Work Text
The first time Alex notices, Casey is sitting in her office, head pounding, praying that the caffeine and extra strength Tylenol kick in soon. If it were her choice, she’d have something with a little more bite to it, but she refuses to keep anything stronger than acetaminophen in the house. He hasn’t tried anything harder than liquor yet, and she’d like to keep it that way.
It’s not like she isn’t used to it at this point. Today, it’s a splitting headache from where her head slammed into the headboard last night. He’d woken her up at three in the morning, screaming incoherently. When she asked the wrong question, she’d taken a blow to the face. Completely unprepared, her head jerked the other direction, slamming into solid wooden slats. Thankfully, the banging noise had snapped him out of it– within a second, Charlie went from incoherent ramblings to silence, unblinkingly staring at their popcorn ceiling.
Last week, it’d been a bruise on her back from hitting the coffee table when he shoved her down. The month prior, she’d been covering up burns from the mug of coffee he threw across the room.
It was always something. But she had it handled. And as soon as she got over this migraine, she’d have it handled again.
Lost in thought, she doesn’t notice ADA Cabot entering her office. The two women knew each other, but not particularly well– white collar didn’t tend to have heavy crossover with SVU cases, though there was the occasional team effort arrest and polite conversation in the courthouse. In all honesty, Casey was mildly intimidated by the blonde beauty– she was a legend in the Manhattan courts, absolutely ruthless on a cross and unbelievably empathetic with the victims. Casey could never. Once, she saw Alex comforting a battered wife about to testify, and she had to dash to puke in the women’s room. She’d told herself she’d had a bad sandwich for lunch, rather than admit why it really made her stomach turn.
“Uh, Novak?” Alex’s voice pierced Casey’s thoughts. “I can come back later…”
Casey pulled her head from her hands, embarrassed to be walked in on when not buried in work. She tried to keep her personal problems as far from her work as possible. And if there was anyone she had to keep them from, it was Cabot.
“Sorry,” Casey blushed. “Splitting migraine, I’m finally learning why you should get more than two hours of sleep.” It was almost shameful, how quickly the half-truths rolled off her tongue. “What can I help you with?”
Alex steps closer, across from Casey’s desk. “I just needed the last of your paperwork on the Turner case– our side has got what we need, we just need your forms to nail him.”
Of course. A high power executive who’d originally been caught for embezzlement, only for it to come out he was paying off his previously employed victims. He was a piece of work, and Casey was glad to be putting him away. As simple as white collar was, it was rare to feel like she was actually accomplishing much– this case was different.
“Yeah, hold on, let me just–” Casey stood, searching for the folder that was somewhere on her desk. Unfortunately, her face caught the light just right for Alex to notice.
“What happened to your cheek?”
Casey’s heart sank. While the headache was from slamming into the headboard, the bruise on her cheekbone was a perfect measure of Charlie’s fist. She’d carefully covered it under layers of makeup– a new skill she’d developed over the past year– but must have sweated it off in the anxious state she found herself in more often than not these days. “What?” She played dumb, pretending her pulse wasn’t hammering in her ears.
“You’ve got a bruise–” Alex began, reaching toward her. “Right there–”
Casey flinched away as Alex’s pale hand neared her face. The mere possibility of touch felt threatening these days.
“Sorry!” Alex startled at Casey’s exaggerated response, though the look of shock soon faded to one of concern. “I shouldn’t have reached for you like that. Are you good?”
“Yeah,” Casey breathed out, trying to shake the nerves that threatened to appear in the form of her breakfast on her lovely office floor. “Softball to the face. It looks a lot worse than it is, I swear.”
Alex furrowed her eyebrows microscopically, but quickly smoothed her facial expression. Casey finally spotted the folder with the forms Alex was requesting, triumphantly raising it and then handing it over. She smiled, nervously, praying it reached her eyes.
“Thanks,” Alex said, blue eyes piercing green in a way that made Casey look back at the floor. “Take care, Novak.”
—
The next time Alex noticed was about two months later.
They ran into each other in the courthouse– not an uncommon experience, despite the lack of overlap between their units. Casey was waiting for a verdict, while Alex was early as always for her own trial. Before they could exchange pleasantries, Alex squinted and looked down.
“Flats,” Alex commented. “I was wondering what was different. You’re usually the only one in the room who’s taller than me. Retiring the heels, Counselor?”
Casey chuckled politely, ignoring the ache it caused in her ribs. “Admit it, you’re happy to tower above everyone this time,” she deflected. “This trial might be the most drawn out I’ve ever had, I at least wanted to be somewhat comfortable.”
Alex smiled and gestured toward the bench for the two of them to sit. Distracted by the lovely blonde’s beautiful grin, Casey winced on the way down.
“You okay?” Alex asked. Casey silently berated herself.
She can’t know. This is the second time. Just pray she forgot about the last.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, just a little too quickly and curtly. Taking a deep breath, she tried to exhale her nerves. “Elevator was out in my building the other day. I took a tumble down the stairs– another reason heels might be the devil’s invention.”
She neglected to mention that it was her
fiance
who’d caused the tumble. The elevator really had been out– but he’d been off his meds again, and his new delusion involved Casey trying to kill him. The violence was getting worse– no longer accidental incidents in a moment of panic. This time, it had been intentional. Whatever monsters resided in her lover's head, they were convinced that Casey needed to disappear.
Alex eyes her curiously, that same look of concern Casey saw two months ago washing over her face. However, just as she opened her mouth, a court officer popped his head into the room to inform her that the jury was back.
Casey thanked whatever God was in heaven that she’d been saved by the bell, and tried not to limp on her way out of the room.
—
The third and final time Alex noticed was in the women’s room at the office. Her hands were sticky from indulging in a lovely baked good one of the junior ADA’s had brought in to suck up to the big kid ADA’s, so she’d sped in to rinse them off before running to court.
Casey was staring at the furthest mirror, fixing her lipstick. She looked smaller than the last time they’d run into each other in the courthouse, just three weeks earlier. Not just physically, though she’d clearly lost weight. But she seemed to hold herself tinier, seemed to sway on her feet like just a gust of wind could send her tumbling to the floor.
As Alex approached, she eyed the other ADA in the mirror. Casey was gorgeous, yes, but she also found herself checking her over for less pleasant reasons every time she caught a glimpse of the other lawyer nowadays. She didn’t know what was going on with the redhead, but given how she seemed to have a new injury every time they ran into each other, she found herself worrying for her. Years in Special Victims made you see things– sometimes, where there really was nothing, but often, where someone was desperately trying to pretend that was the case.
Casey blotted off the pink pigment and Alex saw it. A nasty split, right down her bottom lip.
“Did you lose a fight?” She joked, and immediately regretted it when she saw the way the younger woman tensed up, like an animal ready to flee. Her heart ached for the redhead, though they hardly knew each other. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. You alright?”
Casey shook her head, almost imperceptibly, as if to shake out whatever fear had come over her, and glanced down at the glittery stone adorning her ring finger. Alex didn’t know who the lucky man was, but she’d noticed the habit of Casey’s every time the blonde made a comment on her ever present injuries.
“With a softball. Again. First game of the season and I’m lucky I didn’t knock a tooth out.” Casey smiled tightly and alarms went off in Alex’s head. Every other excuse was at least somewhat plausible, but this time, Alex had caught her.
“That’s not what happened,” Alex said seriously, and wide green eyes met her own in the mirror. “Case, I was at that game– I lost a bet and had to cheer for Elliott in the sweltering heat– I would have remembered the star player taking a ball to the face.”
Casey was silent. Alex stepped closer, and Casey shrank away.
“It’s nothing.”
“Look, I know I don’t know you that well, but–”
Casey slipped out from her corner, meeting Alex’s eyes once more. “You’re right. You don’t,” she snapped. “I’m handling it, and I can do that without being cornered in the bathroom by some stuck up bitch who thinks she can save all the little lost girls.” Casey growled at her, practically shoving past Alex to escape the bathroom. “Leave it alone, Cabot. I’m not one of your victims to rescue.”
Alex almost wished the words stung. It would have hurt less than the fear that permeated her every cell watching Casey storm out of the room, not having a clue what might be waiting for her when she left the office. As she noticed the lipstick that’d been abandoned on the counter, tears welled in her eyes as she silently prayed to a God she hadn’t believed in since the moment she started this job.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
About three weeks later, it was mid April, and the sun was starting to peek out from behind the clouds again.
Physically, of course. Not metaphorically. No, the clouds hanging over Casey’s soul got darker and darker with each passing day.
She’d been avoiding Alex since her blow up in the women’s room. It was harder than usual– somehow, she always found some reason to be hanging around. She’d glance at Casey, give her a once over, and not say a word about the way the woman seemed to be shrinking by the day. How the circles under her eyes got darker, how the buttons on her court suits got higher and higher as she simultaneously developed an affinity for scarves.
No, Alex didn’t say a word. And Casey was fine with that. She wasn’t the one who needed saving. She was the one who needed to save
him
.
That being said, as the elevator to her apartment climbed its floors, she found herself aching with guilt when she sent up a prayer that Charlie had drank himself to unconsciousness before she got home, letting her get a night of quiet. She didn’t care about cleaning up vomit in the morning. It was better than blood. He hadn’t taken his meds in weeks, and she was beginning to dread going home at night even more than she dreaded leaving him to his own devices each morning.
Unfortunately, as she reached for the door handle, she heard smashing. Bracing herself with a quick breath, she turned the handle, slipping in quickly in hopes that the neighbours didn’t hear the commotion inside.
She was toeing off her heeled boots when the glass shattered inches from her head.
“Charlie–” she gasped, already in panic mode.
Calm him down. Get him to bed. Clean it all up before morning.
Another dish smashed, but luckily, this one wasn’t aimed at her. “Charlie, it’s okay, look at me–”
“I know what you did!” His scream was so loud she froze for a second. “I know, I know, I know!”
“Charlie, baby, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she pleaded as he slammed the cupboard door, causing Casey to jump halfway out of her skin. She knew, logically, she couldn’t reason with him, but she needed to believe that the man she loved was still in there, somewhere. That the part of him that loved
her
was stronger than the part that switched rapidly between terror and rage.
“You know, you know, you know what you did. I know!” A plate came flying this time, only missing her because her dodging abilities were getting better by the day. Knowing that this was going to be a bad night, all emotion, all physical sensation left her– there was only survival and pleading.
“Baby,” she begged. “Have you taken your meds? They might help, please–”
As soon as he whipped around, she knew it was the wrong question.
Time froze for a moment. Casey didn’t breathe, didn’t blink. She swore her heart stopped. It could have been half a second or half an hour, but the entire universe
stopped
.
But as quickly as the room cooled, it erupted.
Charlie lunged. Casey bolted. He was angry, but she was
fast
. All that softball paid off. If only she’d known at 24 that three years from then, she’d be using those muscles to run from her biggest cheerleader.
He’s halfway across the room when she enters the bathroom. She slams the door behind her, reaches for the lock, praying she can just wait this one out until he’s too tired to keep going–
But her shaking hands slip, miss the lock, and the door slams back, the handle leaving yet another hole in the drywall.
“I know you’re trying to kill me!” He screams, and she scrambles back toward the shower. She tries to meet his eyes, but he won’t look. He hasn’t made eye contact with her in weeks. It’s another part of the delusion, she knows. A compulsion to cope. But God, she wishes he would just
see
her, remember her. Save her, like she used to believe he could, though she never thought it’d be from
himself
.
“Charlie, please–”
“The pills. You’re trying to kill me. You’re one of them, you’re going to kill me,
I can’t let you–
”
And suddenly, Casey is falling, slamming into linoleum tiles, and pinned to the floor.
People say that they felt their assault in slow motion, but Casey feels like the frame rate is doubled as she tries to dodge hit after hit, tries to squirm from his hold. His fist connects with her nose and she feels an unmistakable
crunch
.
That’s when the screaming starts.
“Charlie!”
Her head hits the tiles again. She’s choking on her own blood.
“Stop!”
He yanks her hair.
“Please, please, please, I love you–”
“
Shut the fuck up!
” he screams. “You’re trying to control me, the sounds, you’re using the sounds to control me!”
She opens her mouth to beg, plead, do
anything
, but she’s made of lightning hot pain and suddenly his hands are wrapped tight around her throat and he’s squeezing,
squeezing, squeezing
.
Her mind goes blank for a moment as her vision blurs. She feels the pressure build just under her jaw, behind her eyes. She gasps and chokes and sputters, trying to fight air into her lungs, and all he does is squeeze
harder
.
As his eyes meet hers for the first time in weeks, she suddenly gets her wits about her, and her knee connects with his groin. Hard.
He shouts and jumps back, and his hands release from her neck. She takes deep, gasping inhales, coughing and sputtering, thanking a God she’s quickly losing faith in for giving her a moment to breathe. But as quick as she can suck air into her burning lungs, the blows start raining back down.
She stops begging. Stops breathing. Casey instead, collapses into herself, curling into a ball on the bathroom floor, accepting that she’s going to bleed to death on these ugly linoleum tiles.
Please.
I don’t want to die.
Please don’t kill me.
I don’t want to die like this.
Please let me live.
I want to live.
I want to live.
I want to live.
She repeats it in her head like a mantra. She can’t tell if she’s still screaming, can’t even tell if she’s still breathing. She might already be dead. God may have heard her prayers and laughed. She was stupid to think anyone would listen. Why was she asking God? What made her special enough to be saved? What, of anything that’d happened over the past year, made her think
anyone
was listening to her?
She almost envied Charlie, and his innate ability to believe in
something
, no matter how outlandish. It may have terrified him, but in that moment, Casey would have given anything to truly believe there was something deeper to this moment than feeling her ribs crack under the fists of the man she intended to marry someday.
Maybe, when she told Alex she didn’t need to be saved, she was almost right. Casey might need it, but she certainly didn’t
deserve
to be saved.
After a while, the pleading in her head stops. She’s tired. The pain is so bad. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if it stopped.
As she prepares to die in an ugly bathroom in her shitty rental apartment, she hears a loud crash from the entryway. Charlie stops, and when she starts gagging, she can’t tell if it’s the pain, the fear, or the blood dripping into her throat.
“
Police!”
It’s a blur.
Two cops, dragging him off of her.
Another propping her up against the wall.
Questions coming from their mouths, floating around her head, never quite entering her brain.
She’s just trying to suck in air. That’s all she wants. She needs to breathe, her lungs burn, and she doesn’t care about the shooting pain that comes with each breath. It reminds her she’s alive.
She’s alive.
She’s alive
.
And the cops are dragging Charlie away.
Suddenly, everything is crystal clear in front of her again.
“No!” She screams, shocking the cop who’s currently trying to get her breathing normally. “Don’t take him.”
“Ma’am, it’s policy–”
“He’s sick. He’s… he’s not bad,” her voice breaks. She can’t let them take him away. She can’t betray him, let him rot in a prison cell.
She can’t testify. To a judge she works with, to cops she knows. To Alex. She can’t.
“It’s for your safety, we really have to–”
She suddenly remembers she still has a badge in her pocket. Two of the four officers react when she reaches suddenly, but she pulls out her identification in a last ditch effort to save both Charlie and herself.
“ADA Casey Novak,” she explains. “Please. This has never happened before, he’s… he missed his meds. The pharmacy lost them. I’m taking him to the doctors tomorrow, just… don’t take him.”
She knows she must sound and look insane. Voice hoarse from the force of his hands around her throat, blood pouring from her nose and god knows where else, ugly bruises blooming across any inch of visible skin. She hopes to god that they cover the old, yellowing ones, that they let her keep her lie up.
The cops look between each other. Charlie has gone silent. More than silent– catatonic. He’s sat on the floor, gaze fixed on some spot on the wall his brain has deemed important, one wrist cuffed while the other metal loop hangs from the officer’s hand.
“Ma’am, are you sure?” One of the officers speaks up after a moment of silence.
Casey wipes the blood from her nose. Now that she’s sitting up, it’s pouring into her mouth. If any of her cops saw a woman in this state and
didn’t
arrest the partner, she’d kick their asses halfway across the country– though, that’s why she doesn’t work sex crimes.
“Certain,” she assures them. “I’ll get him to bed. I’ve got somewhere else safe to stay tonight. Tomorrow… tomorrow he has an assessment,” she lies. She’s getting good at that these days. “Thank you for… for the help, but we’re okay. I swear, I’ll call in if something happens before then, but we’re okay.”
Casey knows that in reality, if this happens again, she’s only leaving in a body bag.
She’s utterly shocked when it works. The taller officer uncuffs Charlie, who stays still on the floor. The one female officer takes one last look at her before shutting the door, and then they’re gone. She’s just grateful he came at her before she got the door locked. She certainly doesn’t want to explain why she needs the city to reimburse it.
—
Casey doesn’t have a clue how she ends up at her office. One moment, she’s taking a last look at Charlie, eyes still fixed on his magical spot on the wall– she thinks her blood might have stained it– and the next, she’s collapsing onto the couch in her office. It’s nearly midnight. She knows there’s not a chance in the world she biked, she doesn’t remember grabbing her keys to drive, nor her wallet to pay for a cab. Though, the way she looks, there’s a chance the cabbie took pity on her and gave her the lift for free.
As she falls into the comfortable cushions, the pain comes back to her. She was numb when the cops came in– adrenaline was a fantastic analgesic– but as the high wears off, she starts to shake. She doesn’t think she’s still bleeding, but God, her head hurts. She feels like she took a sledgehammer to the nose, and her arm feels like someone stuck a hot poker in it. She can feel bruises blooming up and down her legs, her back, her ribs. She managed to dodge most of the blows to her face, beside the one that definitely broke her nose, though she knows she’ll have handprints around her throat tomorrow.
She really thought he was going to kill her. She accepted that she was going to die.
The tremors reach a point where they’re just making the pain worse. Combined with the sheer exhaustion and emotional anguish, she feels like she’s going to shatter into a million pieces right here on the rug between her desk and her couch. As she collapses into herself, sobbing, she thinks that it feels more like home than the cold floor she was ready to bleed out on less than an hour ago.
—
Alex Cabot is no stranger to burning the midnight oil, but when it’s literally approaching midnight, she decides it’s time to call it in. She hasn’t actually been working for the last hour– she’s been lost in thought over a certain fiery haired ADA who’s been avoiding her like the plague for weeks.
She knows she was out of line, cornering Casey in the bathroom like that. As concerned as she’s been, Casey was right. She
wasn’t
one of her victims, and they
didn’t
know each other like that. She still strongly doubted that Casey was truly that clumsy, but she knew backing her into her lie like that was no way to convince her to reach out for help.
Despite being a shark in the courtroom, one on one conversation was never Alex’s strong suit. In court, she had a mask to put on– she wasn’t Alex, she was Assistant District Attorney Alexandra Cabot. But with the mask off… she’d stumble. She’d get anxious. The thought of accidentally angering someone outside the courtroom still made her blood run cold, all these years later.
So instead of confronting Casey again, she wrote a note.
Casey,
I’m sorry for pushing during our conversation a few weeks ago. It was inappropriate of me. While I do worry for you, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I care for you, in whatever capacity you’d appreciate– as a coworker or as a friend.
I miss talking to you. I see you all the time, in the office, in the courthouse. I wish I hadn’t upset you that day. I hope I can show you I’m not here to push or threaten you, and we can be friends.
If you’d be okay with it, I’d love to grab lunch with you sometime in the coming weeks. My treat, of course.
You know where to find me, whenever or for whatever reason you might need it. And if not– please take care of yourself.
Alex.
She was slightly embarrassed, worried she sounded like a schoolgirl with a crush. And as much as that might be true, she did truly care about the younger lawyer. She felt awful for pushing her too hard, and wanted to make it up to her. She wanted Casey to trust her– she could tell the woman needed
someone
, and she was happy for it to be her.
As a last stop before leaving heading home, she stopped by Casey’s floor to drop the letter on her desk. Her eyebrows furrowed as she saw soft light peeking out the doorway– Casey stayed late sometimes, but never
this
late.
As she got closer, she heard the broken sobs. They sounded almost animalistic– the whines of prey in pain, stifled to keep from being further harmed. Alex’s steps sped up, worried about the woman she’d grown so fond of, hoping nothing too terrible had happened.
Whatever Alex was expecting when she walked through that office door, it was not the bruised, bloody, and broken version of Casey Novak currently curled up on the floor.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The two women locked eyes for a solid ten, fifteen seconds, both standing in absolute silence. Alex, in shock of whatever has happened to the other young woman, and Casey, in horror that someone else has seen her so broken.
It’s Alex who finally breaks the silence. “Did he do this to you?”
Casey breaks eye contact, looking down, and then looking back up, as if quiet will let her escape the reality where
yes, this happened
. When her eyes meet Alex’s again though, the blonde’s gaze softens, eyebrows knitting together as she takes in the mess in front of her.
“How–” Casey’s voice sounds rough between the assault and the tears. “How did you know?”
“You look down at that engagement ring every time I point out that you’re hurt again,” Alex explains, and Casey’s gaze drops again in shame. She feels hot tears pricking behind her green eyes, and blinks quickly to push them back. But when Alex steps in closer and sits down beside her, back against the couch just inches from Casey’s own, the tears slip down her cheeks as she just tries to keep herself from sobbing again.
She looks down at the ring through blurred vision. She’d been so happy the day he gave it to her– they’d just finished their second last term of law school, and they felt like they were ready to take on the world. He’d slipped the diamond onto her finger and she’d
kissed him and kissed him and kissed him
.
She doesn’t remember the last time she kissed him like that. Doesn’t remember the last time she felt real joy like that.
Casey tugs the ring off, placing it on the floor beside her. She notices the faint, untanned loop around her finger, proof of her loyalty despite, despite, despite.
“I can’t do it anymore,” she whispers. “I tried so hard. I thought he’d get better, but it just…”
Casey trails off, and Alex inches imperceptibly closer. “Talk to me, Novak. What’s going on?”
Casey takes a deep breath. Not a soul on earth knows the full story beside her. Not even Charlie– most mornings, he’d wake up without a second of memory when it came to beating her bloody.
But God, she was so tired of keeping secrets.
“My fiance, Charlie,” she explains. “We’ve been together since law school. He… he’s sick. Paranoid schizophrenia.”
Alex nods. When Casey has to pause to try to steady her breath, Alex reaches a hand out, and the redhead gladly takes it. It feels good to touch someone for comfort for once.
“That’s… there’s treatments though, right?” Alex asks, when Casey seems to let the silence grow. Instead though, Casey only snorts, and then winces.
“He won’t take them,” she whispers. “He’s convinced lately that I’m trying to kill him. At first… at first it wasn’t too bad. He didn’t want to leave the house much. I thought he was just depressed, that’s why I convinced him to see the psychiatrist.”
Alex’s thumb began a soothing motion over the back of Casey’s hand. It sent sparks of electricity up both of their wrists, a small balm to the ache of Casey’s body and soul.
“The doctor pulled me in after the appointment. Asked if I’d noticed any paranoia, confusion. Turned out he was schizophrenic,” Casey continued, sighing as the memory came back. She’d been so scared, but they’d both been so hopeful to try to fight it. “The meds worked at first. He was going to therapy, being careful with his pills, all of it. Things were good.”
More hot tears slip down Casey’s cheek, staining her blouse when they drip off her jaw. She shifts ever so slightly toward Alex, both of them trying to ignore the whine that comes with the effort. Alex, taking the movement for what it really is, carefully wraps an arm around the younger woman.
It feels good, comforting her. Alex’s heart is shattering into a million pieces as she listens to her coworker look back on the past few years and finally admit what’s been happening, but when she feels the slightest relaxation of Casey’s muscles under her own, it gives her a small sense of calm.
“The pharmacy lost his meds one day. He was without them for three days, and… it broke him. He was convinced the pills were poison. That’s when the nightmares started– he’d wake up screaming, hurt me in his sleep. And then it was during the day– moments of panic where he wouldn’t recognize me, where he’d throw a punch or two, shove me away. It… it wasn’t too bad. Bruises here and there, but he always snapped out of it and felt horrible,” she explains further. “I know how that sounds. But when he was doing that, he really wasn’t himself. He’d come back, like his head was popping above water, and he’d feel awful. It’d make the depression start again, which just made the psychosis worse.”
Alex rubs her hand in a soothing motion over Casey’s back, hanging on to every word. Casey leans in closer, letting herself be soothed. Alex speaks up this time. “This wasn’t just a swing or a shove though, Case. I mean…”
Casey laughs drily. “No. God, I wish it was,” she almost whispers. “It got worse a few months ago. That’s when he started thinking I was trying to kill him. When he’s… lost, in his own head I mean, whatever is talking to him in there thinks he has to get rid of me before I take him out first.”
Alex’s motions stop. Her breathing stops. Time stops. “Casey, he tried to
kill
you,” she breathes out. For a moment, a world without the redhead flashes before her eyes. A funeral, where Alex will always wonder if there’s something she could have done. A strange silence in the halls of the DA’s office. A number forever missing from interdepartmental softball games.
“It isn’t his fault,” Casey defends. “He’s sick. He’s so… scared and paranoid, sometimes it comes out as anger.”
“That doesn’t mean you need to be a punching bag, Casey,” Alex urges. “I don’t want to be going to your funeral the next time he gets
scared
. You need to keep yourself safe.”
Casey’s soft tears turn back into sobs, and Alex carefully pulls the girl into her, mindful of whatever injuries might be under her clothing. Words of comfort Alex usually reserves for the child victims, small and helpless in her arms, slip from her lips. She feels like if she ever let go, Casey would simply crumble in her lap.
“If I leave,” Casey manages between sobs. “Who will take care of him?”
Alex lets the woman in her lap cry a little more. Casey was usually such a force of nature– she was impossible to miss, standing over six feet in heels, bright red hair, and an attitude to match. Right now, she reminded Alex of some of the small children she dealt with. The rare kid who would attach themselves to her over any of the team. She was fragile, bones like a birds, ready to snap at any moment.
“Does he have any family?” She asks, and Casey nods.
“His parents, they… they live upstate,” she explains. “But I don’t want to throw him away just because he’s sick. I love him. I’m supposed to be marrying him.”
“You aren’t throwing him away,” the blonde argues, trying to keep her prosecutor tone out of her voice. “You’re saving yourself. He needs more help than you can get him. He needs treatment, he needs a
hospital
. You can’t sit there praying the Charlie you know and love is going to walk through that door today, and he’s never going to hurt you again. You know that isn’t how it works.”
“You just don’t get it–”
“Casey, I work SVU,” Alex gently reminds her. “I know a thing about domestic violence.”
The redheaded woman suddenly freezes under her touch, muscles so tense she could pass for a statue. She pulls away from Alex, their eyes meeting again.
“Alex, you can’t report this,” she begs, and Alex feels her heart break. “I can’t have this go on public record. I don’t want him in prison.”
“Case, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” she assures. “But you need to get away from him. You need to call his parents and have them take care of him. You need to take care of
yourself
, and that starts with letting me take you to the hospital.”
Casey’s eyes widen like headlights, or maybe she’s the deer in front of them. “No hospital,” she insists. “Alex, nobody can know. Nobody can know what happened.”
Alex pulls further away, having heard those words hundreds of times. The implications of Casey’s phrasing have her stomach turning.
“Casey, did he…” she doesn’t even want to say the word. “Did he rape you?”
Casey was silent. The universe was silent. In that moment, even God was silent. The only sound was Alex’s heart breaking over and over and over.
“If he did, you need–”
“He didn’t rape me,” Casey finally says. “Not… it didn’t happen this time.”
At her admission, Alex feels an urge to take Casey back in her arms, wanting to hold her until she’s the big and brave and beautiful Casey she’s begun to fall in love with these past few months. Until they enter a universe where not a single soul has ever laid a hand on the angel currently crying on her office floor.
“I’m so sorry, Case,” Alex sighs. “You need to go to the ER though. Check if anything’s broken. You look like you need stitches.” Casey looks like she’s about to deny her once again, so Alex makes sure she can’t. “I’ll drive you. Any doctor or nurse who gets too nosy, I’ll shut them down right away. As long as you call his parents, no report, no police file. Just me making sure you’re safe.”
“You barely know me,” Casey retorts. “What’s your special interest all of a sudden?”
Alex’s face heats up. “You’re right, I don’t,” she admits. “But I want to.”
Casey raises a swollen, bruising eyebrow.
“You know, I love running into you in the courthouse,” Alex continues. “It can be the shittiest case, but seeing you while I’m waiting for a verdict always cheers me up.” Casey blushes and averts her eyes, but Alex is on a roll. “I’ve heard you’re absolutely ruthless on the stand, but I’ve never heard a single mean comment about you personally. That’s pretty impressive when we work in the gossip capital of the criminal justice system, surrounded by people who talk for a living.”
Casey exhales hard, halfway to a chuckle.
“I hate sports, but that game I saw you at entranced me. I was so pissed I had to cheer for Elliott because of some stupid bet. You looked free as a bird in that moment, and I remember thinking how beautiful and happy you looked.”
The silence hangs heavy between them, Alex certain she’s said too much, certain she’s pushed the other woman away.
“Fine,” Casey finally says. “You chose the right career, talking for a living. I’ll let you take me. I’m sorry about this whole mess.” Casey looks embarrassed, ashamed, as if any of this is her fault.
Alex squeezes the soft hand that’s somehow found her own again. “There’s not a mess big enough to push me away, Case. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
There were few things Casey hated more than hospitals. She’d spent her fair share of time in them– from visiting whatever member of her giant family had just birthed yet another niece, nephew, or cousin, to experiencing the disastrous results of mixing impressive clumsiness, hyperactivity, and independence all into one child. The babies were nice, the frequent concussion checks and setting of more than a few broken bones less so.
But she
hated
hospitals. More than the injuries themselves. Casey could deal with pain– in fact, she could deal with it a little too well. That’s why she was in this mess, right? But the hospital was too bright, too white and sterile, too loud, with intermittent beeping and someone crying no matter what wing you found yourself in.
Thankfully, Alex seemed to hate hospitals just as much, if not more, and made it her god-given mission to get Casey in and out as fast as humanly possible while still getting her injuries treated. She’d done a pretty good job, too– she hadn’t been kidding when she offered to shut down any nosy doctor or nurse who got on Casey’s nerves. Alex had simply flashed her ADA badge and repeated a script she’d seemingly rehearsed to herself on the drive to the ER –
she’s perfectly safe, law enforcement has already been made aware, there’s no chance of him laying another finger on her
.
From a moral standpoint, Casey shouldn’t have been too pleased with Alex omitting that the law enforcement aware of the situation was exclusively the two of them, but from the standpoint of someone who was physically and emotionally exhausted, more than a little afraid, and in physical agony in a hospital bed, she didn’t have much of a problem with it.
She’d gotten off lucky, relatively speaking. Despite avoiding keeping pain pills in the house, she’d gratefully accepted whatever medication they’d pumped into her IV as if it were the nectar of the Gods. It was the most stitches she’d ever received in one go – four on her cheekbone, six at the base of her skull, and seven more on her bicep. She’d apparently landed on some shards she’d forgotten to clean up from when Charlie had smashed the toothbrush holder the night before.
The stitches were one thing. The concussion, while not severe, was definitely worse than the minor ones she’d probably sustained over the past few months. The neurologist hadn’t been too happy, seeing she had more than a few on file – she
had
taken quite a few softballs to the head in her time, though less than she’d actually told people to cover up bruises and headaches – and she decided not to interrupt his speech on their cumulative effects to let him know that she’d probably been sporting mild concussions every few weeks since Charlie hit his breaking point.
The worst was the fractured elbow. Broken bones gave Casey the heebie-jeebies, as her mother would have put it. The cracked ribs could be left on their own to heal, but her elbow had to be set and casted. She dreaded having to walk into the courtroom sporting a cast that went halfway up her bicep. Her softball career was clearly over for the rest of the season.
When Alex held her hand without Casey even asking as various doctors stitched her wounds, did a bedside neuro exam, and casted her arm, Casey began to wonder if she really was an angel. If those blonde curls that seemed to glow under the fluorescent lights were actually her halo, if those deep blue eyes were actually just a vision of the heavens that Casey was certain she’d be seeing by the end of the night.
Or maybe she was tripping on Dilaudid. It was pretty wonderful stuff, if she did say so herself.
It was four in the morning by the time they made it out of the hospital, and Casey was sure it would have taken even longer if Alex hadn’t been so happy to flash her badge every five minutes. She was absolutely, positively dead on her feet. The pain meds helped, but she was achy, and a little nauseous, and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and hibernate for the next three weeks.
She stumbled a little on the way to Alex’s car, and warm hands caught her, careful not to jostle her immobilized left arm.
“Alright, Case, just a few more feet,” Alex soothed, and Casey hummed noncommittally. Her head was pretty foggy, with the medication and the concussion. “I’m gonna take you to my place and you can get some sleep, okay?”
Casey stopped in her tracks, and Alex reached out, as if she was sure Casey was about to fall again.
“Cabot, I’m not coming home with you,” she asserted, and Alex looked at her like she’d just grown a second head.
“Casey, you can’t go back there–” she pleaded, but Casey shook her head.
“God, no, I’ll just…” she was having trouble finding her words. Damn head injuries. “I’ll get a hotel room until his parents come to get him. You’ve done more than enough, I promise.”
Alex rolled her eyes, and Casey had difficulty stifling a chuckle for the sake of her cracked ribs. Good to know a near death experience didn’t exempt her from the signature Cabot sass.
“Nonsense,” Alex retorted. “I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but I’m not sending you to a hotel room in this state.”
“You barely know me,” Casey reminded her. “We’re hardly friends.”
“I’d argue tonight has pushed us a little beyond simply coworkers,” Alex argued, and while Casey believed that under usual circumstances, they’d have a fair fight in the courtroom, her mind was swimming with far too many emotions and head injuries and Dilaudid that was slowly wearing off to put up much more of a fight against the great Alex Cabot.
“Come on, I’m a certified rich bitch with the apartment to prove it. You’re hardly putting me out. I even have tomorrow off,” Alex assured her, and Casey couldn’t hold back the snort that escaped her. The pain in her ribs sharpened, and she gasped, moving to hold them before remembering her elbow was
fucking broken
and just causing more pain for herself.
Alex snapped back into caretaker mode, placing an arm around Casey’s waist, soothingly moving her fingers to try to get Casey to stop tensing up. When her breathing returned to normal, she started to guide her toward the car, opening the door for her and making sure she got buckled in.
Alex pulled out of the hospital parking lot, watching Casey shift in her seat out of the corner of her eye.
“Thank you,” the redhead said, her voice sounding uncharacteristically small. “You’re a good person, Alex.”
Alex tried to reign in her heart shattering again in order to drive straight– she was horrified to imagine anyone doing any less for the woman sitting in her passenger seat. She was horrified that any of this felt like some great gesture. Just the simple act of treating her like a human.
“So are you, Case,” Alex provided instead, pushing her anger and heartbreak deep into the pit she’d only unleash when she was alone in bed and free to sob at the utter
unfairness
of it all. Of any of this happening to someone so
good
. So bright and talented and intelligent. So genuinely kind and brave. To Casey. To
her
Casey.
Casey wasn’t aware she’d fallen asleep sometime during the drive to Alex’s apartment until gentle hands were stroking her good arm in an attempt to wake her up. She was confused, at first– not because she was waking up in ADA Cabot’s car, but because she couldn’t remember the last time she fell asleep beside someone without being afraid she’d wake up with hands curling around her throat.
“We’re here, Case,” Alex said softly, and Casey was sure she wasn’t fully awake yet because Alex’s voice reminded her of something she’d heard a long time ago. Of lullabies and promises of sweet dreams. Of safety. Perhaps that was just who Alex was though, behind the Ice Queen persona. Alex was just good and safe.
Alex laughed softly, making Casey flush with awareness she’d mumbled something in her half awake state. She only hoped it had been unintelligible.
“Come on, let’s get you inside and you can get back to sleep in my very comfy guest bed,” she said, and Casey smiled sleepily. Alex reached over instead of allowing Casey to fumble with the seatbelt, and opened the door for her as she clambered out of the passenger seat, lanky limbs not wanting to cooperate in her current state.
As they waited for the elevator, Casey reached out for Alex’s hand, still not fully aware of her own actions. Alex squeezed, and Casey sighed softly.
“You’re gonna be okay, Case,” she assured her. “I know it.”
“You hardly know me,” Casey reminded her for what was possibly the hundredth time, but Alex only squeezed her palm again as the elevator doors opened.
“I know you’re strong. You’ve had to be. And I know you’re the most determined person I’ve ever met, even if it drives me a little crazy at times. And I know you’re going to be okay.”
—
Alex had helped Casey get settled in her guest room. She’d lent her some pyjamas – they were similar sizes, and Casey had to hold back another laugh that would have made her ribs burn, because of
course
Alexandra Cabot wore pink silk pyjamas. She also had to hold back a groan of annoyance, because
god
were they comfortable.
She’d made sure Casey had water on the bedside table, the pain pills the hospital had given her, and had even helped her get her hair tied out of the way so it wouldn’t tangle in her sleep and pull on her stitches when she attempted to brush it out in the morning. Casey would have been slightly embarrassed by all the care she was receiving if she weren’t so ready to be comatose for the next twelve hours.
But as Alex shut off the lights and told her to wake her if she needed
anything
, Casey’s chest started to ache, and not just because of the broken ribs. She didn’t want Alex to leave her. Her guiding light, her guardian angel, her
Alex
.
The one-word question tumbled out of her without her permission, courtesy of her mind-numbing exhaustion.
“Stay?”
She was sure she’d fucked up when she saw Alex freeze for a second, but warmth immediately flashed over her face in a way that made Casey feel like she was at home. Not her shitty rental, not even the home of her office. But a
real
home. The home she’d been waiting for her whole life.
“Always,” Alex responded, as if it weren’t even a question. “Just let me do something quick?”
Casey nodded as Alex slipped out of the room.
If Alex were calling Donnelly to fake sick and make sure the
day off
lie she’d told to keep Casey from running off to a hotel stuck, well, that was between her and God. And if lying in Alexandra Cabot’s guest bedroom, in
her
pink silk pyjamas, with the prosecutor's arms wrapped protectively around her was the first time Casey slept restfully in months?
It was between her and her angel.