Clerical Error | Alex Cabot X Casey Novak

like ou (c) jogodoamor

𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

the way alex isn’t

You are my Sunshine | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak

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

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

AO3 link !

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not to Casey. Not even to herself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

They never made it out the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Casey stood in the doorway and watched her.

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

“Don’t,” Casey said.

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

Alex blinked. “Case?”

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

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

Alex froze.

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

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

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

“I wasn’t hiding it to hurt you—”

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

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

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

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Bullshit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…” 

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

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

“You make me happy when skies are gray…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

But through it all, Casey was there. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

author's note

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

Casey,

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

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

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

Forever yours,Alex

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

i miss her so bad it’s unbearable

thank you polly very cool

cute puppy and stupid cat P.2 ig

i had a really good salad today and it had black olives and god damn i love black olives but not as much as i love older women especially when they are calling me sweetheart i eat that up. my head hurts and i need to clean my room maybe ill write

yes fr

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

Maroon | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak

Casey brings home flowers on a random afternoon, and it stirs up more feelings than either of them expect. Just a quiet moment between two people still figuring each other out. based on Maroon by Taylor Swift hurt/comfort, angst 5k wc

reupload, abandoned fic

The first rays of pale sunlight seeped through the windows of Alex Cabot’s loft, illuminating the incense ash that sprinkled across the oak floor.

Casey Novak, with her rumpled hair and wine-flushed cheeks, tucked her legs beneath her and knelt beside the record stand. She gently brushed the sandalwood from cardboard jackets: Rumors, Tusk, Mirage. Faint creases on sleeve corners told their own quiet stories of late‑night needle drops long before she’d moved in, long before Alex had made space for another toothbrush beside hers.

From across the rug, Alex tipped the soiled incense holder over the small trash bin, grimacing as the ash slid from the ceramic in a hush of gray. Her borrowed Harvard Law crewneck hung just past her thighs; every time she shifted her weight, Casey’s gaze caught on the swing of fabric, the easy way Alex occupied her own home—and now, somehow, Casey’s too.

They’d meant to review witness statements and crash early. Instead, Alex had put Fleetwood Mac on the turntable, and Casey cracked open some cheap‑ass screw‑top rosé. Everything after Blue Letter dissolved into laughter—burned popcorn, a debate over hearsay exceptions, Casey’s terrible impression of Judge Petrovsky that made Alex choke on wine and clutch her ribs.

Steam drifted from a single mug on the coffee table—the blonde’s jasmine tea. Casey had already stolen a sip, her lipstick print glowing a faint maroon on the rim beside Alex’s own. She lounged back against the couch, idly brushing her toes against the loose hem of Alex’s sweater, a slow, playful sweep that made the burgundy fabric sway and Alex glance down with a half-smirk.

“How’d we end up on the floor, anyway?”

Alex asked, voice still rough with sleep. Casey, knees drawn up and heels resting in Alex’s lap, tugged her hair down from its haphazard bun and let it encompass her shoulders. “Easy culprit,” she said, a lazy grin tugging at her mouth. “Your old roommate’s bargain-bin wine demolished our sense of time management.

Alex’s laugh was a quick, unguarded burst, sharp and melodic, filling the loft with the kind of warmth that made everything feel brighter. The sound bounced off the brick walls, then sank into Casey’s chest, stirring something she hadn’t realized had settled there. It was a sound she didn’t know she’d need this much. One she’d come to crave more than anything. Three weeks had passed since Casey moved in. Boxes were still haphazardly stacked in corners, a lone lamp perched on the dresser with no shade. But mornings like this, with Alex beside her, had a way of making everything feel rooted in place, as though they'd shared this space for years, not just weeks.

A faint draft slipped in from the fire escape. Smoke from the incense curled and spiraled, pale and gentle against the glass, wrapping the room in its quiet calm. For a few moments, they simply listened. The soft popping of vinyl static, the ticking radiator, the steady, almost shy rhythm of two heartbeats learning the same tempo. Outside, Manhattan kept its frantic pulse, taxis groaning across the wet pavement, but from up here, the noise felt decades away.

Alex reached for the kettle, poured a second mug, and handed it over. Their fingers grazed and Casey’s pulse thrummed, not with urgency but with a grounded certainty that surprised her.

“So,” Alex said, voice soft enough that it nearly blended with the crackle of the record, “when we finally unpack those boxes, where do you want your books?”

Casey leaned her head on Alex’s shoulder. “Somewhere close. I’m tired of looking for things I’ve already found.”

Outside the window, snow began to fall, the first flake landing on the wrought‑iron rail like a single note on an open staff. Inside, two women sat amid incense ash and album sleeves, finishing lukewarm tea and memorizing a silence that felt, for once, like home.

Two nights later, winter hovered indecisively above the city, unable to choose between sleet and snow. The courthouse steps were slick and gleaming when they stepped off the curb, breath visible in the cold.

“You didn’t even call,” Casey said, not looking at her. Her heels clicked down the sidewalk. 

Alex tried to catch her pace. “I was buried in witness prep, Casey. I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“You don’t even have to ignore me,” Casey shot back, then stopped, folding her arms tight across her chest. Her shirt was damp, her curls frizzing at the edges, and her voice came out low. “You just forget.”

The words landed like a slap. Casey wasn’t raising her voice, but that calm, steady tone was worse. Alex opened her mouth, closed it again. They stood in the glow of a streetlamp, faces half in shadow.

“I didn’t forget,” Alex finally said. “I just… lost track of time.”

“You always do.” Casey’s voice broke, just a little. “And I wait. And I forgive it. And I keep showing up.” She was calm, but underneath her voice was that quiet, brittle kind of sadness that never announced itself until it was already settling in.

Alex ducked into a bodega, the kind with flickering lights and a handwritten sign for oranges out front, without a word. When she came back, she had a bottle of wine (actual cork, not screw-top) cradled in her hands. “Come on,” she said. “Walk with me?”

Casey hesitated. Then, she stepped out of her heels and scooped them up by the straps. “Only if you promise not to talk about depositions.”

“I solemnly swear,” Alex said, and Casey gave her a tiny smile.

They walked under a dull streetlamp that made everything look a little more golden. Casey tipped her head back and gave a spin on the wet sidewalk, hair flying. “Tell me again why we don’t just quit and move to Barcelona.”

Alex laughed, startled and bright. “You don’t speak Spanish.”

“You do,” Casey teased, and twirled again, before handing the bottle back over. “Problem solved.”

A cab tore past, catching a puddle, Alex jolted to protect the wine, but the bottle tilted just enough to splash a crimson streak across Casey’s white blouse.

“Oh my god,” Casey gasped.

“Oh my god,” Alex echoed, horrified. “Casey, I am so sorry—”

“You spilled Rioja on the one thing in my wardrobe that didn’t already look like a crime scene,” Casey said dramatically, but her grin was spreading.

“I’ll replace it.”

“You can’t replace white-collar ugly,” Casey said, eyes dancing.

And then she started laughing. Real, unguarded, throw-your-head-back laughing. It bubbled out of her so easily that Alex couldn’t help joining in, half-doubled over with relief.

“I choose you,” Alex said between gasps, holding the wine like it was sacred. “Always. Even when I’m an idiot.”

“Especially when you’re an idiot,” Casey said, still breathless. “You’re kind of my favorite idiot.”

Then Alex tugged her closer, gingerly, because the wine bottle was still open, and Casey dropped her shoes and wrapped both arms around her neck. They swayed there, in the middle of the sidewalk, tipsy on nothing but each other.

No music. Just the soft rhythm of laughter, the spill of streetlight, and the way the world seemed briefly, wonderfully, theirs.

Casey dropped her bag. Too hard. Alex winced at the sound.

“You could’ve backed me up,” Casey said, not looking at her. “You didn’t have to cut me off like that.”

Alex, already toeing off her heels by the couch, sighed. “It wasn’t personal.”

“It never is with you.”

Alex turned slowly. “Excuse me?”

“You treat me like your intern. Like I’m lucky to even be in the room.” Casey’s voice cracked, too loud for the space between them, but still too small. Inferior.  “I’m not your assistant. I’m second chair. I earned that.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Alex snapped. “You think I asked to work with someone who—” She stopped. Bit the rest off and swallowed it down.

Casey stared. “Someone who what?”

Alex said nothing.

“Jesus,” Casey breathed. “You’re unbelievable.”

She shifted nervously. She knew she was getting ahead of herself but the words were coming out too fast for her mind to stop it. “You don’t even see it, do you? You walk into a room and everyone listens. You speak and people shut up. You don’t have to prove yourself every goddamn day.”

There it was. What Casey could never quite say out loud. The burden that loomed between them. A brick wall. That she felt like a shadow beside Alex. That even when they were laughing, touching, kissing, part of her never stopped wondering how long it would take for Alex to realize she could do better.

Alex crossed her arms, spine straight as a ruler. “You’re being emotional.”

That did it.

Casey’s eyes went glassy, but her jaw locked tight. Alex’s gaze flickered. Just for a second. But it was enough. Enough for Casey to see the wall slam into place behind her eyes. Cold. Controlled. Done.

“I love you,” Casey said, a last-ditch effort, her voice ragged. “But I’m tired of feeling like this. Like I’m chasing after someone who won’t even turn around.”

Alex blinked, but didn’t move. Didn’t answer. The silence pressed in so hard Casey thought it might crush her. She turned and stormed down the hall. And when she reached the bedroom, she didn’t hesitate, just slammed the door so hard it rattled the frame. Then came the sobs. Messy, awful ones, muffled into the sheets of their shared bed,

Out in the living room, Alex stared at the door for a long minute. Then she picked up her heels and her keys and walked out. Quiet. Composed. Like she hadn’t just left a wreck behind her.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°

Crammed into the single‑stall bathroom at the office, whisper‑laughing like schoolgirls at a sleepover instead of two ADAs with open case files and coffee breath.

“Stop moving,” Casey hissed, blotting at Alex’s collarbone with a wet paper towel that wasn’t helping at all.

“I told you not to use teeth,” Alex whispered back, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Her button-down was already halfway open, revealing a smudged scarlet mark just peeking over the neckline.

“I didn’t use teeth,” Casey grinned. “Not exclusively.”

Alex glared but her lips twitched. “You’re a menace.”

The mirror caught the flush on both their faces, the way Alex leaned into Casey’s touch like it was gravity. Somewhere outside, footsteps echoed down the hall, but the moment stayed quiet, warm, dizzy with stolen time.

“We should probably get back,” Alex said, though she didn’t move.

Casey’s fingers brushed the mark one last time. “Too late. Everyone already saw your scandalous hickey. The entire floor knows you’re getting railed by your second chair.”

Alex snorted. “Jesus.”

“Don’t worry,” Casey murmured, eyes soft now. “I’ll make sure you win your next case. For…reputation’s sake.”

And Alex, against all her instincts, let herself laugh, really laugh, and pulled Casey in by her stupid tie.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°

She didn’t even hear the front door close. Just the quiet afterward, thick and mean, like the apartment itself was holding its breath. She slid down the side of the bed until she hit the floor. Her coat was still buttoned, hair still pinned, makeup smudging with every wipe of her sleeve. Her sharp composure was gone, replaced with a mess of hiccupped sobs and red eyes, knees pulled up to her chest. 

There were no more hickeys now. No giggles. Just silence thick as grief and the echo of Alex’s voice saying nothing at all when it mattered. She’d cried herself sick and quiet, tucked under her blanket with the door still locked, but it hadn’t helped. The ache stayed put.

Why did it always feel like this with Alex? She wanted to be chosen. Wanted to be seen. She loved her. God, she loved her.

But she couldn’t keep bleeding just to prove it.

In another part of the city, Alex poured herself a drink she didn’t want, stared at a text she couldn’t send. She wanted to call. To say I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. Come home. 

Maybe she thought Casey needed space. Maybe she was punishing herself. Maybe she didn’t know how to be soft without breaking. She told herself she didn’t slam the door because she was composed. That she left because she needed space. Because Casey was being unfair.

The words echoed in her mind, muffled by the way her chest ached, tight and quiet. 

I love you.

She didn’t mean to hurt her. She never meant to. But closeness always came with edges. And love, real love, scared the hell out of her. Casey wanted all of her. But Alex didn’t know how to hand herself over without losing the pieces she spent years keeping safe.

Casey brought home flowers.

Not for any real reason. No anniversary, no apology (not officially, anyway), no big win in court. Just a gray, dreary afternoon that needed a splash of color. She’d stopped at the bodega on her way back from arraignments, half-frozen from the wind and tired in that deep, court-stenographer-in-your-brain kind of way. The bouquet wasn’t fancy, red blooms bunched together with a rubber band, wedged in a dented metal bucket near the checkout. They were the only ones that didn’t look half-dead. And they looked enough like roses from a distance.

She paid in crumpled singles, grabbed a chocolate bar for good measure, and walked the last few blocks to the loft with the flowers bundled tight in one arm. By the time she made it inside, her nose was pink, her coat smelled faintly of coffee, and her nerves had started creeping in.

Alex was on the couch, reading a magazine of some sort, hair twisted up and glasses sliding down her nose. Casey stood there for a beat, watching her. Then she cleared her throat, casual as she could manage.

“These’re for you,” she said, holding the bouquet out like she might backtrack if Alex didn’t reach fast enough.

Alex looked up, surprised. “Oh,” she said, setting the papers aside. “Thanks.”

Alex accepted them with a smile she hadn’t worn in days, something small and sincere and just for Casey, even if Casey didn’t look long enough to see it. She disappeared into the kitchen so fast Alex almost laughed.

She opened a cabinet with more force than necessary, pulled down the first glass thing that resembled a vase, and turned the tap on low. While trimming the stems, she caught sight of the little white sticker folded into the paper sleeve.

CARNATIONS — $6.99

Her fingers stilled. Just for a second.

Not roses. Carnations. Of course they were carnations. She stared at them a moment longer than she meant to, then peeled off the tag and tossed it in the trash like it hadn’t caught her off guard. She kept cutting, arranging. Pushed the thought away.

When she turned around, Alex was standing in the doorway, arms folded, expression unreadable but soft at the edges.

“You thought they were roses, didn’t you?” Alex said, quiet but not teasing. Just... knowing.

Casey’s answer was automatic denial. Of course it was.

“No,” she lied. “I mean—they’re red. Close enough.”

Alex didn’t press. She stepped forward and touched the petals instead. They were soft, full, bright red. Carnations or not, they were beautiful. So was the effort behind them. So was Casey, awkward, flushed, and pretending it didn’t matter.

What Casey didn’t know, what Alex would probably never say out loud, was that the flowers were already perfect. Not because they looked like roses, but because Casey thought they would pass for them and still brought them anyway.

“They’re pretty,” she said finally. “Really.”

Alex had spent so much of her life being measured, held up to standards, expected to be perfect. And Casey made her feel human. Not always in a gentle way. Sometimes it was clumsy or loud or full of missteps. But it was real. Messy and meaningful and real.

She looked at Casey, still holding the vase like a question, and felt her throat tighten.

You’re always trying so hard, she wanted to say. You don’t have to.

But the words didn’t come. Alex was good at holding her tongue. At silence. At taking up less space in the room so no one could accuse her of being too much.

She leaned in and kissed her temple, murmured a soft thank you that landed somewhere behind Casey’s ear.

It helped. A little. But even as she smiled and leaned into the warmth of it, Casey couldn’t stop thinking: I meant to bring you roses.

*******

Alex sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, hands clasped quietly. The carnations were in a mason jar on the windowsill now, catching the last of the city light. They looked brighter here. Or maybe it was just the way Casey kept glancing at them like they might vanish.

Alex hadn't said much. She rarely did when things mattered most. But her eyes kept drifting toward Casey, who was curled up on her own side of the bed, hoodie sleeves bunched in her fists, legs drawn up like a child. She wasn’t crying, not really, but there was a crease between her brows like she was waiting to be wrong again.

Alex hated that. Hated that Casey walked through the world like she always had something to prove, even to her. She didn’t know how to fix that. Not without screwing it up more.

Sometimes Alex forgot how new this all still was. How love looked different in Casey’s hands: louder, messier, wrapped in too many layers. Carnations she thought were roses. Apologies she never said but still brought home in paper-wrapped bundles from the corner store.

Alex had always admired Casey’s fire. But now it felt like that fire kept trying to prove it wasn’t a flicker. Like Casey believed she had to earn this every single day. To earn her every single day. She rubbed her thumb against the ring of condensation on her water glass and swallowed the quiet between them.

“I don’t care that they weren’t roses,” she said finally. Her voice came out lower than she meant it to, but steady. “You could’ve brought me a bouquet of bodega receipts and I still would’ve put them in water.”

Casey blinked, startled by the words, maybe even more by the softness in them.

Alex didn’t look away. “I know I don’t make this easy. I pull back when I shouldn’t. I go quiet when you need me loud.”

Her voice caught, but she kept going.

“But you try so hard, Casey. You always do. And I see it. Even when you think I don’t.”

Casey looked down, biting her lip like she didn’t believe it. Or didn’t know how to.

Alex reached over and took her hand. Just held it. No speech, no grand gesture. And for once, Alex let it be enough.

“I love you so much it scares me,” Casey said, voice barely above a whisper.

She wasn’t sure what she expected. Maybe silence, maybe some diplomatic half-answer. But Alex didn’t say anything. Instead, she stepped closer, close enough that Casey could smell her shampoo, faint bergamot and something darker. She reached out, fingertips brushing along Casey’s jaw like she was memorizing it. No rush. No sharp edges.

Then she knelt and pressed their foreheads together, slow and steady, like a promise.

Casey’s hands curled into Alex’s shirt without thinking, just needing something to hold. She blinked fast, trying not to cry again, and felt Alex’s arms come around her in that sure, quiet way, like she wasn’t going anywhere.

For a long moment, they just existed there. No more explaining, no apologies. Just breath and skin and closeness.

Alex’s thumb traced lazy circles between Casey’s shoulder blades. Casey exhaled into her neck, tension bleeding out one breath at a time. Everything loud had gone soft.

Outside, traffic rolled on. Inside, it was just them. A little fragile. But still together.

******

The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the radiator and the occasional creak of the old floorboards settling. Alex was asleep beside her, steady in the dark, one hand curled loosely near her chest. Casey lay on her side, staring at the ceiling, eyes burning.

She hadn’t meant to cry. Not again, not now. But it kept coming in slow, steady waves, a tight ache that knotted behind her ribs and refused to let go. She tried to breathe past it. Tried to think of something else—anything else—but her brain wouldn’t let her. It kept circling back to the courtroom, the look on Alex’s face when she cut her off, the way her voice had gone flat like Casey wasn’t even in the room.

She hated how easily it got to her. How small it made her feel. She’d earned second chair. She worked her ass off every day, stayed late, memorized every detail, and still, all it took was one sideways glance from Alex to make her question everything.

She didn’t even know if Alex realized what she did, how the little things added up. The corrections that didn’t need to be made. The praise that never came. The way she’d acted like Casey’s “I love you” was some kind of misstep, something to sidestep and forget.

Another tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it away before it could hit the pillow.

Then, slowly, without thinking too much about it, she shifted closer. Not enough to wake Alex. Just enough to feel her warmth. Her legs brushed against Alex’s, and when she didn’t pull away, Casey tucked herself into the space between them, cheek pressed against her shoulder.

Alex didn’t stir. But her arm moved in her sleep, instinctive and loose, settling around Casey’s waist like it belonged there. Casey pressed her eyes shut and let the tears come, slow and silent. She breathed in the warmth of Alex’s skin, the steadiness of her.

It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t make the doubts go away. But for just a moment, wrapped up in the quiet, Casey let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she was wanted. It was enough. At least for tonight.

It wasn’t dramatic when Casey left. No slammed doors, no shouting into the hallway. Just quiet. The kind of quiet that wrapped around her shoulders and made her shiver, even though it wasn’t cold.

Alex was still at work. Probably hunched over her desk, pouring over motions and affidavits like nothing had ever been wrong. Like Casey wasn’t standing here with a trash bag full of skirts and sweaters she barely even liked, feeling like her whole chest was caving in. She moved slowly, like the apartment might notice she was leaving. Touched the back of the worn leather couch where they used to curl up with bad takeout and better wine. Let her fingers skim the chipped corner of the coffee table Alex kept meaning to fix. She wasn’t sure if she was saying goodbye to the space or the memories pressed into it. Maybe both.

The carnations had withered in their vase on the kitchen counter, petals crisping at the edges. Casey almost laughed when she saw them. She thought about tossing them in the trash but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she turned them gently toward the window, like maybe the light would give them a little more time. Time that she didn’t have to give. The box she carried smelled faintly like dust and fabric softener and the candle Alex hated but let her burn anyway. She shifted it higher against her hip, heart knocking hard against her ribs. It shouldn’t hurt this much. It shouldn’t feel like peeling skin from bone.

At the door, she hesitated. Her hand hovered over the handle like maybe there was still some invisible force that would pull her back in. Like Alex might magically appear in the doorway, sweaty from work, tossing her briefcase down and saying, Hey, where are you going? like it was nothing. Like it was fixable.

But Alex wasn’t here. She never was when Casey needed her most.

The spare key felt heavy in her palm. She tucked it under the mug by the door, the one they used to joke was their “communal change jar”, the one  Casey had bought for $2 at a garage sale their first month together. Neither of them had ever replaced it, even though it was ugly and the handle was cracked. It had survived somehow. Casey wasn’t sure they had. She pulled the strap of her backpack higher, wincing at the way the sharp familiarity twisted inside of her. 

Maybe if she had just looked at me, Casey thought. Maybe if I hadn't needed her to choose me out loud.

But the ‘maybes’ didn’t matter anymore. Not when the weight of being almost enough had already hollowed her out.

She opened the door. Paused once, just once, looking back at the place where her heart used to live.

The first time she’d walked out like this, she’d told herself it was survival. This time, she didn’t even know what it was. Just that she couldn’t stay somewhere she wasn’t wanted.

Then she pulled it shut behind her, careful, almost tender.

The lock clicked softly into place. Final.

And for the first time in a long time, Alex Cabot wouldn’t have anyone waiting for her when she came home.

************

She didn’t even remember the cab ride. One minute she was shutting the door behind her, and the next she was fumbling with keys outside the apartment she was supposed to have let go of months ago. She never canceled the lease. She told herself it was practical— just in case —but really, it was because somewhere deep down, she knew she might need somewhere to run.

The door stuck like it always did; she had to shove her shoulder against it. The place smelled stale, like dust and old memories, and she hated how familiar it still felt. The sagging couch was exactly where she left it. The crooked frame of a print she’d bought at a street fair tilted a little further to the left. Nothing had changed except her.

The second the door swung closed behind her, her body gave out. She sank to the floor, knees knocking against the hardwood, box abandoned at her side. It hit the ground with a dull thud and spilled open. Hoodies, leggings, the worn out softball Alex always teased her for, all of it just scattered across the floor like wreckage.

The first sob punched out of her so hard she doubled over.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t cinematic. It was ugly and raw and full of the kind of hurt that didn’t have words. She curled her arms around herself, gasping in these shallow, broken breaths that scraped her throat bloody. Her whole chest hurt, like her heart was clawing at her ribcage trying to get out.

She pressed her forehead to the floor and cried until she couldn’t tell where her body ended and the apartment began. She cried like she was emptying out everything she had left, every soft thing Alex had touched, every piece of her she hadn’t guarded closely enough.

How the hell did we lose sight of us again?

The words ran circles in her head, relentless. The thing was, Casey wasn’t even sure Alex ever had sight of them the way she did. Maybe Casey had been seeing something that was never really there. Maybe she loved harder than she was supposed to, needed more than Alex was ever willing to give. 

The sobs kept coming. She couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t stop feeling like the stupid carnations, too. A cheap, almost-right version of what Alex deserved. And the worst part was, even now, with her body wrung out and her heart shattered across this empty apartment floor, she still wanted her.

God, she still wanted her.

The tears eventually burned out, leaving Casey dry-mouthed and shaking on the floor. Her whole body felt too heavy to move, like gravity had gotten personal. She wiped at her face with the sleeve of her Harvard crewneck, but it didn’t help. Her cheeks were raw, her eyes swollen, and there was an ache in her chest that she couldn’t get rid of.

For a long time, she just lay there. Listening to the radiator click and hiss. Watching the ceiling blur and refocus as her breathing tried to settle into something human again. The floor was cold against her palms, and the ball rolled back and forth in slow arcs, tapping softly against the baseboard.

She thought about getting up, thought about finding a blanket, maybe even changing out of the clothes that still smelled like Alex's apartment. But the thought of moving, of doing anything , felt impossible.

So she stayed. Curled onto her side, knees tucked up like some kind of defense against the empty stretch of the room. The walls pulsed quietly around her, full of old laughter, old mornings, old Casey, the one who believed things would work out if she just tried hard enough. She wondered if that girl was still somewhere inside her, or if she’d finally cried her out tonight.

Her body ached in places that weren’t physical.

Sleep didn’t so much come for her as it dragged her under: messy, half-dreaming, tears still drying on her face.

And even in sleep, she reached for someone who wasn’t there.

will u guys still talk to me if im bald