Vigilante Shit Except It’s Casey Talking About Love Of Her Life Alex Cabot Who’s FINALLY Divorcing

vigilante shit except it’s casey talking about love of her life alex cabot who’s FINALLY divorcing her shitbag finance bro husband

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.

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.