood is full of breakfast places, but she decides on her second-favorite, that’s slightly closer to her house.

They sit at a booth by the window. Alex gets pancakes and Casey orders her eggs over medium. As Alex pours syrup, Casey says, “I wouldn’t’ve guessed you had a sweet tooth.”

“Why not?”

“I just wouldn’t have,” Casey says, “it’s cute.”

Casey heard her own name clear through the bubbling noise of the lounge. She wasn’t expecting company, save that of the paperback in her purse and the mezcal paloma in front of her. Years later, she would still be able to recall the scent of citrus and the smile that met her when she turned towards the noise.

“Alex, hey,” Casey said. Alex’s hair was longer than it had been the last time she’d seen her. It had been years. Casey hadn’t known if Alex was even in the city anymore, and she had hardly heard her name spoken around the office, a sharp contrast to her early years in Sex Crimes. Alex was dressed more casually than some of the patrons, in well-fitting jeans and a blue long sleeved tee shirt that hugged her frame. She looked good, but a little pale, thin. If Casey had known her better she might’ve asked if she felt alright. She settled on, “long evening?”

“Something like that,” Alex said. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. Casey could tell something was on her mind, and found herself curious as to what it was. Alex Cabot had always been a bit of a mystery, a myth. By the time Casey had crawled out of Alex’s shadow, she was suspended. There was an odd kind of intimacy in the air when Casey motioned for Alex to sit in the empty seat beside her. Casey chalked it up to the candles lighting the space, or to the preoccupied concern evident in Alex’s features. Alex sat. She got the bartender’s attention and ordered a gin and tonic. “Here all by yourself?” She asked, setting the menu down, turning to Casey.

Casey held up her book. “I had a hot date.”

“A mystery,” Alex said, taking it. “Interesting choice.”

“I like when they’re solved. What brings you out tonight?”

“Work I’m doing,” Alex turned her head to the side. Her brow furrowed further.

“And that is?”

“Can’t really discuss it,” Alex said. Casey allowed herself an act of prying, lifting an eyebrow. Alex acquiesced: “Advocacy.”

“I see,” said Casey. She had considered doing what she thought Alex likely was while she was suspended. Cabot had some guts, Casey had been too scared of getting arrested. “Long hours, right?”

“Yes, hence the gin and tonic.” Casey raised her glass. She thought she saw Alex glance at her lips when she sipped her drink. “Business as usual for you? I heard you’re assistant chief now.”

“You heard right,” Casey sighed. Alex raised her glass. “Business is never usual.” It was quiet in their corner of the bar for a moment, and Alex appeared deep in thought.

“I never got to thank you. For the Connors trial.”

“Just doing my job.”

“You do it well,” Alex said. “It’s nice to run into you, Casey. I’ll leave you to your reading.” She drained her drink and stood.

“Good to see you too,” Casey said. “You can stay for another drink, if you’d like.”

“No time,” said Alex with an apologetic half-smile. “Not really.” She touched Casey’s shoulder as she turned to go. Casey pulled out the book and read half a chapter.

---

“Good morning, Alex,” Casey said after waving and slowing to a jog then a halt, greeting the woman on the bench. She’d dyed her hair and cut it, brunette and shoulder length. Alex was not immediately recognizable, and Casey imagined she had a good reason for that. She pulled out an earbud and stretched her legs. It occurred to her a moment too late that Alex may not be interested in speaking to her in the daylight. Alex gave her a wave and nod in return, though, and spoke.

“Lovely Saturday, and I’m actually free. I thought I’d have my coffee in the park.” She held up the travel mug in her hand.

“It’s good to run outside the gym,” Casey said.

“Long loop?” Alex asked. She had a solemn air about her.

“Not too much, six-ish miles. Then the farmer’s market”

“Sounds nice,” Alex said.

“Yeah, should get back to it.”

“Have fun, Casey.”

“Nice to see you.” Casey put her earbud back in and set off again.

---

“Following me, Cabot?” Casey said. She certainly didn’t mind running into Alex, but it was surprising to see her three times in one month, especially the shortest one. Casey wouldn’t have believed Alex Cabot owned any hoodies, but she wore a crimson one and a black beanie appropriate for the cool weather.

“Great minds just think alike,” said Alex. Casey noted the bar of nice dark chocolate in Alex’s basket-- she was holding the same one. Alex’s was joined by a bottle of ginger kombucha and some green grapes.

“Movie night,” said Casey.

“No popcorn?” Alex questioned.

“My friend is bringing some.”

“Ah,” said Alex, “A boyfriend?” Casey couldn’t fault Alex looking for a little gossip.

“She’s a friend,” said Casey, “at least for now.” Alex smirked.

“Lucky lady,” she said. Casey exhaled a laugh.

“I’m not too much of a catch.”

“You’re wrong about that,” Alex said with a palpable seriousness in her voice but a lighthearted smile on her lips. The man in front of her grabbed his bags.

“Find everything okay?” The cashier said.

“I did,” Alex said. She paid, and on her way out said, “see you, Casey.”

Casey wondered if she would.

---

Casey didn’t see Alex again in March, but the woman crossed her mind, and she had thought a couple brunette bobs were her. Seeing her so many times in such a short period was the strange thing, she guessed.

But, Hello, this is Alex, said the unknown number text Casey woke up to on April second. She sat up, unplugged her phone and took a sip from her water bottle. It was beautifully sunny, and she heard birds even through her closed windows. The cat on the other side of the bed stretched her paws, shook her head, and settled back into sleep.

Hi Alex, she replied. To what do I owe this text?

Would you like to get a coffee with me?

Casey considered it for a moment. Was Alex Cabot asking her out on a date? She didn’t want to assume. Maybe she needed help with something, ADA help.

If movie night hasn’t turned into monogamy, that is. A date then. Casey appreciated the casualness of the offer. Why not? She thought. Movie night hadn’t even turned into sex.

Sure, when were you thinking? Casey typed.

I’m free this afternoon.

4 okay? Casey sent a link to the bakery on the corner of her block.

See you, Alex replied.

---

“How did you have my number,” Casey said as they sat down. The day had turned to April gloom as the hours went by, and it was pouring now. People wiped their boots at the door and their glasses in line. Casey took a sip of her cappuccino. Alex seemed tired still, even vulnerable. It did not diminish her beauty, which Casey took a moment to admire. Years later, Casey would remember her bleeding mascara.

“You gave it to me in 2005.” Alex took a claw clip out of her purse and pulled her hair back with it. Casey looked at the silver necklace Alex wore, a simple chain with a square pendant in the middle. She left behind a carmine stain on the lid of her cup.

“I lost my contacts list in the great phone shattering of 2008,” Casey said, by way of explanation. “How’s business?”

“As it is,” Alex said, shrugging. Casey looked out the window for a moment. People’s umbrellas were turning inside out. A woman pushing a stroller rushed to unlock a door across the street.

“And how are you?” Casey dared asking. There was a far away look in Alex’s eyes for a fleeting moment before she took a breath in.

“I’m okay,” Alex said. Casey must’ve given her a disbelieving look, because she continued, “really, I am. I just don’t get much sleep.”

“I understand,” said Casey, and hoped Alex knew she was being genuine. She changed the subject. “This is my favorite coffee in the city.”

“It’s pleasant,” Alex said. “Very cozy.” She tore off a piece of croissant and put it in her mouth. Casey liked seeing her eating, she realized.

“Alex,” said Casey, “I must admit, I’m surprised you asked me out on a date.”

Alex cocked her head to the side. “Good, surprised, I hope.”

“Quite,” Casey said, feeling her ears warm slightly. “You’re very beautiful.” Casey’s fingertips tingled at the sight of Alex blushing.

“I always had a bit of a crush on you,” Alex admitted. “Even back in law school. I thought running into each other so many times was… I thought I should go for it.” Casey had never noticed. She didn’t think of herself as someone people had crushes on. She bit her lip.

“I’m glad you did,” said Casey.

“Me too,” said Alex, and took a sip of her latte.

---

Casey probably wouldn’t have invited Alex to her place if they hadn’t been getting dirty looks from the baristas as they started to close around them. She probably wouldn’t’ve invited her to her place if the rain had let up for more than a couple minutes at a time.

Yet, there they were. Alex Cabot was sitting on her couch with her feet tucked under her. A bottle of wine and a teapot, each halfway empty, sat on the coffee table. Casey flicked the floor and side table lamps on, replacing the darkening evening light. Years later, she would still be able to hear the rain falling on her windowsills.

Alex watched her as she sat down, and suddenly, Casey saw every version of her she had met, yet hadn’t gotten to know over the years. The young student, the brave victim, the sharp prosecutor, and now the woman in front of her; who Casey saw was strong, principled, and dedicated-- not to mention, more alluring by the minute.

“What?” Alex said.

“I would really like to kiss you,” Casey said. Alex nodded.

“Good,” she said, and leaned forward.

---

Casey woke up before sunrise, as she sometimes did. She hated to stay in bed awake, and though she felt a bit bad for leaving Alex alone in her bed (well, the cat was there), she quietly went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. She read on the couch for a little while, and thought of how quickly and deeply Alex had fell asleep beside her, and how much she’d liked it. Alex walked in, bleary eyed, wrapped in a sheet.

“I would have pegged you for a morning person,” she said, “But this is a little excessive.”

“Hi,” said Casey, “good morning. Sorry if I woke you up.”

“That’s okay,” Alex said. She rubbed her eyes and sniffled. Casey must’ve looked worried, because she said, “I’m allergic to cats.”

“You should’ve said something, I would’ve kicked her out.”

“No,” Alex shook her head, “she’s precious.”

“I have Benadryl,” Casey said, though she wasn’t one hundred percent certain where it was.

“I’d sleep all day,” Alex said. “I’ll be okay.” She took Casey’s hand. Casey thought she might benefit from a whole day of sleep, but kept that to herself. She beckoned to the couch beside her. The day began to come in, striped through the blinds. The coffee was done and Casey poured two mugs.

---

Her place really is close, if not exactly around the corner. No matter what, it doesn’t take very long to walk there-- they hustle in the chilly, windy, wet, street-lit night. A lot of windows still glow yellow. She and Abbie walk about shoulder to shoulder. She feels fizzy anticipation in her stomach. While crossing the street, a bike with logo-emblazoned insulated panniers splashes some puddle water onto her shoes and tights. She shivers.

Abbie stops on the corresponding corner, loosens her scarf, then drapes it on Alex’s neck. She holds and pulls her in by it, kisses her quickly. Alex doesn’t blush easily, but this makes her cheeks burn. She hopes the night covers the majority of it, but knows her smile is revealing. It’s probably okay if she knows how she feels.

“It’s that one,” she says, pointing out the townhouse in the middle of the block. Abbie looks a bit taken aback, which Alex understands. She justifies, with a truth that slightly hides the full picture:“It’s my aunt and uncle’s place. They spend most of their time in Greenwich since my aunt retired.”

She suppresses a yawn. The coffee was a mere pretext, but it’s starting to look more like a necessity as they walk up the steps, as she unlocks the door. She flicks on the foyer light and hangs her coat, then takes Abbie’s. She hasn’t tidied in a couple days-- her shoe rack is more of a shoe pile, her mail is splayed out on an end table. Abbie follows her to her bare kitchen.

“I see you’re quite the cook,” Abbie jokes, eyeing a set of Le Creuset ramekins her mother bought for her that are still in the box on her counter. Alex laughs, getting her Moka pot out of its deep drawer.

“Those were more of a hint than a present,” she says. “I promise, I make good coffee.” She dumps some grounds into the chamber, then water into the reservoir, then sets it on the stove.

---

Abbie could go without the caffeine, but Alex seems to want it; and who would she be to deny her that. From walking past the conversation pit in the living room, she can tell the house was decorated in the 70s. Alex’s aunt and uncle have good taste, though; there’s lots of art on the walls that looks to be original. You wouldn’t know Alex lived here if not for the present clutter, law books and novels on the same tables, the scented candles she’d mentioned the first time they spoke. Abbie doesn’t blame her for not putting much of her own mark on the place, it’s nice how it is.

When the coffee maker starts to quietly hiss, Alex lifts its lid with a soft clattering, checking on it. Abbie hasn’t used one like it herself. It strikes her as very European. She imagines it was designed not for a big mug like you would drink in the morning, but for the small, thin-walled cups you might use at a dinner party to serve coffee after dessert. Alex gets two cups just like the ones she’s imagining down from a high cabinet. They’re cute little things, one orange, one teal. Abbie tries not to think about how late it must be by now, midnight at least. Where’s the harm in one sleepless night? Alex clinks their cups together before taking a pulling sip. She makes eye contact over the cup and swallows. Abbie admires her neck, her shoulders. She drinks her own coffee. It’s strong, but it doesn’t need milk or sugar.

When the small portions are gone, Alex takes Abbie’s cup out of her hand and places it next to her own on the counter beside the sink. She rests invitingly against the counter behind her, pushes her hair out of her eyes. Abbie closes the small distance between them with a careful and deliberate kiss, her hands drawing her in by the waist again. She likes it when Alex leans into her with a hand on her shoulder. A small shift as the kiss gets more intense, Abbie moves one of her thighs and pushes Alex’s legs ever-so-slightly apart. The little gasp is musical. She takes it as an opportunity; her tongue agilely and easily coming between Alex’s parted lips.

---

She knows it already, from the tastes she’s had before: she’s a great kisser. It’s not so much that she has any special technique, though her prowess is undeniable. It’s that, though she leads, Abbie is listening to Alex’s cues, her sounds, her movements. She likes to be paid attention to. She’s the one to guide Abbie’s free hand up to her chest, and enjoys the smile she feels on her mouth as she starts to touch her expertly. Alex moves her hips against her thigh without really thinking about it. She notices that she’s starting to want, and want more.

She supposes that means she’ll need to be the one to move them anywhere. It is her house. While she is completely content here, doing this, she’d also like to get out of the wet tights. She’d like to get out of the rest of her clothes. Abbie does the chasing, for once, when she separates their lips to speak.

“We could go somewhere more,” she says, “comfortable.”

Abbie hums. She holds Alex’s hands and replies, “great idea.”

Alex’s steps down the hallway are purposeful, but slow enough that she doesn’t slip on the hardwood. She stops, leaning sideways, in the doorway. Abbie takes her hint, grasping her hips, then ribs with open palms. She noses Alex’s hair away from her neck and kisses her there. Alex lets herself make a moaning sigh, leaning her head back.

She steps into the bedroom, her body tingling where she misses the touch. She lights the lamp on her nightstand with a click. There are two candles on her dresser, so she asks, “Jasmine or Bergamot?” lifting one of the three lighters that live there.

Abbie makes a sound of amusement. “You had a lighter the whole time,” she says.

“You’ll never prove it,” Alex says, turning, holding a candle in each hand.

“Bergamot,” Abbie chooses-- though she doesn’t seem to care one way or another-- clearly holding back a laugh. Alex lights the candle, laughing back lightly. She sets it down again. The kiss that follows picks up where they left off in the kitchen, and grows yet more passionate quickly.

---

The red dress is starting to offend Abbie. She kisses Alex’s neck again, but stops her from sitting on the bed with gripping hands on her ass. It elicits a surprised mmph that she would like to hear again. When Alex is solidly back on her feet, Abbie touches the straps of the dress, and doesn’t have to say what she wants.

Alex turns around, and is breathing heavily when she requests, “do the honors.” Abbie does, but not before she kisses her right shoulder. As she undoes the hook and eye at the top, then the zipper, she enjoys the sight of Alex’s braless back, and the way she subtly arches, another thing that makes her want a replay. Alex doesn’t delay further, slipping the dress off her shoulders in a few smooth movements, then stepping out of her tights.

“You’re prepared,” Abbie says at the sight. Alex is wearing a pair of lace panties that suggest she thought tonight might end here. She nods, placing her hands on her hips.

“Always.”

“Good,” Abbie says, thinking about her own undergarments, which are less exciting. Abbie steps forward, so Alex has nowhere to go but down, bending her knees to sit. She leans back onto her hands, then she slides all the way onto the bed with her back against her headboard. Abbie really feels overdressed now. Hers just slips over her head, leaving her in a dark brown bra and a pair of printed boyshort-style underwear.

“Are those,” Alex squints, “raspberries?”

Abbie looks down. “Currants, I think.”

“How chic,” Alex teases.

“You like what you see?” Abbie plays back.

“Mhm,” Alex says, and appears to be growing impatient, looks expectant. Abbie obliges, joining her. She sits on her heels beside her for a second, holding her cheek as she kisses her lips, her neck. When Alex starts to squirm, she moves, straddling her.

She’s gathering, as she learns, as she experiments, Alex appears to prefer firm over soft touch. Her ghosting strokes earn responses, but not like the emphatic ones she gets when squeezes the slight flesh of her thighs, when she sucks a mark just above her collarbone.

---

She’s close to demanding more when Abbie gives it to her. Her mouth travels, from her neck to her nipples. She’s glad, Abbie has picked up on how she likes it-- unrestrained, but just shy of rough. Her controlled tongue circles and her lips wrap. It’s hot to feel, and it’s hotter when Alex watches her with open eyes. It’s very hot when Abbie’s gaze meets her own, her eyes somehow even darker. She’s so wet she can feel it on her thighs.

Abbie’s lips are kissed red around her words: “How do you want me?” She rasps.

Alex doesn’t have to think about that one. She takes Abbie’s hand in hers and brings it to her cunt. They both moan.

---

After she comes, and comes again, Alex looks beautifully worn out as she stretches and rolls her neck out. Abbie starts moving, her legs over the side of the bed; but Alex stops her from standing with a quiet sound and a hand that squeezes hers.

“It’s late,” Abbie says, but there’s not much insistence to it.

“I know.” Alex reaches opens a drawer in her nightstand. Abbie watches her shuffle through its contents, there’s some change, a packet of tissues, what appears to be a vibrator, and what her fingers wrap around-- an altoids tin. She sets it on the table. Abbie might enjoy a mint, but when Alex opens it, she sees it is full of tobacco. Another tin comes out, this one with papers and filters. She finally gets out a rolling tray, an ashtray and yet another lighter. Abbie watches her as she rolls two with an efficiency that has to come from extensive experience. She hands one to Abbie, lights it, then her own.

“Terrible habit, cigarettes in bed.”