My Favorite Thing Will Always Be Casey Forgetting How Lesbians Work

One Week | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak

Casey brings home a cat.

fluff

“It’s just for a week,” Casey said, cradling a scrawny, orange creature in her arms like she was holding a human infant (which wasn’t too far off, because the thing had been screaming since she left the shelter).

Alex gave the cat a once-over. It looked like it had recently fought God, lost, and now lived with the consequences. Its fur stuck out at odd angles, it was missing a small chunk of one ear, and it was currently trying to climb into Casey’s jacket.

“She looks like she eats drywall,” Alex said.

“She’s perfect,” Casey cooed, stroking the cat’s crooked whiskers. “Her name’s Pickles.”

“Of course it is,” Alex sighed. “One week.”

Casey’s face lit up. “I love you so much.”

“One. Week,” Alex repeated, pointing.

“Totally.”

“No exceptions.”

“Absolutely.”

“She’s not sleeping in the bed.”

Three hours later, Pickles was curled up between them on the bed, snoring, her matted tail flicking over Alex’s bare leg.

Alex blinked at the ceiling, deadpan. “I hate you.”

Casey, already half-asleep with a smile on her face, murmured, “Love you too.”

Day Two started with the distinct sound of ceramic shattering on hardwood.

Alex bolted upright in bed. “What was that?”

Casey, groggy and wrapped in the comforter, barely opened one eye. “She’s just exploring.”

“She’s committing crimes,” Alex said, storming into the kitchen.

There, on the counter, sat Pickles—smug and entirely unbothered—next to the broken remains of Alex’s prized espresso mug. The one from Florence. The one Alex had bubble-wrapped and hand-carried back through airport security because “you can’t trust checked luggage with art.”

Pickles sneezed directly into the open sugar bowl.

Casey appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. “She’s got spirit.”

“She’s got a death wish,” Alex muttered, sweeping up the shards.

Pickles leapt down and immediately attempted to climb Alex’s pant leg like a tree.

Day 4.

Alex returned home to the sound of running water and the distinct, unmistakable sound of something being violently splashed.

Alarmed, she dropped her briefcase and hurried toward the bathroom.

“Casey?” she called out, knocking once before pushing the door open.

The scene inside resembled a crime scene. The floor was soaked. A towel hung halfway off the shower rod like it had tried to escape. Shampoo bottles littered the ground. In the center of the chaos, Casey sat on a tiny plastic stool, soaked from the neck down, with a defeated look on her face.

Pickles sat beside her in the tub, completely drenched and looking like a very wet, very pissed-off meatball.

Her fur clung to her bones in angry spikes. Her eyes were wild, pupils fully dilated, as she clung to the porcelain tub wall like she was scaling it to freedom. The water was shallow, barely enough to soak her paws, but Pickles made it sound like she was being boiled alive.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Alex demanded, eyebrows raised so high they nearly reached her hairline.

Casey looked up like a prisoner of war. “I thought she had a flea,” she said weakly. “She kept scratching and I panicked. I Googled it. It said to try a bath.”

“You Googled it?” Alex repeated, stunned. “You didn’t call a vet. You didn’t ask me. You just threw the cat in the tub like you’re washing a pair of jeans?”

“I gently lowered her in,” Casey said, defensive. “She launched herself out.”

As if on cue, Pickles made a sound like that of a kettle and tried to leap onto the windowsill. She missed, skidded on a bar of soap, and landed in Alex’s lap.

Alex screamed.

Casey screamed.

Pickles hissed, scratched, and bolted out of the bathroom, leaving wet paw prints and chaos in her wake.

There was a long pause.

Alex, frozen, slowly looked down at the claw marks on her thigh. “I’m bleeding.”

“She didn’t mean it,” Casey said, reaching for a towel and trying not to laugh.

“She’s a menace,” Alex muttered, yanking toilet paper off the roll to dab her leg. “You bathed her like she’s a golden retriever. She weighs five pounds and runs entirely on spite.”

“I panicked,” Casey said again, standing up and wringing out the ends of her hair. “I just—I wanted her to feel clean and safe.”

Alex gave her a look, but her expression softened. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

Casey stepped forward, wrapped her arms around Alex’s waist, and buried her wet face in her shoulder. “She’s kind of growing on you, though.”

Alex sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

From the hallway, a wet mrrp echoed like a vengeful ghost.

Alex groaned. “She’s plotting her revenge.”

“She just wants a cuddle.”

“She wants my soul.”

Day 6.

Alex had gone to the store for one thing: oat milk.

Just oat milk. Maybe a box of herbal tea if they had the kind Casey liked. A quick, efficient stop on her way home from court. In and out.

She did not plan to spend 18 minutes in the pet food aisle.

Yet there she was, dressed in slacks and a tailored coat, crouched on the linoleum floor comparing cans of cat food as if they contained ancient scripture.

“Why are there so many flavors?” she muttered to herself, holding up a tin of “Tuna Florentine in a Delicate Sauce” and squinting at the ingredient list. “Why does she need Florentine anything? She eats her own tail.”

A woman with a stroller passed by and gave her a sympathetic smile. Alex straightened abruptly, tucking the can under her arm like it was contraband.

Eventually, she walked out with three different flavors of “gourmet” wet food, a new ceramic food bowl shaped like a fish (because the current one was ‘depressing,’ Casey had claimed), and, inexplicably, a catnip-infused plush mouse.

She sat in traffic for twenty minutes afterward, staring straight ahead and re-evaluating her entire life.

When she opened the apartment door, she was immediately greeted by the sound of Pickles yowling. Not her usual war cry. This one was lower, more drawn-out. Sadder.

“Casey?” Alex called.

“In the bedroom!”

Alex toed off her shoes and followed the noise to find Pickles sprawled dramatically on the bed, head on Casey’s pillow like a Victorian widow. Casey stood at the dresser, folding laundry.

“She wouldn’t eat the chicken pate,” Casey said as Alex entered. “She stared at it like I’d offended her ancestors.”

Alex blinked. “That was the expensive kind.”

“She looked at me like I was a disappointment. Then she licked my leg and sulked off.”

Alex dropped the bag on the bed and pulled out the new cans. “What about Tuna Florentine?”

Casey gasped. “You got her a fish bowl.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Pickles perked up at the sound of the bag rustling. She rose slowly, suspiciously, and approached Alex.

Alex knelt down. “Look, demon. I brought you the kind with gravy. You better appreciate this.”

Pickles sniffed the air, bumped her head gently against Alex’s knee, then curled up against her side like it was no big deal.

Casey froze.

Alex stared down at the creature now purring like a chainsaw in her lap.

“She’s using me for food,” Alex said flatly.

Casey’s face was splitting into a grin. “She cuddled you.”

“She thinks I’m a vending machine.”

“She loves you,” Casey sang, grabbing her phone. “Smile for the ‘Alex Is Soft Now’ album.”

“I will end you.”

Pickles lifted her head and licked Alex’s hand once.

Alex blinked. “Okay… that was almost cute.”

“Admit it,” Casey said, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “You love her.”

“I—” Alex looked down. Pickles was now curled tightly in her lap, snoring. “I think I’m being emotionally manipulated.”

Casey walked over, kissed the top of her head, and whispered, “Welcome to cat ownership.”

Alex sighed and gently stroked a patch of Pickles’ fur that wasn’t sticking up like a cowlick.

“She’s still not sleeping in the bed.”

“She definitely is.”

Alex didn’t argue.

Day 7.

Casey was crying.

Not the cute, watery-eyed sniffles that made Alex melt a little. No. This was full-on, gut-wrenching, ugly sobbing. She’d clearly given up on tissues and was just using the sleeve of Alex’s hoodie, which she’d stolen again. Pickles was curled in her lap, purring gently and blinking in that vaguely condescending way only cats could manage, like she didn’t quite understand what the fuss was about.

“I just—she trusted me,” Casey hiccupped, pressing her cheek to Pickles’ bony side. “She’s finally not screaming all the time and now I have to take her back? She thinks she lives here, Alex.”

From the door, Alex said nothing. There was a brief scraping noise.

“I mean, I know it was supposed to be a week, I know, I know, but she’s mine, okay? She’s weird and loud and shaped like a brick and she bites you for no reason but—” Casey broke off with another sob, wiping her nose on the cuff of her sleeve. “I love her.”

There was a grunt. More scraping.

Casey looked up blearily, snotty and red-faced, just as Alex emerged from the hallway dragging in a cat tree the size of her.

It had platforms. Ramps. A tunnel. A little flower-shaped perch at the top.

“What… are you doing?” Casey asked between gasping sobs, brow furrowed.

Alex set the tree down with a thud, wiped her hands on her jeans, and looked Casey dead in the eyes.

“I signed the adoption papers three days ago,” she said casually.

Silence.

Pickles let out a single, satisfied squawk.

Casey stared at her, mouth open, blinking rapidly like her brain had short-circuited. “You… what?”

Alex walked over, knelt in front of the couch, and gently wiped a tear off Casey’s cheek with her thumb. “You really thought I was going to make you give her up after you made her a little hat out of yarn and sang her a lullaby last night?”

“That was private,” Casey whimpered.

“I know,” Alex said, smiling faintly. “I came out for water and heard you rhyming ‘Pickles’ with ‘tickles.’ It was disturbing.”

Casey laughed, then immediately hiccuped and cried harder.

“She’s ours?”

“She’s ours,” Alex confirmed. “Congratulations. You’re now legally responsible for a sentient dust mop with abandonment issues.”

Casey clutched Pickles to her chest, who tolerated it with a quiet wheeze, and reached out with her free hand to pull Alex into a hug.

Alex let herself be folded in, buried her face in Casey’s hair, and whispered, “She’s still not sleeping in the bed.”

From her new perch, Pickles blinked slowly, smug as hell.

She knew.

calex shipper because cabenson hurts too bad

this is the cutest thing ever

See people saying that casey novak is overrated and i get so upset. What do you mean ‘overrated’ she’s underrated as hell

have mercy on my uncreative soul

Temporary Guardians | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak

the accidental baby acquisition you have all been waiting for

fluff (what else would it be?)

I will finish editing this when i have the energy to open my laptop

It’s 5:03 a.m. when the doorbell rings.

Casey stumbles toward the front door in her pajamas, hair a mess, eyes barely open. She peers through the peephole, squints, and opens the door a crack.

“Amanda?” she mumbles.

Rollins looks like she hasn’t slept in a week. She’s balancing a squirming toddler on her hip, a diaper bag slung over one shoulder, and car keys clenched between her teeth. She spits them into her hand and thrusts the baby—Jesse—into Casey’s arms.

“I have to go to Georgia,” Amanda says in a rush. “My sister got arrested again, my mom is spiraling, I booked the first flight out—can you please just—just take her for a day or two?”

Casey blinks. “Wait, huh—?”

Amanda’s already tossing over the diaper bag and fishing another key off her keyring. “Here’s the spare to my apartment if you need anything. Her snacks are labeled. Oh, and she doesn’t like oranges this week.”

Casey fumbles to catch the diaper bag while Jesse clings to her like a koala. She stares down at the child like she’s holding a live grenade.

Amanda’s halfway down the hallway. “Thank you! I owe you big time! Love you, bye!”

The door shuts.

Casey looks at the baby.

The baby looks back.

Five minutes later, Alex blinks awake to the sound of creaking floorboards and a faint rustling. She sits up groggily, rubbing her eyes.

“Casey?”

Casey is standing at the edge of the bed, frozen, holding Jesse at arm’s length. Her voice is quiet but wild with disbelief. “Alex…?”

Alex squints at the bundle. “…Why do you have Amanda’s baby?”

“I don’t know!” Casey whisper-yells. “She just showed up, dumped her on me, and vanished into the sunrise like some southern child-depositing cryptid!”

Alex stares for a long beat.

Then, because it’s 5:12 a.m. and nothing makes sense anymore, she scoots over and lifts the covers. “Get in. We’ll figure it out after sleep.”

Casey carefully climbs into bed, still holding Jesse like she might detonate at any moment.

Jesse curls into Casey’s chest and is asleep within seconds.

Casey glances down, awestruck. “She’s…kind of cute.”

Alex yawns and rests her head against Casey’s shoulder. “That’s how they get you.”

They fall asleep like that: Alex’s head on Casey’s shoulder, Casey holding Jesse like she’s made of glass, the early morning light just starting to peek through the blinds.

By mid-morning, the apartment is a war zone of makeshift baby safety strategies.

The coffee table has been repurposed as a gate. Couch cushions block off sharp corners. The actual couch? Shoved halfway across the room to form a barricade between Jesse and the bookshelves.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Casey grunts, shoving the armrest into place. “We are two very educated women. With degrees. And this is what we’ve been reduced to.”

Alex, sitting crisscross on the floor with Jesse, doesn’t look up. “You’re the one who opened the door.”

“I didn’t know there’d be a baby on the other side!”

Jesse squeals happily and bangs a toy dinosaur on Alex’s knee.

Alex winces but smiles. “At least she likes me.”

“Yeah, well,” Casey huffs, brushing her hair out of her face and heading for the kitchen, “I’m the one trying to keep her alive.”

She opens the fridge and stares at the contents like she’s defusing a bomb. “Okay… does it—does she—have teeth?”

No response from the living room.

Casey leans around the fridge door. “Alex?”

Alex glances up. “What?”

“Does. She. Have. Teeth? We have to feed her. I don’t want her choking and dying in our care.”

Alex looks at Jesse, who’s now attempting to feed her dinosaur a sock. “I think she has, like, four?”

“Four?” Casey mutters, turning back to the counter. “Great. So… mushy.”

She ends up chopping a banana into microscopic pieces, so small they look like they’ve been grated. She sprinkles them onto a paper plate with the care of a Michelin-starred chef plating caviar.

When she walks back into the living room, banana plate in hand, she stops in her tracks.

Alex is completely engrossed in Dinosaur Tales. Jesse is snuggled up beside her, wide-eyed and drooling slightly.

“Are you seriously into that?”

Alex doesn’t even blink. “It’s surprisingly educational.”

Casey raises a brow. “You’re watching it without her now.”

“She wandered off and came back,” Alex murmurs, eyes still glued to the screen. “There’s character development.”

Casey sits beside them, balancing the plate on her knees. “Do I give it to her like birdseed?”

Alex takes a banana piece, offers it to Jesse, and watches as she shoves it in her mouth with enthusiasm. “You did great.”

Casey leans back against the couch barricade and lets out a breath. “Okay. One banana down. Just… however long to go.”

Jesse claps and throws a piece of banana at the TV.

Casey sighs. “Perfect.”

Morning came and went, and Jesse is no longer the sweet, drooling cherub they woke up to.

She’s fussy. Grouchy. Whining just enough to fray nerves but not enough to indicate what’s wrong. She refuses banana. She throws her sippy cup. She lays on the floor, face down, in full silent protest.

Alex stands near the barricaded living room like she’s observing a wild animal. “What’s happening? Is she broken?”

Casey paces nearby, hands on her hips. “I gave her food, she had water, her diaper is clean. That’s the whole baby checklist, right?”

Jesse lets out a long, miserable groan and kicks a stuffed giraffe across the floor.

Alex glances at Casey, exasperated. “Don’t you have, like, eight cousins? Shouldn’t you know babies?”

Casey shoots her a look and rubs her temples. “Not when they’re surrendered with no warning at five in the morning.”

Jesse grunts and curls into a ball.

Alex sighs and crouches down. “Okay, maybe she’s—wait. Do babies… get tired?”

Casey blinks. “Oh my God. She needs a nap.”

Alex straightens. “We let her skip the nap. We broke the baby.”

“We broke Amanda’s baby,” Casey mutters, eyes wide. “She’s gonna kill me.”

Ten minutes later, the apartment is dimmed, the white noise machine is an old fan on medium, and Jesse is passed out in the middle of Casey and Alex’s bed, starfished and snoring softly.

Casey tiptoes out of the room like it’s a crime scene.

Alex meets her in the hallway, whispering: “That was horrifying.”

Casey nods, dazed. “I think she looked into my soul.”

Alex pats her on the back. “She’s asleep now.”

Casey leans her forehead against the wall. “I feel like I need a nap.”

Alex sighs and rests her head next to hers. “I say next time, we leave you on Amanda’s doorstep at five in the morning.”

By dinnertime, the illusion of control is gone.

Casey stands in front of the fridge again, hands clasped behind her neck, staring into the abyss of condiments, expired yogurt, and a suspiciously soft cucumber.

“Unless we want to feed her mustard and shredded cheese, we’re out of options,” she says grimly.

Alex sits at the kitchen table, Jesse balanced on her hip, chewing contentedly on her own fingers. “Didn’t Amanda leave snacks?”

“She left a pack of teething biscuits and three squeezable pouches that expired in March.” Casey closes the fridge. “We’re taking her out.”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “Like… to a restaurant?”

“Do you have a better idea? Because I’m five seconds from giving her dry cereal and hoping for the best.”

They settle into a booth at a quiet diner with the kind of sticky menus and warm lighting that says “we don’t judge.” Jesse is in a borrowed high chair—too big for her, but she’s thrilled regardless.

Casey orders pancakes and applesauce for her, pancakes and coffee for herself and Alex. The waitress coos at Jesse, who responds by flinging her spoon across the floor.

“She’s got an arm,” Alex mutters.

By the time the food arrives, Jesse’s in a mood again—fussy until the moment applesauce hits her tray. Then she digs in like she’s been stranded on a desert island.

Alex watches, completely entranced. “Okay, she’s… kind of cute.”

Casey sips her coffee. “Don’t say it.”

Alex gently brushes a crumb off Jesse’s cheek. “What? I didn’t want to like her. But she’s got these little—these cheeks.”

“You’re bonding.” Casey points at her, mock-accusing. “You’re emotionally compromised.”

Alex scoffs but she doesn’t put Jesse down for the rest of the meal. Even when the baby finishes eating and starts dozing against her shoulder, Alex just shifts her gently, resting her hand protectively over Jesse’s back.

Casey watches with a soft smile. “You’re a natural.”

Alex snorts. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I also once tried to microwave a frozen burrito with the foil still on.”

Back in the car, Amanda still hasn’t responded to any texts or calls. Casey sighs and taps the wheel at a red light. “We should swing by her place. Grab extra diapers, maybe a couple of changes of clothes.”

Alex nods, looking down at Jesse snoozing peacefully in the backseat. “If she stays another night, we’ll need reinforcements.”

Casey glances at her. “You okay with that?”

Alex smiles. “She’s already survived one day with us. We owe her a second one.”

Amanda’s spare key sticks a little in the lock, but Casey jimmies it open with a grunt and pushes the door inward.

The apartment is warm and cluttered, with baby toys scattered everywhere, an overstuffed diaper bag flopped in the entryway, and at least two mismatched socks on the kitchen counter.

Alex steps in cautiously, Jesse once again on her hip, peering around. “This place is… lived in.”

“Yeah,” Casey says, flicking on a light. “Lived in by a tornado.”

They start gathering essentials: diapers from the hall closet, a box of wipes from under the sink, a crumpled grocery list scrawled in Sharpie that just says “cheddar bunnies???” and “plums?”

Alex sets Jesse down on a play mat in the living room, where she immediately grabs a plastic truck and starts chewing on it.

Casey reappears from the hallway holding a tiny pair of dinosaur footie pajamas. “Okay, this is unfairly cute.”

Alex smiles. “You’re the one getting emotionally compromised now.”

Casey glares halfheartedly and tosses the pajamas in their growing supply pile. “I’m being practical. Pajamas are necessary.”

As Alex digs through the changing table drawers, she finds a small, dog-eared notebook jammed between a pile of extra bibs and a lavender-scented burp cloth. She flips it open curiously.

Inside are scribbled notes in Amanda’s messy handwriting: “Jesse loves ceiling fans,” “sings along to Grey’s Anatomy theme(??),” “says ‘mama’ only when mad at me,” and “likes when Casey talks. seriously, her voice calms her down.”

Alex freezes. “Casey.”

Casey looks up from the pile of baby socks. “Hmm?”

Alex holds up the notebook, open to the page. “You’re in here.”

Casey steps closer and reads, eyebrows rising. “Well, that’s weirdly flattering.”

Alex smiles. “Or incriminating. You’ve got baby-calming powers.”

“I demand that be added to my résumé immediately.”

Jesse lets out a squeaky giggle from the play mat. Casey looks over, watching her lift the truck and smash it gently onto her lap with great pride. She can’t help it. Her face softens.

Alex watches her watching Jesse and murmurs, “We’re kind of good at this.”

Casey turns to her, surprised. “You think so?”

“I mean,” Alex shrugs, “no one’s died. She’s fed, clean, and we only got banana in one shoe.”

Casey grins. “That’s basically parenting, right?”

They gather up the loot: pajamas, diapers, a handful of teething toys, and the weirdly sentimental notebook, and head out, Jesse now fast asleep in Alex’s arms again.

As they walk down the hallway, Alex whispers, “Think Amanda planned this?”

Casey glances sideways. “Planned as in… tricked us into babysitting to prove a point?”

“She is from Georgia. Southern guilt is a deadly weapon.”

Casey smirks. “Next time, I’m leaving you on her doorstep.”

The next morning dawns soft and sleepy. No new texts. No calls. Amanda’s radio silence stretches into its second day like a held breath.

Casey wakes to the smell of coffee and the faint sound of cartoon voices drifting down the hallway.

She rubs her eyes, pads into the kitchen barefoot, and stops.

Alex is sitting cross-legged on the couch, her hair loosely tied back, a mug of coffee balanced on the armrest beside her. Jesse is tucked into her lap, babbling quietly between spoonfuls of oatmeal.

Alex guides each spoon with a calm focus, occasionally pausing to wipe Jesse’s mouth with a napkin, murmuring, “Slow down, kiddo,” with a fond little smile that Casey can’t remember seeing before.

It’s gentle. It’s quiet.

Casey leans against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching.

She doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t want to break the spell, but Alex eventually senses her and glances over.

She startles just a bit. “How long have you been standing there?”

Casey smiles softly. “Long enough to question if I woke up in an alternate universe.”

Alex snorts, scooping up another bite of oatmeal. “You were out cold. Jesse and I decided to have an early breakfast.”

Casey steps forward, voice low. “She’s letting you feed her.”

“She also let me put her hair in these ridiculous little antenna buns,” Alex says, tilting her head toward the baby, who indeed has two tiny, lopsided pigtails sticking out like she’s halfway to becoming a Teletubby.

Casey grins. “Okay, that’s adorable. You’re doomed now. She’s imprinted on you.”

Alex looks down at Jesse, who’s now stuffing oatmeal into her own mouth with one determined fist. “Could be worse.”

Casey watches them for another moment, quieter now. “You’re good at this.”

Alex shrugs, pretending not to blush. “She makes it kind of easy.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Casey says. “That’s what makes it impressive.”

Their eyes meet—just for a second too long—and then Jesse sneezes oatmeal onto Alex’s shirt, breaking the moment entirely.

Alex groans. “Okay, no one tells Amanda about this part.”

Casey grabs a napkin and hands it over with a smile. “Too late. I’m mentally drafting the group chat now.”

Alex narrows her eyes. “I will take this child and flee the country.”

Casey laughs as Jesse squeals with delight, oatmeal-covered fingers waving in the air like she knows she’s won something.

As the sun sets on the second day, the apartment looks like a daycare collided with a crime scene.

There are board books in the couch cushions, a half-eaten apple on the windowsill, and someone (definitely not Jesse) has drawn on the wall with a purple crayon.

Casey is lying face-down on the rug, one arm stretched out dramatically. “This is how I die.”

Alex sits cross-legged nearby, her blouse stained with juice, gently brushing Jesse’s hair back as the baby dozes in her lap. “We survived. Barely.”

“You made her macaroni.”

“You bribed her with Tinkerbell.”

“You enjoyed Tinkerbell.”

“I was desperate,” Alex mutters.

They sit in exhausted silence, the only sound the faint hum of the dishwasher and Jesse’s soft breathing. For a moment, it’s peaceful again. Still, soft, even a little comforting.

Then Casey’s phone rings.

She fumbles for it and groans. “It’s Amanda.”

Alex perks up. “Put her on speaker.”

Casey does and Amanda’s tired face fills the screen. She’s clearly in some rundown motel room, hair up in a messy bun, a bottle of gas station iced tea in one hand.

“Hey,” Amanda says. “Don’t hate me.”

Casey and Alex exchange a look. “What happened?”

“My sister’s a trainwreck, my mom’s yelling at everybody, and I had to chase my nephew through a Walmart in heels. Anyway, I’ve got to stay two more days.”

Casey audibly groans. Alex slumps backward against the couch.

Amanda winces. “I know. I’m sorry. I owe you both like, ten brunches and a kidney.”

“Make it two kidneys,” Casey mutters.

Jesse stirs in Alex’s lap, then lets out a loud, dramatic sigh in her sleep. Amanda’s face softens.

“Is she okay?”

Alex adjusts the blanket around Jesse. “She’s fine. Chaos incarnate. But fine.”

Amanda smiles a little. “Thank you. Seriously.”

Casey waves a hand weakly. “Don’t thank us yet. You still have to come get her.”

Amanda laughs, and then the screen freezes for a moment—her connection dropping just long enough for them to miss her goodbye.

Casey stares at the frozen screen. “Did she hang up, or did we lose her?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Alex mumbles, already lying down. “We’re in this now.”

Jesse shifts in her lap, snuggles deeper.

Casey exhales, then reaches over to pull a blanket across both of them. “We really are.”

The three of them fall asleep tangled together on the couch.

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

when i was fifteen, i rode my bike home from work and stopped at a pumpkin patch. it was one of those shitty seasonal pop-ups. i had stopped by before my shift to see the animals, and one rabbit had caught my eye. she was bigger, yet more timid. she had this beautiful black fur with little grey spots around her face.

it was almost 37 degrees out and they were just in a pen on the pavement with no water.

i knelt by it and reached my hand in to feel the one i found earlier. nothing. i tried to shake her awake but i was too late. she was cold and stiff, even in the heat.

i ran for the owner and showed her what I’d found. she wasn’t sympathetic or remorseful, there wasn’t an ounce of guilt in her expression. she grabbed the rabbit by the hind legs and threw her in the dumpster behind the concessions.

her body was so stiff it kept its form the whole time. so i took her. and i held her in my arms. it was difficult to balance my bike while holding her so tight but i took her to the park and i dug her a little grave.

i still see her. still feel the dirt under my nails. maybe if i had come sooner.

stop voting cabenson.

my motivation is out the window. i miss her too much.

so many people on this app are way too casual about being friends with diane neal