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Time casts it's spell on you, but you won't forget me.
I know I could've loved you, but you would not let me.
Alexandra Cabot is not rattled easily.
She faced off with the worst scums of the earth on a regular basis, handled sex crimes in a war-torn country; hell, she was almost killed by the drug cartel and had to be hidden by the feds.
Alexandra Cabot is not rattled easily, but what Casey said that led to 'the fallout' had her running back to her place in a state of panic.
She tugged at her coat, fingers still trembling as the last bits of adrenaline left her body. She simply dropped everything unceremoniously on the floor – her purse, her briefcase, her coat – and rushed to the shower, letting the hot water settle her still frayed nerves. She laid down on her bed when she finished, trying to get as comfortable as possible but the earlier events kept on replaying in her head.
She winced, burying her face in her hands when she realized how awfully she reacted to the redhead's confession. Alex, known for her eloquent vocabulary, could have handled the situation more carefully, delicately; but she was rather startled by it, the unexpected confession throwing her off-kilter and she was left fumbling, ashamed of how she handled the situation.
"Goddamn it," she whispered and sat up, running her hands through her hair.
It is true that the Homicide Unit needed help with their caseload and she decided that Casey is the best one that can handle that type of cases, but she didn't mean for the redhead to find out this way. She was planning on telling her over the weekend after a night together, while they're lounging on her couch, binge-watching shitty reality TV shows, and sipping homemade mimosas that Casey made. And now, she ended up hurting the redhead's feelings. She groaned and flopped back onto her side of the bed.
She blinked. Since when did she think of it as ' her side of the bed'?
Alex turned her head, pressing her cheek against the pillow, and looked at the empty space beside her, the space that a certain redhead used to occupy. She ignored the pang in her chest, ignored the fact that she's bothered by its bareness, and she stood, opting to sleep on the couch instead.
Alex's steps echoed through the hall of the mostly empty DA's office, the rhythmic beat of her heels off the tiles was enough to calm her frayed nerves. She held the cardboard holder with two coffee cups, determination etched in her as she walked down the familiar hallways.
To say that she was restless is an understatement. She mulled over the events that happened that Friday, like a broken player going on a loop, thinking about what she could've said and done instead. She admits her fault and, while she's not exactly sure how she can fix it, she's willing to try anything to gain the redhead's favor back.
She went to Casey's office first, expecting it to be empty since it's still quite early for office hours. She was, however, startled when she was greeted by Casey's assistant, putting law books inside a storage box.
Equally startled, Linda's hand paused its movement, "Ms. Cabot," she greeted, surprise in her voice, "Can I help you?"
Alex blinked and, as her eyes took in her surroundings, she noticed that it was already mostly bare, just a few books remaining on the shelf.
"What's - where's Casey?" She almost demanded, stepping fully into the room.
Linda frowned, "Ms. Carmichael wanted her to move to the seventh floor, since she's going to be working Homicide for a while," she explained, moving to the shelf and grabbing the last few books, "And with Mr. Barba coming in this week, they thought it'd be easier for him to settle here than sharing an office with other ADAs."
"Oh," was the only thing that she can say. She tried to keep the dejection from her voice and maintained a more neutral expression. Judging by the concern on the other woman's face, she didn't really succeed.
She cleared her throat and started to move back towards the door, "Thanks, Linda. I'll have to call Barba about his... office arrangement."
She hurried out, her office door almost colliding with the wall with the force that she opened it. She put everything on her desk and sank to her chair, burying her face in her hands. She shouldn't feel betrayed - after all, she's the one who told Casey to work with a new unit for a while. But as her eyes landed on the coffee cup that was meant for her, she realized that betrayed was not what she really felt. The heaviness in her chest was more pronounced, the wetness pooling in her eyes unintentional, the bitter taste in her mouth lingered no matter how many sips of coffee she took.
It felt more akin to regret.
Alex rolled over to her side of the bed, her eyes drawn to her cellphone by the bedside table. She stared intently at it, as if willing it to notify that there's an incoming call from a certain redhead. It's been weeks, and she still hasn't mustered up the courage to call or message Casey. In truth, she's afraid of how the younger woman will react if she made a move first, but she felt Casey's absence keenly.
She sat up with a groan, pressing the balls of her palms to her eyes. There's pressure throbbing in the back of her left eyebrow, and her eyes felt like they're drying up even after she tried eyedrops. She's been sleep-deprived for the past few weeks, restless even in her own home. She should've been used to it – between her anxiety and insomnia, sleeplessness is a familiar companion that's been happening for years in unpredictable bouts. Unbidden, her mind went to those nights when this occurred: the redhead's arms enveloping her, Casey's warmth that she generously shared with her, the tranquility that her embrace offered.
She reached for her glasses and phone, unlocking the device, and going straight to Casey's contact name. But if she called her, then what would she say? What if, it would be a comfort to her, but a more painful reminder to the redhead? Could she bear the thought of hurting Casey even more, when she doesn't know what to say to her?
Her thumb hovered at the call button, eyes lingering on the contact photo that Casey chose. It was a picture that Alex took, wearing one of her old softball shirt and jersey, lounging on Alex's couch. She was grinning widely and she recalled that it was when the softball team that she was rooting for won. Alex, when she took that photo, just thought that the redhead was cute at that moment. Looking at it now, she remembered why she really took that photo: she wanted to have a souvenir of the way her green eyes shined and crinkled at the corners, the way her smile can compare to the brightness of the sun.
Alex took that photo because she wanted a reminder of Casey's blinding happiness, and to one day be the cause of that, too.
It took her more than a few hours – hell, it took her the whole working day – to muster up the courage and take the elevator to the seventh floor. Alex will vehemently deny that she's avoiding the redhead; staying in her office, only leaving for court and a visit to the 1-6. It's true, in part. The position came with a mountain of paperwork that kept her busy and distracted.
But when Barba made a passing comment about Casey's first win since she transferred to the Homicide Unit last week, he was surprised when she didn't know all about it.
"I thought you were friends," he asked, brows furrowed. He came for her advice in one of his cases.
Friends, she thought wryly, her chest aching at the reminder of their last interaction.
Instead, she said, "Yeah, well, I haven't been able to talk to her yet."
"Since she transferred?"
She gave him a sharp look, "Yes, since she transferred temporarily to Homicide," she emphasized.
Rafa merely shrugged, ignoring the change of tone of his boss, "I heard it was a high-profile case, you should congratulate her," he comments as she handed back his files. Muttering his thanks, he left her office.
And that's how Alex found herself in an elevator to the seventh floor of the building, still trying to form the words that she wanted to say to the redhead. She wanted to know how she's doing, how she's dealing with the sudden change, to congratulate her on her win.
(She wanted to hug her, to kiss her, to say that she's sorry for what she did, that she's just too damn afraid to admit her own feelings.)
She was still practicing when the elevator doors opened. Exhaling loudly, she walked towards Casey's new office. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her purse and her heart felt like it might beat out of her chest from the anxiety that's trying to swallow her up. But her steps didn't falter and, soon, she's at her open office door.
The redhead hadn't noticed her yet, to engrossed in her case files, and she allowed herself to study her. Casey's just as she remembered her to be: the determined set of her shoulders, the certainty of her hand as her pen moved across a legal pad, those green eyes that had comforted her during her worst nights.
She was, and always will be, beautiful in Alex's eyes.
There's no backing out now, so she took a deep breath and spoke, "How are you doing with the Homicide Unit?" She clenched her purse tighter, praying that the nerves in her voice would go unnoticed.
Casey looked up; surprise evident in her face which she quickly tried to mask. She turned back towards her work and replied without looking at her, "It's fine, Abbie had me handling a double-homicide now."
She answered as matter-of-factly: business-like, monotonous, trying to appear busy by tidying up her desk. It's as if she's just talking to another colleague and not Alex. The blonde tried to calm the erratic beating in her chest, trying to convince herself that this nonchalance coming from the redhead didn't sting. She wanted to confront her, to comfort her, but this is not the place nor the time.
"Hey, when you're not busy, maybe we can have a drink sometime? Maybe coffee?" she offered, hoping that the invitation would be enough to get the redhead to open up to her.
Casey finally looked up and Alex wanted nothing but to take back everything that she said when she saw the utter heartbreak and agony on her face. Her heart clenched at the sight, her breath leaving her in a rush.
It was gone in an instant, Casey slipping on the mask of indifference, "Maybe when I'm not too busy. But it'll probably be for another few months," she had said, but Alex can read between the lines; she's a lawyer, after all.
She's not welcome in Casey Novak's life anytime soon.
She managed to hold back on the drive to her place, managed to make it up to her penthouse without breaking down crying. There's hollowness in her chest that she can't explain, and she moved towards her couch with almost robotic limbs, letting herself fall onto the cushions. But when her eyes landed on the throw blanket that Casey insisted on putting on the couch, she could no longer keep the tears from falling. Her fingers reached out towards the fabric and then she's pulling it tightly to her chest, almost clawing at the fabric from the onslaught of emotions that's coursing through her. She curled into a ball, clutching the blanket tightly, and drawing her knees to her chest as she cried, weeks of being sleep deprived, of utter exhaustion, and loneliness finally taking a toll on her.
She messed up big time, she knows that now. She let her fears be greater than the love she feels.
Casey, who was sweet and beautiful and brilliant in more ways than one. Casey, with her heart-stopping, dimpled smile and captivating green eyes. Casey, who always greeted her with a cheery ' good morning' no matter how grumpy she was. Casey, who cooked her favorite meal after a particularly hard day in court and let her change the channel to shitty reality TV show. Casey, who held her close to her chest when the nightmares consumed her sleep. Casey, whose arms had become her solace, who always made her feel safe and warm, who protected her from the anxieties that crept up her mind.
Casey, who stayed and comforted and held her and loved her, entrusted her heart to Alex, only for her to break it into pieces.
Alex pushed away the woman that loves her.
Abbie Carmichael was startled when the Alexandra Cabot barged into her office.
"Where's Casey?" She demanded, standing over the brunette. She was imposing and intimidating and lesser people would've cowered at the sight.
But they're not Abbie, "Good day to you too, Counsellor," she answered almost lazily, closing the file in her hands and placing it in the correct pile, "What can I do for you this fine day?"
Alex glared at her, blue eyes cold in its fury, "Don't play games with me, Carmichael," she warned, her anger palpable in every word she uttered, "Why am I just hearing that she transferred to Brooklyn SVU?"
Abbie's eyes hardened and she stood up, matching the younger woman's stance. She will not be cowed by her former mentee, "She requested the transfer," she simply replied, her voice calm but firm.
The blonde scoffed incredulously, her fists opening and closing, "You can't do that!" She exclaimed, starting to pace in front of Abbie's desk, "I'm the Sex Crimes' Bureau Chief – you bypassed my authority!"
"And I'm the Homicide Bureau Chief!" She answered back. She was thankful that Alex closed the door, because they were both just yelling at each other now, "Last I checked, she's employed in my unit."
"I lent her to you!"
"And she's still employed in my unit when she requested the transfer, not yours! You poached Barba from Brooklyn, so there's an open position. She requested the transfer there, and McCoy signed off on it! You had no authority in that!" She exclaimed. Abbie took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage brewing in her, and asked in her courtroom voice, "Alex, what is this really about?"
The blonde was still pacing, her hands gesturing wildly, "You didn't tell me about it!" She insisted, running a hand through her hair, "No one asked me about my opinion on her transfer! As if my opinion as her Bureau Chief doesn't matter!"
Abbie narrowed her eyes, studying the agitated blonde in front of her. She knows Alex as a rational woman who's able to hold a conversation without turning it into a shouting match. If this is really about her authority, she would've sat down and discussed this matter professionally with her; however, from the way that the blonde trembled ever so slightly, it was obvious that it was more than about her jurisdiction.
"Is this really about you being bypassed," she began, suspicion evident in her tone, "Or is it something else?"
Alex finally stopped pacing and faced her. The fury in her eyes were gone, but her blue eyes reflected something raw, something closer to misery.
Abbie's eyes widened with realization, "Oh, Alex," she whispered, almost regretfully, "What happened between you two?"
"Abbie, I..." she began, her voice catching in her throat and tears welled in her eyes.
They haven't worked closely for the past few years, but Abbie knew the blonde enough to somehow figure out, "You fell in love?"
Alex looked away, and she saw the younger woman swallow before nodding her head slightly, almost imperceptibly, "And I pushed her away."
The brunette sighed and sat down behind her desk, "You have to fix this, Cabot," she said, fixing the blonde with a gentle but firm gaze, "You can't keep being miserable."
Abbie doesn't know about Alex that much anymore, having drifted apart for the past few years. She changed, both of them did. But she's certain that her friend is still not keen on accepting the fact that she deserved happiness.
Alex nodded again, her usually composed face now clearly showing dejection and resignation, "I know."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about her transfer."
She shook her head, finally giving it a rest, and taking a seat, "It's okay. I - I did this. I have to find a way to fix this."
Abbie stayed silent, letting the younger woman sort through her thoughts. She could give her two cents about her dilemma, but unsure if it would help unfurl the blonde's anxieties, or exacerbate them.
"I miss her," Alex whispered so low that the brunette almost didn't hear her say them.
"Then don't tell me; tell her."
The blonde scoffed without humor, "She hates me, Abbie."
The brunette sighed and leaned back, "Alex, you said that you pushed her away. I'm going to assume that you said or did something shitty because I don't think Casey would've acted the way that she did. She doesn't hate you. She's hurting, Cabot. You caused it, but you're the only one who can get rid of the pain that you're both feeling."
It's been four months.
The hollowness in her chest had deepened, widened even further, as if Casey had taken her heart with her when she transferred to Brooklyn. It was futile to try and reconcile with the redhead now; Abbie had told her that, along with her transfer, she also moved her place, somewhere closer to her new job. To where, the brunette doesn't know. Alex hadn't tried to contact her either, too damn afraid that her presence wouldn't be appreciated.
She once observed Barba in the courtroom, and can't help but think that he lacked the passion, determination, and fire that Casey had utilized to captivate the jury. It's not fair, she knows, comparing the two, but she misses her very much that nothing could ever compare to her.
There were times when she could almost imagine Casey's voice calling out to her. Saying her name, teasing her when she tried to make breakfast but ended up burning the pancakes again. She can still hear the soothing words that Casey whispered in her ear when she had a nightmare, can remember her tinkling laugh when Alex tells her how she destroyed a defense attorney's witness. When she closes her eyes, she can almost picture those captivating green eyes, full of acceptance.
(Alex wondered if she's not really ready for commitment, or simply felt that she doesn't deserve to be loved.)
But, as the days passed her by, she realized that it doesn't matter if she had enough courage in her to seek out the redhead. She's not brave, but she can't keep living like this – watching the world pass her by like an outside, going through the tedious routine of her everyday life, wishing that Casey is beside her, laughing with her as they watched whatever reality TV show they stumble upon. She has her resolved, and that's all that she needed.
She will not be a coward now.
The blonde waited until after hours, when most of the employees had already gone home. Whichever way this night will go, she'd rather not have the whole Brooklyn DA's office be privy to their exchange. She's also pretty certain that Casey's still in her office. If there's one thing that they have in common, it's their inability to leave the office on time.
On the drive over, she had enough time to arrange her scattered thoughts, carefully constructing what she needed to say. Her doubts and worries were starting to creep into her mind, threatened to overwhelm her already stressed mind, but she pushed through them; tamping them down and forcing them to the very back of her mind. Now's not the time for her to overthink about them – not when her future lies on this conversation that they need to have.
Alex stood in front of the closed door, hesitating for a bit. The blinds were drawn, but she can see the telltale sign of light seeping through its gaps. The last time they met, she saw the consequences of her actions: the withdrawn and heartbroken version of Casey that plagued her thoughts. She took a deep breath, raised a fist, and, before her doubts could take over her again, knocked. She winced when it echoed loudly through the mostly empty building.
"Come in," a tired voice called from inside. Her hand, trembling from the overwhelming nerves that wracked her being, turned the knob.
Those beautiful green eyes that have haunted her dreams and every waking moment snapped up at her entrance, widening slightly, and her pen dropped on her desk with a faint thud. Alex's throat suddenly felt dry, the beating of her heart erratic than she had ever remembered. Her eyes took in the redhead's drooped posture, the exhaustion clearly written on her face – a mirror of what she felt since Casey's absence in her life.
"Alex," she rasped and God, did she miss hearing her voice, missed hearing her name pass through her lips.
Alex swallowed the lump that formed in her throat and opened her mouth, "Casey."
I'll follow you down 'til the sound of my voice will haunt you.
You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you.