My Dusty Corner

I post my dogs. I post Calex (Casey Novak/Alex Cabot). Random things

[shibamom83]

My Alex and Casey miis in Tomogadchi Life had a child. He turned out to be a mini Alex with Casey’s eyes and freckles 🤣🤣🤣🤣

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So I accidentally made the best Fin on Tomodachi Life

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Calex

Will probably anger the AI haters. Sorry, not sorry. Thought the courthouse setting for anniversary was hilarious

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How Calex spends their evenings.

Yes it is AI. Not even sorry

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I made Alex Cabot and Casey Novak on my island in Tomodachi Life: Living the Dream. They are currently best friends and have been flirting and I am unhinged about it. They are always together when I log in

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The Collection

Casey succumbs to a fad. Alex takes full advantage. Alex/Casey established marriage

Personal note - inspired by mom’s own “Lafufu” collection

The first Labubu appeared on a rainy Tuesday.

Alex was halfway through editing a brief, curled up in the armchair by the fireplace, when Casey came in holding a suspiciously large box behind her back like a child smuggling snacks past bedtime.

Alex didn’t look up from her brief, just flicked her eyes over the rim of her glasses. “Smuggling, Counselor?”

Casey grinned, unveiling the contents with a dramatic flourish. Inside was a Labubu doll — fuzzy, pastel-colored, with huge eyes and an impish grin. It looked like it had wandered straight out of a sugar-fueled fever dream.

Alex blinked at it. “What is that?”

Casey grinned. “A Labubu!”

Alex leaned back, all sharp cheekbones and suspicion. “Mmm. A fad.”

“Don’t be rude,” Casey said, already marching it to the bookshelf. Casey plopped the doll on their bookshelf—right between a framed photo of the two of them in Montauk and a first-edition copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.

Alex closed her folder and stood, slow and theatrical. “If we’re adopting a fad,” she said, voice silk over steel, “I’m establishing terms.”

Casey froze halfway to the shelf. “Terms?”

Alex stepped close, fingertip tapping the Labubu’s ridiculous bow. “Every Labubu that enters this residence triggers one”—she held up a finger—“kiss. Payable upon delivery.”

Casey, biting a smile: “Consideration accepted.”

Alex, already smirking: “And enforceable.”

They shook on it with the inaugural kiss—soft, a little rain-cool, the kind that leaves you warmer afterward. The Labubu beamed at them from the shelf like it knew exactly what it had started.

————-

Over the next few weeks, the Labubu population mysteriously grew. A space explorer Labubu joined the shelf. Then a vampire one. Then one in a frog hoodie.

Each time, Alex claimed her due with mock-solemn ceremony in the foyer: one kiss, then another for “proof of delivery,” then—on Fridays only—one “processing fee,” collected against the door, laughter shaking between them.

Backorders created a secondary economy. “Kiss escrow,” Alex declared, cupping Casey’s face while the kettle hummed, “to be held in trust until shipment.” Casey deposited three, just to be safe. Alex added interest later on the couch.

“Do you hear yourself?” Casey asked, cheeks flushed, hair a little ruffled.

“Yes,” Alex said, stealing another. “And I like the sound.”

—————

But everything changed the day the “Scholar Labubu” arrived.

It was a limited edition — tiny wire-framed glasses, a miniature book tucked under its arm, and a tweed vest that looked suspiciously like something Alex herself might wear on a brisk fall day. Casey presented it with a proud, expectant gleam in her eye.

Alex took one look, paused, and then leaned in like it had spoken directly to her.

“Oh no,” she whispered. “It’s distinguished.”

“I know,” Casey said, practically vibrating.

Alex lifted it reverently. “It’s got a thesis, Casey.”

Alex looked up, and that look—bright, unguarded, a little undone—sent something sweet through Casey’s ribs. Alex stepped around the table, slid a hand to Casey’s neck, and kissed her like the clause had always been about this: gratitude, delight, home. When they parted, Casey’s nose bumped Alex’s and she laughed.

“Is that… a bonus?”

“Scholarly appendix,” Alex said, mouth curved.

From that moment, they were both hooked.

They spent the evening refreshing a drop page together, Alex muttering case law while she hit reload, Casey announcing “we’re in!” like she’d scored concert tickets. The spreadsheet—Labubu Acquisition Timeline—appeared a day later. Alex color-coded it. The “KISS DUE” column outpaced shipping updates by miles.

One evening, Olivia stopped by and found them at the dining table — not eating dinner, but styling Labubu dolls into courtroom scenes using doll-sized props and miniature gavels.

There was a long silence.

“Are you two okay?”

“We’re fine,” Alex said without looking up, adjusting her Labubu’s glasses. “Scholar Cabot is about to deliver her closing argument.”

Olivia just blinked. “Should I come back with wine?”

“Yes,” Casey said brightly. “Also, if you see a Labubu in a trench coat online, do not buy it. That’s ours.”

Olivia’s eyes flicked between them, then to the “Kiss Ledger” scribbled on a Post-it—six hash marks. She snorted. “I feel like I wandered into an alternate timeline. You made a spreadsheet?”

Alex kissed Casey’s temple without breaking eye contact with Olivia. “Enforceable,” she said, tapping the Post-it. Casey went pink and very pleased.

The brownstone shifted in gentle ways under the collection. A Labubu guarded the espresso machine; one peeked from behind the cookbooks; Scholar rode shotgun in Alex’s briefcase “for luck.” Every new arrival opened the same choreography:

Door clicks.

Casey: “Promise you won’t judge.”

Alex (already moving in): “I promise nothing.”

They met in the middle—warm coats, cool air, cardboard between them, mouths finding, rule satisfied—and then exceeded, because they never were good at stopping exactly where they were supposed to.

Sometimes the kisses were quick: a drive-by in the kitchen over toast crumbs. Sometimes they were slow: in the hall, rain pattering against the window, Alex murmuring “thank you” between each one like it was part of the contract. And sometimes the rule turned into a ritual—Casey sitting on the counter, swinging her feet; Alex stepping between her knees, hands at her waist, claiming the “delivery,” “inspection,” and “acceptance” with three unhurried kisses that made the kettle scream itself to sleep.

—————

On a snowy Sunday, they tried to declutter the mantel and failed. Alex held up two: Vampire and Frog Hoodie. “Redundancy.”

“Very different vibes,” Casey said. “We need both for range.”

Alex set them down and tugged on Casey’s sleeve until they were chest to chest. “We do have range,” she agreed, mouth tilting. “Also, you’re two kisses behind

Casey blinked. “How—”

Alex brandished the spreadsheet on her phone like evidence. “Your Friday pre-order posted at 3:07 p.m. You were at work; I graciously granted an extension. Payment is now due, interest compounded hourly.”

Casey laughed into the first kiss and sighed into the second, arms folding easily around Alex’s neck. Outside, the city muffled itself in white. Inside, the fire cracked, and the Labubus watched like a tiny, adoring jury.

They ended up on the rug with a throw blanket and a bowl of popcorn between them, fingers weaving, the Ledger abandoned face-down on the table. Casey tucked her head into Alex’s shoulder.

“You know what I love most about this dumb fad?” Casey asked.

“That it feeds my spreadsheet habit?”

“That it’s an excuse,” Casey said, voice soft, “to keep kissing you in every room of our house.”

Alex hummed, pleased, and brought Casey’s knuckles to her lips. “Then let’s codify it.” She turned so they were nose to nose. “Amended Clause: one kiss per Labubu… and one kiss per day, minimum, regardless of plush intake.”

“Per hour,” Casey countered.

Alex’s smile was slow and smug. “Aggressive.”

“Enforceable,” Casey said, and kissed her like she meant to test the statute right then and there.

———-

Weeks later, a package arrived that Alex had ordered herself: a rare Labubu in little judicial robes that made Casey squeal and Alex pretend she wasn’t giddy. Tucked under the flap was a note in Alex’s precise hand:

Kiss Credit Voucher, Unlimited

Issued to: Casey Novak-Cabot

Redeemable: Kitchen, hallway, stairs, couch, car, elevator, anywhere you say.

Fine print: I love you. Collect freely.

Casey found her in the study, held up the voucher, and walked straight into her arms. The kiss was slow and certain and full of the ordinary-extraordinary thing they were building every day—a house where affection was a habit, love a ledger that never balanced because they refused to stop adding.

When they finally set the new Labubu on the shelf, Scholar stood beside it like a proud big sibling. The mantel was crowded now—books and photos and a silly city of soft-eared creatures—but there was room, always, for one more.

And there was always, always, room for another kiss.

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Alex and Casey’s Autumn

Alex/Casey - the couple fall into fall mood

The orange plastic tote creaked like it was groaning about the seasons changing, and Alex pretended not to hear Casey whisper, “Same, buddy,” as she slid it across the hardwood to the living room rug.

“Careful,” Alex warned, setting her coffee mug on a coaster with the precision of a surgeon. “Those ceramic pumpkins have seniority.”

“They’re decorative gourds, Counselor,” Casey said, popping the lid. “And they survived eight moves and fifteen Halloweens. They’re immortal.”

Alex leaned over the bin, the soft wool of her cardigan brushing Casey’s shoulder. “I believe the preferred term is ‘undead décor.’” She pulled out a bundle of string lights shaped like tiny maple leaves and raised a brow. “When did these multiply?”

“When you weren’t looking,” Casey said sweetly. “The same way the throw blankets did. Shh, don’t spook them.”

They set to work with the companionable expertise fifteen years of shared autumns had given them. Casey draped a plaid runner across the mantel, adjusting until the fringe fell just so. Alex stood on a step stool to hang their wreath—rusty-orange leaves and miniature pinecones—on the front door, then stepped back and eyed it like it had to pass bar exam standards.

“Level?” Casey called from the hallway, hands full of tiny felt bats.

“Approximately,” Alex said, which for Alex meant perfect.

Casey stuck a bat on the mirror, one on the banister, and one right over Alex’s shoulder so it looked like it was whispering in her ear. “Our home has strong spooky jurisprudence,” she declared.

“Please do not use ‘jurisprudence’ to describe bats on tape.”

“Objection,” Casey said, tucking the last bat in Alex’s cardigan pocket. “Sustained,” Alex replied, smiling despite herself.

They took breaks in the kitchen—apple-cider tea for Alex, hot spiced cider for Casey, a shared plate of still-warm cinnamon doughnuts from the corner bakery. Casey ate hers in three happy bites. Alex took hers apart systematically, half, then quarters, then eighths, like a pumpkin-themed flowchart. Every time Casey drifted near, Alex’s hand found her waist like a homing beacon. Every time Alex glanced up, Casey smiled like she’d just remembered her favorite secret.

By early afternoon the brownstone looked like a tasteful harvest festival had signed a lease. Sunlight slanted through the high windows and set the leaf-lights glowing. The wreath was a circle of fire on the door. The felt bats—silent, judicial—approved of everything.

“Pumpkin patch?” Casey said, switching to her puffy vest with the confidence of a woman who had strong feelings about gourds.

“Pumpkin patch,” Alex confirmed, slipping into her boots and kissing Casey’s knuckles as she passed them the keys. “Field trip, Mrs. Cabot.”

“Right behind you, Mrs. Cabot.”

The farm was a postcard: rows of pumpkins in every size, wagons with squeaky wheels, the faint smell of hay and donuts and woodsmoke. Children ran like sugar had been illegally poured directly into their sneakers. A golden retriever in a bandana was living his best life and knew it.

Casey grabbed a red wagon and immediately attempted a wheelie. The wagon objected in a long rusty squeal. Alex took over, because she loved Casey, but she also loved the continued existence of axles.

They meandered through rows, comparing stems like jeweler’s loupes were involved. Casey tapped pumpkins like she was listening for secrets. “This one’s got a good thump,” she said, knocking on an oval that leaned a little to the left. “And a jaunty stem. Alex! It’s a jaunty stem.”

Alex crouched—knees cracking only a little—to inspect. She ran her thumb along the ribbing, thoughtful. “He’s handsome,” she conceded. “But you deserve jaunty and symmetrical.”

“That’s why I married you,” Casey said. Alex blushed the color of ripe persimmon and looked suddenly very busy with the wagon handle.

They found a squat, perfectly round pumpkin that made Casey beam like a porch light. Alex unearthed a tall, stately one with elegant lines and a stem like a fountain pen. Then, because they are who they are, they found two more—one baby pumpkin “for the coffee table,” and one greenish weirdo “for the sense of humor.”

“Do you want the corn maze?” Alex asked, eyes soft with invitation. The wind tugged a strand of hair from her ponytail and Casey tucked it behind her ear without thinking.

“I want you,” Casey said, then laughed at herself. “And a gallon of cider. And then I want to watch you transform squash into art like some kind of gourd sorceress.”

Alex bowed slightly. “Pumkincraft esquire.”

By the time they got home the sky had gone deep and blue, the air with that bite that promises sweaters and the good blankets. They spread newspaper across the dining table like a drop cloth for mischief. Alex lined up tools with a precision that made Casey sigh in fondness: serrated saws, scoops, X-Actos, a pushpin wheel. Casey produced a playlist of cozy fall songs and a cinnamon candle that smelled like nostalgia and excellent decisions.

“I’m thinking…cat face,” Casey announced, sketching two triangles and a surprised mouth on a sticky note. “Classic. Whiskers. A bowtie. The people demand a bowtie.”

“The people are correct.” Alex pulled on an old T-shirt, stood like a sculptor considering marble, and began to draw on her pumpkin in faint, surgical lines. Casey peered over her shoulder and caught her breath.

“Is that—Is that the skyline?”

“Brooklyn Bridge,” Alex said, casual, like she hadn’t just freehanded architectural romance on produce. “With a moon. And maybe a tiny witch silhouette. For whimsy.”

“Of course,” Casey whispered, half in awe, half in wife-pride. “Please adopt me.”

“Already did,” Alex murmured, kissing her temple.

They carved. The kitchen filled with the sweet, green smell of pumpkin innards and the wet sounds of scooping and scraping. Seeds hit the bowl with friendly little thwacks. Casey narrated her process like a cooking show for one: “And now we perform the delicate whisker incision known as The Stabby-Stabby—don’t look at me like that, Alex, I’m a professional.”

“You’re perfect,” Alex said, not looking up from her disappearing bridge cables, because it was a fact and not a negotiation.

Casey paused, knife hovering, heart ricocheting off old, familiar places. Fifteen years and still—still—the simplest declarations could land like first snow on a quiet street. “You’re stuck with me,” she said, voice soft as the candle flame.

“Excellent.” Alex’s hands moved deftly, sure. “I made a very good investment.”

When they finally lifted their jack-o’-lantern tops and set tealights inside, the room went hush with the particular hush of things that turned out even better than planned. Casey’s cat beamed from ear to ear with a bowtie that would win any courtroom. The whiskers were—against all odds—straight. Alex’s pumpkin…was ridiculous. The bridge soared in negative space, moon round and bright, witch tiny and fierce. The glow made it look like the city floated on warm amber.

Casey set her chin in her palm and stared. “It’s not fair that you’re a genius.”

“I’m a woman with a steady hand and too many years of cross-examination,” Alex said, but the smile gave her away.

They carried the pumpkins to the stoop, sweaters zipped, noses a little pink. The brownstone steps had always felt like a front-row seat to the neighborhood, and tonight the block showed up: laughter down the way, a neighbor dog snuffling hopefully at the air, someone cursing gently at a string of lights that refused to string. Alex adjusted the pumpkins like they were testifying, then stepped back. The wreath glowed. The leaf lights winked from inside. The felt bat in Alex’s cardigan pocket peeped out solemnly, which made Casey laugh and then immediately stop because she didn’t want to scare the magic away.

“Come here,” Alex said.

Casey went. They fit together without thinking, a quiet click of shoulders and ribs, hands and heat. Alex’s chin found its place on Casey’s hair. Casey’s ear found Alex’s heartbeat. The pumpkins breathed light into the dusk like they had something kind to say.

“Fifteen years,” Casey murmured. “You still make the best Octobers.”

“Occupational hazard,” Alex said into her hair. “I cross-examine leaves until they turn.”

Casey snorted, then tipped her head up. “Remember our first fall? We tried to carve with steak knives and wounded a perfectly innocent butternut squash.”

“That squash had a suspicious alibi,” Alex deadpanned. Her eyes softened. “We didn’t know anything then. Except that I wanted a hundred more years of evenings like this.”

“You’re getting them,” Casey said. “At least ninety-nine and a half. The bat in your pocket gets the other half.”

Alex looked down, plucked the felt bat free, and pinned it on Casey’s vest like a medal. “For valor in whisker carving.”

“Thank you for your service,” Casey told it gravely, then kissed Alex, quick and sure.

They lingered on the steps until the air turned their breath into little ghosts. Inside, they made popcorn, slid a bowl of roasted pumpkin seeds out of the oven, and queued up something black-and-white with witty banter. Alex lay on the couch and dragged the knit blanket over them. Casey curled into her side, head on her chest, legs tangled, one sock half off because she never remembered to pull it all the way up.

“You know,” Casey said, mouth brushing the hollow of Alex’s throat, “you never told me what your pumpkin really is.”

“Art,” Alex said primly.

“Art with a tiny witch.”

“Art with a tiny witch,” Alex agreed, and then, more quietly, “The bridge. I like that it holds. I like that it’s a promise you can walk across.”

Casey’s eyes stung for no reason she could explain except love. She kissed Alex’s collarbone and whispered, “Then keep building with me.”

“I am,” Alex said. “Every day. Every fall. Every silly bat.”

They watched until the popcorn was half-finished and the pumpkin seeds were mostly crumbs at the bottom of the bowl. At some point, Casey fell into that drowsy place where the TV blurred and Alex’s hand in her hair was the only thing that mattered. Before sleep took her, she felt Alex press a kiss into her hairline, a benediction she’d been giving for fifteen years.

Outside, their pumpkins glowed on the stoop—cat with a bowtie, city and moon—holding the door like friendly sentries. Inside, the brownstone breathed leaves and cinnamon and the indestructible kind of warm that knows how to last a lifetime.

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Its fall y’all

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[shibamom83]

First Car

Alex/Casey. Nothing like getting your first car…even if you are in your forties

The kitchen smelled of coffee, rich and strong, the way Casey liked it. She stood barefoot at the counter in one of Alex’s old Harvard sweatshirts, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail, sipping slowly from her mug. Across the table, Alex sat with her laptop open, her expression sharp and focused, as if she were drafting a legal brief instead of scrolling through car listings.

Casey tilted her head, amused. “You know,” she said, grinning over the rim of her mug, “for someone who doesn’t even have a license, you’re awfully invested in this.”

Alex didn’t look up. “I am a responsible co-owner of this household,” she replied primly. “And it is time. Fifteen years, Casey. Fifteen years of Jeeps and trucks and—whatever that Subaru was. Every single car we’ve owned has been your choice.”

Casey chuckled. “Because I’m the one who actually drives them. Remember that little detail?”

With a decisive snap, Alex closed her laptop and leveled a glare across the table. “Fine. Then I’ll make you a deal. If we get a Tesla, I’ll finally get my license.”

Casey nearly choked on her coffee. She set the mug down quickly, laughing. “You? Behind the wheel? Alex, you yelled at me for parallel parking too aggressively last week. You think you can survive the Secretary of State road test?”

Alex’s blue eyes narrowed with determination. “I argued my way through the Grand Juries for years. I can handle a driving instructor named Bob.”

Casey shook her head, still laughing as she moved from the counter to sit beside her wife. Their knees bumped under the table, familiar and comfortable. “See, here’s the thing. I want a Jeep. Something rugged. Something that can handle snow, potholes, and mud. Not a battery-powered spaceship on wheels.”

“A spaceship that parks itself,” Alex countered smoothly. “A spaceship with adaptive cruise control and heated seats—”

“—and one that dies if you forget to plug it in overnight.”

“So we don’t forget to plug it in, Casey.”

That made Casey laugh harder. She reached out, resting a hand on Alex’s arm, her voice softening. “Every car we’ve had has been mine, yeah. But they’ve gotten us through everything—the late-night grocery runs, the road trips upstate, the time you insisted we drive to Boston just so you could argue in front of the First Circuit.”

Alex’s stern expression faltered into a smile. “That was a good one.”

“So,” Casey said gently, “if you want a Tesla… maybe it’s time we get a Tesla. You’ve earned a turn.”

Alex looked at her like she’d just handed her the moon. “You’d really let me pick?”

“As long as I don’t have to drive it off the lot,” Casey teased. “If you want this spaceship, Counselor, you’re the one holding the keys.”

Alex lit up, her face bright with triumph. “Then I’m setting up a road test. And you get to help me practice.”

Casey groaned, though her smile betrayed her. “God help us all.” She leaned in and kissed Alex’s temple, her laughter spilling into the kiss.

Alex reopened her laptop with renewed determination, already scrolling through sleek Tesla models. Casey sipped her coffee again, shaking her head, thinking that maybe—just maybe—she could learn to love a spaceship on wheels if it made Alex this happy.

———-

It was Saturday afternoon when Casey finally caved on teaching Alex to drive. The driving lesson debate had stretched on for days, until Casey tossed Alex the keys with a wicked grin.

“Fine,” Casey said, pulling into the empty high school parking lot. “Show me what you’ve got, hotshot.”

Alex sat in the driver’s seat looking as if she were about to argue in front of the Supreme Court, spine rigid, jaw tight, hands hovering above the wheel. She glanced at Casey, who was lounging smugly in the passenger seat, iced coffee in hand like she was front row at a comedy show.

“This is not funny,” Alex muttered.

“Oh, it’s hilarious,” Casey corrected. “Now put your foot on the brake.”

“I am on the brake.”

“Other foot.”

Alex glared. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not mocking,” Casey said sweetly, though her eyes were sparkling with barely contained laughter. “Just… coaching.”

Alex pressed down with the right foot and Casey nodded. “Good. Now put it in drive.”

There was a loud clunk as Alex slammed the gearshift too hard. Casey snorted into her coffee.

“Smooth,” she said.

“Shut up,” Alex hissed, gripping the wheel like it might bolt from her hands.

The car inched forward, lurching slightly. Alex gasped and immediately stomped the brake, sending them both jerking forward in their seats. Casey’s coffee sloshed dangerously close to spilling.

“Oh my God!” Alex yelped, horrified.

“Oh my God!” Casey echoed dramatically. “We almost went a whole five feet. Tragic.”

Alex shot her a glare that could have melted steel. “I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”

“I’m not being sarcastic,” Casey said, smirking. “That was… progress.”

They tried again. Alex released the brake, tapped the gas, and this time the car actually rolled forward without lurching. Alex’s lips pressed into a thin line of determination. She managed to steer them in a wide loop around the parking lot.

Casey whistled. “Would you look at that. Mrs. Cabot, speed demon.”

Alex’s shoulders loosened just a little. “This isn’t so bad.”

Then she tried turning into another loop, overcorrected, and mounted the curb, the car bouncing with a thunk-thunk before it settled.

“Jesus Christ!” Alex slapped the brake. “We’re going to die!”

Casey was doubled over laughing. “We’re not going to die, we’re in a school parking lot! The only casualty here is my suspension!”

Alex buried her face in her hands. “I am never doing this again.”

Casey reached over, gently tugging her hands down and kissing her cheek. “Yes, you are. You’re doing fine. You just… need practice.”

Alex turned to look at her, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Maybe,” Casey admitted, grinning. “But you’re kind of adorable when you’re not in control.”

Alex huffed, putting the car back in park with exaggerated care. “Next time, I’m picking the playlist. If I have to suffer, so do you.”

Casey laughed, handing her the iced coffee as a peace offering. “Deal. But buckle up, Counselor—next week we’re trying parallel parking.”

Alex groaned so loudly it echoed across the empty lot, while Casey laughed until her sides hurt.

———-

Alex slapped the little paper learners permit down on the kitchen counter as if it were Exhibit A in a trial she intended to win.

Casey glanced at it, then at her wife, and immediately burst into laughter. “Oh my God. You actually did it.”

Alex folded her arms, glaring. “Yes. And let me tell you, it is humiliating to be a forty-three-year-old woman standing in line with sixteen-year-olds who smell like Axe body spray, waiting for a learner’s permit.”

Casey picked it up delicately, like it was made of gold. “Learner’s permit,” she said slowly, savoring the words. “Alexandra Cabot, former Bureau Chief, scourge of organized crime, is now legally classified the same as a teenager with braces and a learner’s manual.”

“Casey,” Alex warned, her voice tight.

Did you have to take the written test?” Casey asked, grinning.

“Yes,” Alex snapped. “And I scored one hundred percent.”

Casey smirked. “Of course you did. The Secretary of State proctor was probably scared you were going to cross-examine her if she didn’t grade it properly. And you had all those spreadsheets when you were studying.”

Alex sat down heavily at the table, covering her face with her hands. “You should have seen them. These children were whispering about prom dresses and Fortnite while I was reviewing the section on yield signs. A boy with acne asked me if I was somebody’s mom.”

Casey leaned her elbows on the counter, trying and failing to hold back her laughter. “Well… technically, you’re everybody’s mom when you start yelling about statutes and case law. I think the title fits.”

Alex dropped her hands to glare at her. “This is not funny.”

“Oh, it’s hilarious,” Casey said. She slid the paper back toward Alex with a grin. “But it’s also kind of adorable. You did this—for me. For us. And for your spaceship car.”

Alex’s lips twitched, though she fought to keep her composure. “I suppose humiliation is a small price to pay.”

Casey kissed her temple. “Besides, now I get the joy of being your designated driving instructor. I’m thinking next weekend, we graduate from the school parking lot to—”

“No.” Alex’s eyes went wide. “Absolutely not.”

“- the grocery store parking lot. With other cars in it,” Casey finished, smirking.

Alex groaned and buried her face in her arms. “Why did I marry you?”

Casey rubbed her back gently, chuckling. “Because you knew I’d never let you live something like this down.”

—————

By the time Saturday rolled around, Alex was armed with her learner’s permit, a travel mug of coffee, and the steely determination of a woman who had once faced down mob bosses in open court. None of that mattered when Casey jingled the keys and said cheerfully, “Alright, Counselor. Time to face real traffic.”

The ride started calmly enough. Alex slid into the driver’s seat with an almost ceremonial seriousness, adjusting the mirrors half a dozen times, tugging at her seat belt until it was cinched tight.

Casey, sprawled in the passenger seat with sunglasses on and her feet propped against the dash, looked like the embodiment of relaxation. “Just breathe. Remember: it’s not a courtroom, it’s just a car.”

Alex wrapped both hands around the steering wheel, knuckles turning stark white. “A car that weighs two tons. Hurtling down the road at forty miles an hour. Surrounded by other cars.”

Casey grinned. “Welcome to driving.”

The Jeep eased out of the driveway. For the first few blocks, Alex did fine. A little stiff, maybe, but steady. Then they reached their first stop sign. Alex slammed the brake like she was trying to avoid hitting a pedestrian, jolting them both against their seatbelts.

“Jesus, Alex!” Casey yelped, clutching her coffee.

“II stopped, didn’t I?” Alex snapped, horrified.

Alex muttered something that sounded like this was a mistake and kept going.

“You stopped like you were in an action movie! The poor guy behind us almost kissed our bumper.” Casey laughed, shaking her head. “Ease into it, not… slam.”

Traffic thickened as they got closer to the main road. Alex’s breathing grew shallow, her shoulders practically up to her ears. She approached a traffic light like it was a hostile witness, eyes darting between the red, the yellow cross signal, the pedestrians on the corner.

“Green means go,” Casey prompted lightly.

“I know what green means!” Alex snapped, but the car didn’t move.

The horn of the car behind them blared. Alex yelped, hit the gas too hard, and they shot forward. Casey was pressed back in her seat, laughing so hard she nearly dropped her sunglasses.

“Oh my God,” Alex gasped. “I hate this. I hate this so much.”

“You’re fine,” Casey wheezed, still laughing. “Everyone does this at first.”

“Not everyone is forty-three with a learner’s permit.”

They came to a four-way intersection. Alex gripped the wheel tighter, trying to remember who had the right of way. She muttered the rules under her breath like she was reciting case law.

Casey glanced at her, biting her lip to keep from laughing again. “You’re adorable when you’re panicking.”

“This is not adorable,” Alex hissed through her teeth. “This is terrifying.”

But she made the turn — wide, awkward, a little too slow — and Casey clapped like she’d just witnessed a moon landing.

“Look at you! You did it!”

Alex scowled, cheeks pink. “Stop patronizing me.”

Casey leaned over, kissed her cheek. “Never. You’re doing great.”

Alex muttered something about never driving again, but her grip on the wheel loosened, just slightly, as the car rolled steadily down the street.

————-

By week three of driving practice, Casey decided it was time for the ultimate test: parallel parking.

She directed Alex downtown, where the streets were lined with narrow spaces and impatient drivers. Alex’s jaw clenched tighter with every block.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Alex muttered, white-knuckling the wheel as they crept along the curb.

Casey smirked, sipping her iced coffee. “Maybe. But this is a rite of passage. You don’t truly drive until you’ve parallel parked under pressure.”

Alex glared. “I argued precedent in front of the First Circuit. I do not need a rite of passage.”

“Tell that to the guy behind us,” Casey said as a horn blared impatiently.

Alex flinched and pulled up beside an empty spot between two cars — one a sleek BMW, the other a dented old minivan. Her face paled. “That space is tiny.”

“It’s generous,” Casey said with a grin. “You could land a plane in there.”

Alex shot her a look that could kill. “Alright. Guide me.”

Casey leaned back, smug. “Okay, turn your wheel all the way right, back up slowly, cut it left halfway—”

Alex immediately turned the wheel too far, hit the gas instead of the brake, and the Jeep lurched backward at an alarming angle. Casey yelped, her coffee sloshing all over her jeans.

“Jesus, Alex!”

“Why did you let me do this?!” Alex cried, slamming the brake. The car sat diagonally across the space, rear bumper inches from the BMW’s grill.

Casey burst out laughing. “Well, we’re parked. Just… at a forty-five-degree angle.”

People on the sidewalk had stopped to watch. A man in a Mets cap shook his head and muttered, “Women drivers.”

Alex went scarlet. “Did you hear that?!”

Casey leaned out the window. “She’s a learner, pal! At least she doesn’t park on the sidewalk like you probably do!” She rolled the window back up and smirked. “Ignore him. Focus.”

Alex tried again. Reverse, straighten, forward, reverse. The Jeep rocked back and forth like a boat docking in stormy water. Horns blared behind them. Someone actually cheered sarcastically when she finally got within the lines, though the tires were hugging the curb a little too close.

Casey clapped wildly. “Nailed it!”

Alex sagged against the seat, mortified. “That was humiliating.”

“That was hysterical,” Casey corrected, wiping tears from her eyes. “But hey—you didn’t hit the BMW. That’s a win.”

Alex groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I am never doing this again.”

“Yes, you are,” Casey said firmly, patting her leg. “Because one day, Counselor, you’re going to slide into a spot like a pro. And I’m going to be the proud, smug wife telling everyone that my forty-three-year-old learner’s permit-holding spouse conquered parallel parking.”

Alex peeked at her from between her fingers. “I hate you.”

Casey leaned over and kissed her, still laughing. “No, you love me. And you’re buying me new coffee after that stunt.”

Alex groaned louder, but she didn’t let go of Casey’s hand as they climbed out of the car — the crowd still dispersing, a few clapping politely like she’d just finished a recital.

————-

The day Alex passed her road test, Casey practically shouted it from the rooftops.

Alex walked out of the SOS holding the little plastic license like it was contraband, cheeks faintly pink with pride she was trying very hard to hide. Casey, meanwhile, was grinning so wide it looked painful.

“My wife’s a licensed driver!” Casey yelled to the parking lot. A few people clapped politely. One teenager even muttered, “Congrats, ma’am.”

“Stop it,” Alex hissed, trying to tuck the license discreetly into her wallet. “This is humiliating enough.”

“Humiliating?” Casey looped her arm through Alex’s and bounced on her toes. “You parallel parked in front of a state examiner and didn’t take out a mailbox. That’s a miracle.”

Alex tried to scowl, but her lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

Casey kissed her. “C’mon. We’re going to celebrate.”

“Dinner?” Alex asked hopefully.

“Nope,” Casey said, dragging her toward the Jeep. “Bigger.”

————

Rows of shiny cars gleamed under showroom lights. Casey walked in like she owned the place, Alex trailing nervously behind her.

“Good afternoon,” the salesman chirped. “Looking for something in particular?”

“Yes,” Casey said, giving Alex a little shove forward. “My wife just passed her road test. At forty-three. We’re here for her spaceship.”

Alex covered her face with one hand. “Oh my God.”

The salesman blinked, then smiled. “Congratulations. First license, huh?”

“Don’t rub it in,” Alex muttered.

Casey was already circling a glossy Model Y like it was prey. “This one looks good. Sleek. Safe. Self-parking.”

Alex trailed her fingers reverently along the hood, eyes lighting up. “It really is beautiful…”

Casey grinned. “See? I told you. You’re a car person at heart.”

A test drive later, Alex slid behind the wheel, her new license tucked safely in her purse. She looked like a kid at Christmas, trying not to squeal as the car hummed quietly to life. Casey sat in the passenger seat, smirking.

“Relax, Counselor,” she teased. “Don’t white-knuckle the spaceship.”

Alex rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop smiling as they glided silently out of the lot. She managed turns smoothly, stopped without slamming the brake, and even merged onto the main road without panicking.

When they pulled back in, Casey was practically vibrating with pride. “Look at you! SOS official, Tesla official—this is your day.”

Alex leaned back in the seat, exhaling deeply. “It feels… good.”

Casey reached over, threading her fingers through Alex’s. “You earned it.”

And when the paperwork was signed and Alex was handed the key fob to her very first car — a car she chose herself — she turned to Casey with a rare, almost shy smile.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Casey tugged her closer and kissed her soundly right there in the dealership, not caring who saw. “Worth every humiliating minute, wasn’t it?”

Alex laughed, her hand resting over Casey’s. “Almost.”

After the paperwork was signed, the salesman walked them through everything like a professor explaining an alien artifact.

“So, the battery range on this model is about three hundred miles on a full charge,” he said, tapping on the sleek touchscreen. “Most people install a Level 2 charger at home. It’ll take about eight to ten hours overnight to fully charge.”

Alex nodded gravely, as though she were absorbing key testimony in court. “And this home charger—who installs it?”

“We can schedule an electrician through Tesla,” the salesman replied cheerfully.

Casey raised an eyebrow. “So, let me get this straight. If you forget to plug this thing in, we’re basically stranded?”

The salesman chuckled awkwardly. “Well… technically, yes. But you’ll get alerts on your phone when the battery is low.”

Casey smirked at Alex. “See? It’s like a complicated goldfish.”

Alex ignored her, adjusting the driver’s seat again with meticulous precision. “We’ll install the charger,” she said decisively. “In the garage. On the left side.”

Casey leaned toward the salesman. “You should know—she already has the entire power grid of New York mapped in her head. She’s probably planning backup generators as we speak.”

Alex shot her a look. “Backup generators are prudent.”

The salesman wisely decided not to comment, instead gesturing to the car. “And I believe you chose black?”

Alex smiled in that subtle, pleased way that Casey always loved. “Yes. Black.”

Casey groaned dramatically. “Of course you did. The color of intimidation. You’re going to terrify the neighbors when you pull up in this thing.”

“Black is elegant. Classic. Professional,” Alex retorted, running her hand across the glossy hood. “Red was garish, white looked like a rental car, and blue was—”

“Fun?” Casey offered.

“Unacceptable,” Alex said firmly.

Casey laughed, slipping her arm through Alex’s. “God forbid we have fun.”

But as they stood together beside their brand-new black Tesla, Alex’s pride was undeniable. She had chosen it herself, signed the papers herself, and would be the one driving it home.

Casey watched her wife run her fingers over the sleek, dark finish, her eyes shining with something almost childlike. She smiled, knowing Alex would never admit it out loud, but this car — this victory — meant everything.

———-

The Tesla purred out of the dealership lot like it was gliding on air. Alex sat tall behind the wheel, posture as rigid as ever, both hands at ten and two, jaw set like she was defending closing arguments.

Casey, on the other hand, was sprawled in the passenger seat, wide-eyed like a kid in a candy store. She reached out and flicked through the enormous touchscreen, her grin widening with every discovery.

“Holy crap, Alex,” she said, tapping one icon after another. “This thing has everything. Heated seats, cooling seats, heated steering wheel… there’s even a button that makes the car fart on command?”

Alex’s lips pressed together in a thin, horrified line. “Do not touch that.”

“Oh, I’m touching it,” Casey said, gleeful. She pressed it, and a cartoonish fart sound erupted from under Alex’s seat.

Alex’s blue eyes cut sideways like daggers. “You are insufferable.”

Casey howled with laughter, doubled over, nearly in tears. “You bought a car that farts! My intimidating, elegant, black-Tesla-driving wife just bought the world’s most expensive whoopee cushion.”

Alex inhaled deeply through her nose, as if invoking every ounce of patience she had ever cultivated. “I bought this for the safety features. The efficiency. The technology.”

“Uh-huh,” Casey said, still giggling as she scrolled through menus. “Oh my God—Sirius XM radio! Alex, we can listen to the 80s station for our entire marriage now.”

“That was not the deciding factor.”

“It is now,” Casey said, clicking until “Livin’ on a Prayer” blared through the pristine sound system. She cranked it up, drumming on the dash while Alex grimaced.

Traffic thickened as they hit the main road, and Alex’s knuckles whitened on the wheel again. Casey turned the music down just enough to reach over and rest her hand on Alex’s thigh. “You’re doing great. Seriously. Smooth turns, no sudden braking—way better than last week.”

Alex’s jaw softened slightly. “Really?”

“Really,” Casey said, grinning. “You’re an actual licensed driver, cruising in your very own spaceship car. I’m impressed.”

Alex exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping an inch. She let herself glance at Casey, and the smallest, proudest smile curved her lips.

“Don’t look at me, eyes on the road,” Casey teased, poking her side.

Alex huffed, but her grip loosened just enough that the Tesla’s autopilot feature kicked in for a moment, gliding smoothly down the lane.

Casey leaned back in her seat, satisfied. “You know, I could get used to this. Heated seats, Bon Jovi, car farts… the full package.”

Alex rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the glow on her face.

When they finally pulled into their driveway, Casey reached over, cupped Alex’s face, and kissed her soundly. “Congratulations, Counselor. You bought us the fanciest toy on four wheels.”

Alex pretended to sigh, but she held onto Casey’s hand a little longer than necessary. “Thank you. For enduring this humiliating process with me.”

Casey smirked. “Humiliating for you. Comedy gold for me. And hey—next lesson? Drive-thru.”

Alex groaned, but when she shut off the Tesla, she still looked proud.

————-

The next morning, Casey came downstairs to find Alex in the garage, arms crossed, overseeing two electricians like she was directing a crime scene investigation.

One of them was kneeling by the wall, running conduit for the Tesla charger. The other was mounting the unit itself, both of them looking a little nervous under Alex’s hawk-like gaze.

“Careful with that cable,” Alex warned, her voice clipped. “It needs to be aligned flush with the wall. And make sure the breaker’s clearly labeled. I don’t want any confusion about which circuit feeds the charger.”

Casey leaned in the doorway, arms folded, grinning. “Good morning to you too, Sergeant Tesla.”

Alex didn’t look at her. “This is important, Casey. If this isn’t installed correctly—”

“—the baby won’t sleep through the night?” Casey finished, smirking.

That finally earned her a glare.

Casey strolled over to the car, running a hand along the glossy black hood. “She’s beautiful, Alex. I get it. But you’re hovering like they’re prepping her for surgery.”

Alex sniffed. “This is an expensive investment. I won’t have amateurs botch it.”

One of the electricians gave Casey a helpless look. Casey bit back a laugh. “Relax, Counselor. These guys do this all the time. It’s literally their job.”

Alex finally exhaled, though she stayed within striking distance of the installation. Casey walked around the Tesla, peeking in the windows, still impressed.

“You know, I never thought I’d say this,” Casey admitted, “but this car is pretty damn cool. The sound system alone might’ve sold me. Sirius XM, seat warmers, seat coolers, fart button—she’s got it all.”

Alex’s lips twitched. “And yet you still wanted a new Jeep.”

“Yeah, but now I get the best of both worlds,” Casey said, leaning against the hood. “I drive my current Jeep, and my wife chauffeurs me around in a spaceship. Spoiled rotten.”

Alex gave her a long, fond look, then glanced back at the electricians. “Just… make sure it’s done right,” she told them again, softer this time.

Casey sidled up beside her, slipping an arm around her waist. “You’re ridiculous,” she murmured, kissing her cheek. “But I love how proud you are.”

Alex let herself relax into the touch, finally uncrossing her arms. “It’s the first car I’ve ever picked,” she admitted quietly. “I want it to be perfect.”

Casey squeezed her waist, smiling. “It already is.”

And when the charger clicked to life for the first time, humming quietly as the black Tesla drank up its first overnight charge, Alex stood there like a new parent watching their baby sleep. Casey just shook her head, grinning.

“God help me,” she whispered to the car, “I’m going to have to compete with you for attention, aren’t I?”

[shibamom83]

The Call

Alex/Casey. Alex gets a call no wife wants to get.

Alex Cabot was still in her office, sleeves rolled up, glasses off and sitting on her desk as she combed through the day’s last stack of files. It was late, but that was nothing new. Her phone buzzed against the desk, and she answered absentmindedly.

“Cabot.”

“Mrs. Cabot? This is NewYork Presbyterian Hospital. Your wife, Casey Novak, was just brought in from a car accident—”

Alex’s pen clattered from her hand, her body going cold. The rest of the sentence blurred. She only caught pieces: conscious… stable… ER.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” she said, her voice trembling despite her best effort to sound composed.

She didn’t even grab her coat. The cab ride was a blur of flashing lights, her mind spiraling through every worst-case scenario she had ever argued in a courtroom. Broken bones? Internal bleeding? What if it’s worse than they’re saying? What if she— She forced herself to stop. She had to hold it together until she saw Casey with her own eyes.

When Alex rushed through the sliding ER doors, her heart pounded so hard she thought it might give out before she even found her.

The nurse guided her quickly. “She’s awake. Just try not to worry, ma’am.”

“Not possible,” Alex muttered under her breath.

And then—there she was. Casey lay propped up on a hospital bed, her fiery red hair mussed, a bandage on her forehead, and her left arm in a sling. Her smile was tired, but it was there.

“Alex,” she said softly.

The breath Alex had been holding all the way from Midtown finally released in a shaky exhale. She was at Casey’s side in an instant, cupping her face gently, careful of the cuts.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Alex whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

Casey’s good hand reached for her, fingers threading through Alex’s. “I’m sorry. A delivery truck ran a red light. I didn’t even see it coming. The car is...not okay."

Alex leaned down, pressing her forehead against Casey’s, closing her eyes. “Your car is replaceable. You are not.”

Casey gave a soft laugh, though it turned into a wince. “Tell that to the insurance company.”

Alex managed a watery smile, brushing her thumb along Casey’s cheek. “As long as you’re here—battered shoulder, bandaged head, terrible jokes and all—I don’t care about the damn car.”

The doctor stepped in, updating Alex on the injuries: a fractured shoulder, cuts needing stitches, and plenty of soreness. Nothing life-threatening. Nothing that would take her away.

When the doctor left, Alex finally sat, pulling a chair as close as possible, their hands still locked.

“I thought…” Alex’s voice faltered. She swallowed hard. “I thought I might lose you before I even got here.”

Casey squeezed her hand. “Hey. I’m right here. Always. And I plan on staying that way for a long time, Mrs. Cabot.”

Alex gave a shaky laugh, leaning down to kiss her carefully, tasting the antiseptic air, the relief, and the love that had carried them through years together.

And for the first time since the call, her heart finally slowed.

------------

By the time they were discharged and bundled into a cab, Alex had one arm protectively around Casey, as though she could shield her from any more harm simply by proximity. Casey leaned against her, eyelids heavy from the pain medication, but her wry humor intact.

“You know,” Casey murmured, “you’re fussing enough to qualify as a one-woman nursing staff.”

“Good,” Alex said firmly, brushing a stray strand of hair off her bandaged forehead. “Because unlike the ER, my services are exclusive.”

Casey chuckled softly, then winced as the movement jostled her sore shoulder. Alex pressed a kiss to her temple. “Don’t make me laugh, counselor. Doctor’s orders.”

When they finally stepped inside their brownstone, Alex immediately guided Casey to the couch. “Sit. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Casey sank down obediently, sinking into the cushions, her sling awkwardly propped up. She looked around their familiar living room and let out a sigh of relief. The worst was behind her, and she was home.

A few minutes later, the rhythmic whump-whump of the dryer sounded in the distance. Casey smiled knowingly.

“Alex Cabot,” she called, her voice playful. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

Alex reappeared in the doorway, arms crossed, a touch of smugness softening her worry. “Yes. I am warming up the blanket.”

Casey’s grin widened despite her bruises. “Best wife ever.”

Ten minutes later, Alex returned triumphantly, carrying the impossibly soft blanket that had been Casey’s comfort since law school. The heat from the dryer radiated off of it as Alex carefully wrapped it around Casey’s shoulders and tucked it under her chin.

Casey let out a soft, content hum. “Mmm. Perfection.”

Alex sat beside her, pulling her close, adjusting so Casey’s head rested safely against her chest. She grabbed the remote, flicked on Netflix, and scrolled until she landed on a familiar series they’d watched a dozen times. Comfort food for the soul.

Casey tilted her head to look up at her. “You’re not going to let me out of your sight, are you?”

Alex kissed her hair, tightening her arms around her. “Not tonight. Probably not tomorrow either. Maybe not ever again.”

Casey smiled into her shoulder, letting her eyes flutter closed as the opening credits played. “Fine by me.”

They settled in together, the glow of the television washing over them, the warmth of the blanket cocooning them. Alex stroked her thumb over Casey’s hand, steady and soothing, her heart still heavy with the echo of what-ifs—but grounding herself in what was.

Casey was here. Safe. Breathing. Wrapped up in love.

And Alex swore silently, as Casey rested against her, that she would never take a single moment of it for granted.

Casey stirred a little under the cocoon of warmth, her lips quirking as Alex adjusted the blanket around her yet again.

“You know,” Casey said drowsily, “I may actually love this blanket more than I love you.”

Alex blinked down at her, one perfectly arched eyebrow lifting. “Excuse me?”

Casey smirked, eyes glittering despite the bruises. “It’s warm, it’s soft, it doesn’t argue with me…”

Alex gave a theatrical huff, tugging the edge of the blanket up over Casey’s nose. “Fine. Marry the blanket. But I'm not paying you two alimony.”

That got a laugh out of Casey, even if it was a careful, wince-softened one. She tugged the blanket down just enough to meet Alex’s eyes. "I think I'm kind of attached to you."

Alex’s mock-indignant expression softened into a smile, her heart swelling at the sleepy affection in Casey’s voice. She leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose.

“Good answer,” Alex murmured. “Though for the record, the blanket doesn’t get Netflix privileges.”

Casey chuckled again, letting her head sink back against Alex’s chest. “Guess I’ll stick with you then.”

The blanket stayed warm. The show played on. And Alex held her wife a little tighter, silently grateful that Casey’s teasing, her laughter, her love—all of it—was still right here.

[shibamom83]

Through the Glass

Alex/Casey

Alex lingered in the hallway longer than necessary, papers in hand, pretending to skim the notes on the top sheet. Really, her gaze kept flicking to the conference room down the hall—more specifically, to the redhead inside it. Casey sat at the long table, head bent slightly as she scribbled something in the margins of a file, the soft fall of her hair catching the light from the tall windows.

Fifteen years of marriage, and Alex still caught herself staring. Still found herself struck by how unfairly beautiful Casey was in moments like this—completely unaware, completely herself. There was a little wrinkle in her forehead as she concentrated, lips pursed just so, and Alex thought absently that she had never once been able to win an argument against that mouth. Not when it was smirking, not when it was pouting, and certainly not when it was kissing her senseless.

Her wedding band felt warm against her finger, as if echoing the thought.

Casey shifted, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and the simple, unconscious movement tugged at something deep in Alex’s chest. Fifteen years and she was still undone by the smallest things—the way Casey’s eyes lit up when she was passionate about a case, the way she laughed like the world was ending, the way she still leaned into Alex in bed at night like she fit there and always would.

God, she was cute. That word didn’t even begin to cover it, Alex thought, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. Casey Novak—brilliant, stubborn, fierce Casey—was also devastatingly, impossibly cute. Beautiful, yes. Gorgeous, always. But right now? With her pen tapping against the paper and her bottom lip caught lightly between her teeth in focus? She was all soft edges and quiet charm, and Alex felt her heart swell like it had when they were first falling in love.

Alex let herself watch just a moment longer, indulging in it. She didn’t care that anyone could walk by and see her staring like some love-struck teenager. She’d earned the right. Fifteen years, and she would still choose Casey a thousand times over.

She finally pushed off the wall, slipping the papers back into her folder, but before she turned away, her eyes caught Casey’s through the glass. And there it was—that smile. The one that undid her every single time.

Alex smiled back, utterly helpless, and thought: Beautiful. Mine.

Alex smoothed the front of her blazer as if she were preparing to walk into a courtroom instead of a conference room. She pushed the door open without knocking, because really, why should she? After fifteen years of marriage, she had permanent rights to any space Casey happened to occupy.

Casey looked up, pen still in hand, eyebrows lifting. “Alex,” she said lightly, a touch of amusement in her tone. “This is the war room for the appeal. Did you get lost on your way to your ivory tower?”

Alex ignored the jab, crossing the room with that unflappable, graceful stride that made junior ADAs sit up straighter whenever she passed. She set her folder down on the table, leaned one hip against it, and simply… looked at her wife.

“Do you know how beautiful you are when you’re focused?” Alex asked, voice low and smooth.

Casey blinked, taken off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Alex’s lips curved, slow and deliberate, into a smile that carried just enough mischief to make Casey’s cheeks flush pink. “You sit here, brow furrowed, biting your lip like it’s going to tell you the answer, and you expect me to just walk by? To keep going to my office and not… come in here and stare at you like a besotted fool?”

Casey groaned softly, dropping her pen and covering her face with her hands. “Alex…” she muttered, voice muffled. “We are at work. People can see through the glass.”

Alex leaned closer, bracing one hand on the back of Casey’s chair. “Let them look,” she murmured, brushing her fingers lightly against Casey’s hair. “You’re my wife. I get to say how adorable you are whenever the mood strikes me.”

Casey peeked out from between her fingers, green eyes sparkling despite her embarrassment. “Adorable, huh? That’s the word you’re going with?”

“Adorable. Gorgeous. Devastatingly cute,” Alex listed off, each word deliberate. “Pick your favorite.”

Casey’s lips twitched, the beginnings of a smile she couldn’t quite fight. “You are impossible.”

“And yet you married me,” Alex said, smug but affectionate. She leaned down just enough to press a quick kiss to Casey’s temple, ignoring the scandalized look a passing clerk gave them through the glass. “Smartest decision you ever made, by the way.”

Casey shook her head, laughing under her breath now, cheeks still warm. “Go back to your office before I file a complaint for harassment.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

But Alex saw the way Casey’s smile lingered, soft and fond, even as she tried to return to her notes. Alex stood there one more moment, just soaking it in—her wife, her partner, the love of her life—and thought, not for the first time: Fifteen years, and I’m still a goner for her.

[shibamom83]

Love Down Under Alex/Casey Alex and Casey go on vacation in Australia. Soft, warm and a little sun-kissed

The late afternoon sun cast a golden haze over Bondi, the kind of glow that made the turquoise water sparkle like a movie backdrop. Alex sat on a striped beach towel, sunglasses perched low on her nose, hair damp and full of sand. She looked effortlessly put together — of course she did — even though they’d just spent hours swimming, laughing, and dodging playful waves that seemed to have it out for Casey.

Casey, for her part, was sprawled beside her, still dripping from a final swim, freckles popping against sun-warmed skin. She was grinning that huge, unfiltered grin Alex had privately decided could solve at least half the world’s problems.

“You’re staring,” Casey teased, rolling onto her side and propping her head on her hand.

“I’m appreciating the view,” Alex replied smoothly, though the slight blush in her cheeks betrayed her.

“Uh-huh,” Casey said, pretending to study the horizon. “The view that’s covered in sunscreen, sand, and — what’s this?” She reached over, brushing a tiny strand of seaweed from Alex’s shoulder with mock seriousness.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “I was attacked by that wave.”

Casey’s eyes sparkled. “You mean the one I told you was coming? The one you ignored because you were ‘assessing water clarity’?”

“It’s called appreciating nature, Casey.”

“It’s called getting bowled over by the ocean like a rookie.”

Alex leaned closer, smirking. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Casey’s grin softened into something more tender. “I’m lucky every single day.” She reached out, brushing her fingers over Alex’s hand where it rested on the towel. The contact was light but warm — the kind of touch that said I’m yours, without needing to say a word.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching surfers chase the last sets before the sun dipped lower. The salty breeze tangled strands of Alex’s hair, and Casey, without thinking, reached over to tuck them behind her ear.

“You know,” Alex murmured, “I had a whole list of things to see here. Great Barrier Reef, Sydney Opera House, kangaroos…” She turned, lips curving into that softer smile reserved only for Casey. “But this? Sitting on a beach with you, listening to you make fun of me? I think this might be my favorite part.”

Casey laughed quietly. “You’re in luck then, because I’m very good at making fun of you.”

“Don’t I know it,” Alex said dryly, but her hand found Casey’s, fingers lacing together with an ease that felt like home — even halfway around the world.

When the sun finally kissed the horizon, Alex leaned over, kissed Casey slow and sweet, tasting saltwater and sunscreen and summer air.

And if the rest of the world disappeared for that moment… well, neither of them would have minded.

--

Alex was not impressed with her wetsuit.

“This,” she said, tugging at the zipper of her wetsuit, “is not made for human comfort.”

Casey, already zipped up and looking like she belonged in a travel magazine, smirked as she adjusted her snorkel mask. “It’s made to keep you warm in the water, not to make you look fabulous.”

Alex glanced down at herself and sighed dramatically. “Well, it’s failing at both.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Casey said, giving her a slow, deliberate once-over. “I think it’s doing a phenomenal job in the ‘look fabulous’ department.”

Alex narrowed her eyes. “You’re biased.”

“Extremely.” Casey grinned, stepping closer and tugging the collar of Alex’s wetsuit into place. “Besides, you’re just mad because you saw me in mine first.”

Alex opened her mouth to retort, but Casey’s smug expression was doing dangerous things to her composure. “I will neither confirm nor deny that statement,” she muttered, earning a laugh.

Casey stepped closer, tugging the collar of Alex’s wetsuit into place — and then, without warning, gave her a sharp smack on the backside.

Alex’s head whipped around, eyes wide, while Casey let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Yep. Definitely fabulous.”

Alex gasped, hand over her heart. “Casey Novak! I am shocked at your behavior.” Her voice was dripping with mock offense, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her, twitching toward a smile.

“Uh-huh,” Casey said, clearly unconcerned, “you’re not fooling me, Cabot. You love it.”

“I do not—” Alex started, but Casey just raised an eyebrow and grinned, and Alex decided there were some arguments not worth winning.

The boat ride out to the reef was a blur of sunlight and turquoise water. When they finally slipped into the ocean, Alex’s complaints died instantly — the world beneath the surface was breathtaking. Coral in impossible colors, schools of fish darting like glitter in the light, and the soft sway of the sea that made everything feel dreamlike.

Casey swam ahead with the ease of someone born to the water, turning back every so often to flash Alex an excited grin behind her mask. Alex, for her part, stayed close — not just because the reef was mesmerizing, but because watching Casey glide through the water was… well. Distracting in the best possible way.

When they climbed back onto the boat, dripping and exhilarated, Alex peeled off her mask and shook her head in wonder. “Okay. I take it back. The wetsuit was worth it.”

Casey handed her a towel. “Told you.”

Alex wrapped it around herself, stepping close enough that their foreheads touched. “Still not as good as yours, though.”

Casey grinned, water still beading on her lashes. “I’ll let you borrow mine next time.”

Alex smirked. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

Casey laughed — that full, bright sound Alex swore she’d follow to the ends of the earth — and kissed her right there on the deck, salt and sun and pure, perfect joy.

--

Later, they found themselves in a small café by the marina, the kind of place where the coffee was strong, the air smelled faintly of sea breeze, and the menu had things Alex had never heard of.

“You have to try Vegemite,” Casey said, her grin entirely too mischievous.

“I’ve heard things,” Alex warned.

“It’s an Australian rite of passage,” Casey countered, already ordering toast with a thick smear of the dark spread.

Alex eyed the plate suspiciously when it arrived. “It looks like tar.”

“Just take a bite.”

Alex sighed and bit into the toast. The moment the taste hit her tongue, her entire expression collapsed into abject betrayal. She yanked the toast away, swallowing like she was trying to survive an ordeal.

“Oh my God, what is that?!” she coughed, reaching desperately for her water.

Casey was laughing so hard she nearly tipped her chair back. “It’s salty! It’s… it’s—”

“It’s a crime,” Alex said firmly. “An international one. I will never get that taste out of my mouth. Ever.”

Casey tried to compose herself but failed, snorting into her coffee. “But you survived it. You’re basically Australian now.”

Alex gave her a long, withering stare… and then, reluctantly, a smile. “If I am, it’s your fault.”

Casey grinned, leaning over to kiss her softly. “I’ll take the blame for that one.”

--

The sun was melting into the horizon, streaking the sky in shades of coral, lavender, and gold. From their balcony, the view was all ocean and palm trees, the air still warm but softened by the evening breeze.

Casey had kicked off her sandals and was leaning against the railing, hair tossed lightly by the wind, looking entirely at peace. She didn’t even hear Alex come up behind her — not until a pair of arms slid around her waist.

“Mmm,” Alex murmured against her ear. “You know what would make this perfect?”

Casey smiled, tilting her head slightly. “Let me guess — you admitting that Vegemite isn’t that bad?”

Alex pulled back just enough to look at her in pure horror. “Casey. That was trauma. I’m going to be tasting it until the end of time.”

Casey laughed, leaning back into her. “I still say you’re being dramatic.”

“Oh?” Alex’s voice took on that dangerously sweet edge — the one that usually meant Casey was about to pay in some delicious way.

Before Casey could respond, Alex ducked in, pressing her lips to the side of Casey’s neck. It started as one slow kiss… and then another… and another, each one lingering just long enough to make Casey’s breath hitch.

“Alex…” Casey laughed breathlessly, her hands bracing against the railing as Alex’s kisses trailed lower, warmer, teasing.

“This is your punishment,” Alex murmured against her skin. “For trying to poison me with concentrated salt spread.” Kiss. “For laughing while I suffered.” Kiss. “For looking ridiculously good in a wetsuit.” Kiss.

By now Casey was half-turned in her arms, cheeks flushed, smiling so wide it hurt. “You’re terrible,” she whispered, but there was no mistaking the way her fingers curled into Alex’s shirt, pulling her closer.

Alex finally lifted her head, brushing her nose against Casey’s. “I’m yours,” she corrected softly.

And with the sun dipping fully into the sea, she kissed her wife — slow and deep — until the taste of Vegemite was nothing but a faint, ridiculous memory drowned in salt air and love.

[shibamom83]

The Walk

Alex/Casey

The sun was warm but not overbearing, the kind of perfect summer afternoon that made the ocean sparkle like it was in on some happy secret. The boardwalk was busy enough to feel alive, but not so crowded that Alex and Casey couldn’t walk comfortably side by side, hands linked in that easy, unconscious way they always did.

Alex’s eyes kept drifting down, not at the gentle sway of Casey’s hair in the breeze or the smile she was wearing—well, okay, also those—but mainly to those shoes.

Bright yellow Crocs. Covered in a chaotic mosaic of charms, from a tiny slice of pizza to a sparkly unicorn. And there, nestled right on the strap, was the one Alex had given her two days ago: a silver heart with neat, engraved letters reading Love You.

Alex sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “It’s a crime against fashion, Casey.”

Casey smirked, not even looking down. “You keep saying that, but you keep buying me charms. Which makes you an accessory to the crime.”

“I’m buying evidence,” Alex countered, lips twitching. “For the day I take you to fashion court.”

Casey squeezed her hand. “You’d still lose.”

They stopped at a little stand for ice cream—Casey getting a swirl cone, Alex going for classic mint chocolate chip in a cup—and kept walking until the sound of waves grew louder than the chatter. Eventually, they found a spot along the railing where the breeze carried the scent of saltwater and sunscreen.

Casey leaned on her forearms, staring out at the ocean, a tiny streak of ice cream clinging to the corner of her mouth. Alex reached over and brushed it away with her thumb, smiling like she couldn’t help it.

“What?” Casey asked, pretending to be suspicious.

“Just thinking,” Alex murmured, leaning closer. “Fifteen years, and I still like kissing you more than anything else.”

Casey’s grin softened, her eyes warm in that way that always made Alex’s chest ache in the best way. “Then what are you waiting for?”

So Alex kissed her—slow, sweet, and entirely unhurried. Casey’s free hand came up to Alex’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly along her jaw. They didn’t care that a couple of people walking past smiled at them; they didn’t care about anything except the moment.

When they finally broke apart, Casey smirked again. “You know, if you’re nice, maybe I’ll get you a matching pair of Crocs.”

Alex groaned. “Don’t ruin a perfect day.”

Casey laughed, and they kept walking, fingers intertwined, the sound of the waves and the clack of Casey’s charms against her shoes following them down the boardwalk—proof that sometimes, love was found in the simplest, silliest, most perfect moments.

The stopped in front of boardwalk storefront.

The little gift shop was one of those boardwalk staples—half beach souvenirs, half random knickknacks nobody really needed but somehow had to touch. Alex was drawn to a rack of breezy summer scarves near the door, idly running her fingers over them, while Casey had already drifted deeper inside like a kid on a treasure hunt.

She paused halfway down an aisle, her gaze locking on a display at the far end. And then she grinned.

Black foam clogs. Croc knock-offs. Completely plain. The kind of “professional” color Alex might almost tolerate… if she ignored every other part of them.

Casey picked them up, inspecting them with the seriousness of a jeweler examining a diamond. She could already picture Alex’s face: that polite, tight smile that meant I love you, but this is a hate crime against me personally.

Five minutes later, Casey reappeared at Alex’s side, hands conspicuously behind her back.

“What did you find?” Alex asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Casey said, far too casually.

Alex narrowed her eyes but didn’t press—until they stepped back out onto the boardwalk and Casey handed her a little paper bag.

Alex opened it, took one look inside, and let out a strangled laugh. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did.” Casey’s grin was shameless. “They’re black. Totally respectable. I got you a professional pair. Now we can be a Croc couple.”

“Casey…” Alex trailed off, shaking her head, but she was smiling. The truth—one she’d never admit out loud—was that she did secretly love Casey’s ridiculous Crocs. Not because they were fashionable (God no), but because they were so unapologetically her. And the charm she’d given Casey—her little “Love You” confession—looked exactly right nestled among all the silly trinkets.

Still, she slipped the bag under her arm with mock dignity. “Fine. But if anyone asks, I was coerced.”

Casey laughed, bumping their shoulders together as they resumed their walk, hand in hand. And somewhere between the ice cream, the ocean breeze, and the knowledge that Alex would actually try those shoes on just for her, the day somehow got even more perfect.

————

That night, back in their apartment, Alex emerged from the bedroom barefoot, holding the little paper bag like it contained radioactive waste.

Casey was sprawled on the couch with a book, pretending not to notice. “Oh,” she said casually, “decided to try them on?”

“I am not trying them on,” Alex said crisply. Then she sighed, muttered something under her breath, and sat down to tug the black clogs out of the bag. “I’m… conducting research.”

Casey bit her lip to hide a smile. “Uh-huh. And what’s your hypothesis?”

“That they are hideous and will make me look like I’ve given up on life.” Alex slipped one on and immediately made a face. “Oh God, they’re comfortable. I hate that.”

Casey laughed outright now. “Told you. They’re the gateway shoe to happiness.”

Alex slid the other on, wiggling her toes with a begrudging sigh. “I’m not wearing them outside this apartment.”

“Sure,” Casey said innocently. “But you know what would make them really pop? Charms. I could get you—”

“No.” Alex’s tone was firm enough to stop a lesser person, but Casey just grinned wider.

“Just a couple. Maybe a tiny gavel? A little heart? Something with—”

“Absolutely not. These shoes will remain plain. Unadorned. Dignified.”

Casey leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Alex… you love me. Which means eventually, I will win this.”

Alex groaned and leaned back into the couch, crossing one leg over the other. “Enjoy your fantasy, Casey.” But even as she said it, Casey could see the smallest, most traitorous smile tugging at her lips.

It wasn’t a surrender… but it was definitely not a victory for Alex either.

——-

It happened on a Saturday morning in early fall.

Alex had been headed out for a quick coffee run, hair in a loose ponytail, sunglasses on, dressed in her usual casual-but-impeccable way… except for what was on her feet.

Black Croc knock-offs.

Casey spotted her halfway down the sidewalk from their building, phone already in hand. “Alex!” she called, grinning when her wife turned around, confused.

“What?” Alex asked, genuinely oblivious.

Casey lifted her phone, the shutter sound clicking before Alex even realized what she was doing. “Nothing. Just… collecting evidence.”

It wasn’t until later that day—when Alex was curled up on the couch reading—that she heard Casey snicker from across the room.

“What?” Alex asked again, not looking up.

“Oh, nothing,” Casey said sweetly, which was exactly when Alex knew she was lying. She pulled out her phone and turned it so Alex could see.

There it was, in all its glory: a candid shot of Alex striding purposefully down the street, coffee in hand, hair catching the light… and those ridiculous clogs on full display.

Posted to Casey’s personal Facebook with the caption:

And here we have the rare sighting of a Croc convert in the wild. #LoveWins #CrocCouple #SheCaved #MyGreatestVictory

Alex groaned and buried her face in her hands. “You’re impossible.”

Casey flopped down next to her, grinning. “You love me.”

Alex peeked at her through her fingers. “…Enough to delete your Facebook.”

Facebook Post:

And here we have the rare sighting of a Croc convert in the wild. 🐊 #LoveWins #CrocCouple #SheCaved #MyGreatestVictory

📸 Alex Cabot spotted on the sidewalk in black Croc knock-offs, looking chic from the ankles up.

Comments:

Olivia Benson: Wait. WAIT. Are those…? No. I refuse to believe this.

Amanda Rollins: 😂😂😂 Alex Cabot in Crocs?! Somebody check if hell froze over.

Olivia Benson: Amanda, please tell me this is photoshopped.

Amanda Rollins: Nope. Zoom in. Enhance. She’s wearing them willingly.

Fin Tutuola: Guess I know what I’m getting Alex for Christmas. A pair with bedazzled gavels on them.

Casey Novak (author) in response to Fin: YES. He gets it.

Elizabeth Donnelly: Cabot, you’ve fallen so far. I’m disappointed.

Alexandra Cabot: I plead the Fifth.

John Munch: Knew this would happen eventually. Big Footwear is always watching.

Casey Novak (author) in response to Munch: 😂😂😂

Olivia Benson: Casey, I’m going to need the full story of how you broke her down.

[shibamom83]

Head over Heels (and a Headache)

Alex/Casey established marriage; domestic fluff overload

Alex never leaves work early.

The only exceptions are once-in-a-blue-moon court cancellations or life-altering cataclysms… like this migraine she texted Casey about an hour ago.

So when Casey gets the text—“Went home. Migraine. Love you.”—her heart stutters.

Alex never admits she’s in pain until it’s already chewing through her skull like a jackhammer with a vengeance. So when Casey walks through their front door a little more than an hour later, still in her pencil skirt and blazer, and finds the apartment almost pitch dark, a headache-specific playlist playing soft ambient noise through the smart speaker, and not a single scent in the air (she knows better than to turn on the diffuser right now), her stomach flips.

Alex is on the couch, curled into a tight little ball under the throw blanket, wearing one of Casey’s old Marvel hoodies and flannel pajama pants that pool around her ankles. Her glasses are folded on the coffee table, and a cold compress is pressed to one temple. One arm shields her eyes while the other hugs a pillow like it’s anchoring her to the Earth.

She barely stirs when Casey closes the door.

“Oh, babe,” Casey says gently, setting everything down as quietly as possible.

Alex groans.

It’s not a sassy, theatrical groan. It’s a soft, guttural whimper, pained and weary and raw around the edges.

Casey immediately drops to her knees beside the couch. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m here. I’m so sorry you’re hurting.”

Alex tries to turn toward her and immediately winces, her jaw clenched tight.

“Don’t move, don’t move,” Casey soothes, brushing the back of her hand along Alex’s cheek, which is clammy and flushed. “Just breathe, I’ve got you.”

“I feel like my brain is trying to dig its way out with a soup spoon,” Alex whispers, barely able to open one eye. “I can’t… I couldn’t think straight. I was in a meeting and couldn’t remember words.”

Casey presses a kiss to her forehead and says, “Then you absolutely did the right thing coming home. Do you still have that nausea or just the ice pick in your skull?”

Alex makes a quiet noise. “Both. I thought if I laid down it would go away but now it feels like it’s in my teeth.”

Casey’s chest aches just hearing it. “Okay. Here’s the plan. I’m going to change, then I’m bringing you your meds and the good water. The bubbly lemon one that tastes like a spa. You just stay right there. No moving. No heroics.”

Alex murmurs something unintelligible that sounds suspiciously like “my hero is wearing work heels” as Casey dashes off to change.

When she returns—now in soft joggers, an old Gotham Law hoodie, and fuzzy socks—she brings a cold can of sparkling water and two Excedrin, along with a silk eye mask, the extra pillow from their bed, and the weighted blanket Alex secretly loves but always calls “dramatic.”

Alex doesn’t open her eyes, but she makes a grateful noise as Casey gently lifts her head and replaces the regular pillow with the comfier one, easing her back down with all the tenderness of someone handling a priceless artifact. She slides the mask over Alex’s eyes, careful not to press on her temples.

“Okay, take these first,” she whispers, brushing her fingers through Alex’s hair and helping her sit up just enough to sip water and swallow the pills.

When that’s done, Alex groans again and collapses backward. “It’s not helping yet.”

“It will soon,” Casey promises, climbing up onto the couch and settling in behind her. She opens the weighted blanket like a giant tortilla and wraps it around them both. “C’mere. Let me be your heating pad.”

Alex doesn’t need more encouragement. She slowly turns, lets Casey guide her until her head is in her lap, one arm curled around Casey’s leg like it’s a life preserver, her face buried against the soft cotton of Casey’s hoodie.

Casey strokes her hair. Long, slow passes. Down her scalp, behind her ears, across the nape of her neck. Gentle and grounding.

“You’re so good at this,” Alex murmurs. “How are you so good at this?”

“I majored in Wife Comfort at Harvard,” Casey says, kissing the top of her head. “Minored in Pillow-Lap Support.”

Alex hums faintly, her fingers curling into Casey’s thigh. “Best decision I ever made.”

“You mean marrying me or letting me get you the lemon water?”

“Both. But mostly marrying you.”

Casey smiles, her eyes pricking with warmth. She rests her cheek on Alex’s head and continues the soothing rhythm of touch.

The room is quiet. Safe. The pain is still there, but it’s softened now—dulled by pills, warmth, and the steady heartbeat of a woman who loves her completely.

By the time the meds start to kick in, Alex has drifted into a light sleep, still curled against Casey like a sleepy lioness, her nose tucked into her lap.

And Casey?

She doesn’t move.

Not for anything.

Not even if the building caught fire.

Because when your wife is hurting, and she needs your lap, your hoodie, lemon water, and your heart all at once—

Well…

You give it to her.

[shibamom83]

Are there any Alex Cabot scene packs anywhere? If so, can someone send me a link? Especially the later seasons

[shibamom83]

Not Right

Alex/Casey - I picture Alex being super protective like this. I don’t know why

Alex Cabot was halfway through a deposition when her phone buzzed on the desk beside her. She gave it a sideways glance, planning to ignore it—until she saw the name.

Casey ❤️

It was just a text. But the preview alone yanked her attention.

Casey: I don’t feel right. Can you come?

Alex’s heart stuttered. She didn’t hesitate. She leaned over to the junior ADA seated beside her and murmured, “Take notes. I have to go.”

Minutes later, Alex was pushing open the door to Casey’s office. Casey was still at her desk, slumped forward slightly, elbows propped up, hand resting against her temple. She looked pale. Sweat clung to her forehead. Her eyes were glassy—not feverish exactly, but definitely not right.

“Case,” Alex said softly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her.

Casey looked up, her expression one of both relief and vulnerability. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I didn’t know who else to text. I just… I don’t feel right.”

Alex was beside her in two strides, crouching down in front of the chair. “Tell me what’s wrong. What are you feeling?”

Casey closed her eyes. “I’m dizzy. A little nauseous. And my heart’s been racing since this morning. I thought maybe I was just stressed, but it’s not going away.”

Alex reached up and pressed her palm to Casey’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm, but you look like hell,” she said gently. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

Casey huffed out a weak laugh. “Because you were with that guy from homicide who never stops talking. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Interrupt? Casey, you’re my wife. There’s no such thing.”

Alex stood up, already pulling her phone from her pocket. “We’re going to urgent care.”

Casey groaned. “It’s probably nothing. I’m just being—”

“You’re being careful,” Alex cut in, her tone firm. “Which I deeply appreciate, because I don’t plan on losing you in an office chair surrounded by case files.”

Casey gave a small, tired smile. “You’re bossy.”

“Married me anyway.”

Alex moved behind her, gently guiding Casey up to her feet, steadying her when she swayed. “Come on. Let’s get you checked out. I’ll hold your hand and bribe you with Taco Bell afterward.”

Casey muttered, “You’re lucky I love you.”

Alex kissed her temple. “I’m fully aware.”

——————

Alex got them a cab, car, buckling her in before getting in and buckling herself in. Every few seconds, her eyes darted over to Casey, who had her head resting against the window.

“You still with me?” Alex asked, her voice low and laced with concern.

“Yeah,” Casey murmured. “Just… kinda floaty.”

Alex reached across and took her hand. “Good. Stay with me. I swear to God, if you pass out before we hit urgent care, I’ll call an ambulance, a helicopter, and the ghost of Ruth Bader Ginsburg to carry you in.”

Casey cracked a faint grin. “You’re scary when you’re worried.”

“You texted me. That’s how I know it’s bad. You never ask for help. You could be bleeding from the eyeballs and still say, ‘Let’s wait it out.’”

Urgent Care, 12 Minites Later

The check-in nurse was typing slowly. Like… so slowly. Alex clenched her jaw as the woman asked for Casey’s insurance, then her emergency contact (Alex, obviously), and then launched into a deeply unnecessary discussion of the flu season.

“She needs to be seen now,” Alex interrupted, tone sharp enough to cut drywall. “She’s lightheaded, nauseous, tachycardic, and she looks like she might pass out. If you’d like, I can call an ambulance and have her transferred to someone more competent.”

The nurse blinked.

“…We’ll call you back now, ma’am. Just take a seat in Room 3.”

Alex walked Casey back, one arm firm around her waist. Casey was still trying to joke through it, because of course she was.

“Remind me to make a donation to the Cabot Intimidation Fund,” she muttered, trying to sit on the exam table without sliding off the edge.

Alex stood in front of her, cupping her face gently. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I hate being like this,” Casey admitted. “Feels like my body’s a busted courtroom printer.”

Alex gave a soft chuckle, but it faded quickly as the nurse practitioner came in, taking vitals. Casey’s heart rate was definitely high. Her BP was low. The NP asked a flurry of questions, poked around, listened to Casey’s heart, then ordered an EKG and some bloodwork.

They waited.

Alex paced.

Casey watched her, eyebrows lifted weakly. “You’re gonna wear a trench in the tile.”

“Good,” Alex snapped. “Then maybe the staff will trip and learn to move faster.”

Fifteen minutes later the nurse came back with a doctor. That was never a good sign. The doctor looked apologetic before he even spoke.

“Mrs. Novak,” he said, glancing between them. “We got the EKG results back. You’re in supraventricular tachycardia—SVT. It’s a type of arrhythmia. It explains the dizziness and nausea, and the elevated heart rate. The good news is, it’s not life-threatening, but it needs to be treated.”

Casey blinked. “So I’m not dying?”

“No,” the doctor said, “but you do need treatment now. And if you hadn’t come in, this could’ve worsened. We’re going to try a vagal maneuver first. If that doesn’t work, we’ll use a drug called adenosine to reset your rhythm.”

Casey looked pale again. “That sounds… intense.”

Alex’s hand found hers instantly. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. You did the right thing, texting me.”

Casey looked up at her with glassy eyes. “I’m scared.”

Alex kissed her forehead. “I know. But I’m here. Always. You’re not doing this alone.”

Twenty minutes later, the vagal maneuver failed. The adenosine injection felt like someone rebooted Casey’s entire soul with a power drill. Her whole chest fluttered, her eyes widened, and she gasped—before everything suddenly… settled.

Her heart rate slowed.

Her vision cleared.

She let out a shaky breath.

“Better?” Alex whispered, sitting right beside her now, not caring one bit that she wasn’t supposed to be on the hospital bed.

“…Yeah,” Casey breathed. “Yeah. I think so.”

The doctor confirmed the SVT had resolved. Casey would need a cardiologist follow-up, but she was going to be okay.

Alex let her head drop for a second—just a second—onto Casey’s shoulder, the wave of relief washing through her so hard she could taste it.

“You scared the hell out of me,” she whispered.

“I scared me.” Casey reached over and wiped a tear from Alex’s cheek. “Hey. I’m still here.”

Alex gave a tearful laugh. “Yeah. You are.”

Casey shifted, grunting softly. “Does this earn me Taco Bell?”

Alex exhaled a laugh. “You get two quesadillas and a Baja Blast. And maybe—maybe—I’ll let you pick the Netflix movie tonight.

“…Even if I pick the terrible one with the talking raccoon lawyer?”

“…Even if I pick the terrible one with the talking raccoon lawyer?”

Alex sighed. “One time. Just this once. But if that raccoon sings again, I’m calling your cardiologist and my therapist.”

————-

2 Days Later

Casey was sitting on the exam table at her cardiology done up, legs swinging ever-so-slightly as she filled out the clipboard. Again. For the third time. Because healthcare bureaucracy is apparently designed by evil forest goblins.

“You already have all of this,” she muttered under her breath, scribbling in her emergency contact for the third time that week.

Alex sat stiffly in the lone visitor chair across the room, legs crossed, jaw set so tight it could shatter diamonds. She was holding her phone, but not looking at it. Her eyes were locked on the door like it had personally wronged her.

“Hi, Mrs. Novak,” the nurse said. “We’re going to do a quick EKG and blood pressure, then the doctor will be in to go over your results and next steps.”

“Sounds good,” Casey replied cheerfully.

Alex… just raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

The nurse gave a tight smile and left.

Casey turned to Alex. “You’re vibrating.”

“I am not vibrating.”

“You absolutely are. Your rage aura has range.”

“I’m not enraged,” Alex said calmly. “I’m… preemptively focused.”

“Uh huh,” Casey said. “You’re loaded like a spring and I saw you Google ‘how long can someone go without a heart’ last night.”

“I was not—” Alex paused. “Okay, fine. I may have researched backup pacemaker options. And defibrillator vests. And cardiac-friendly vegan recipes.”

Casey squinted. “You bought a juicer.”

“It’s for both of us.”

Ten minutes later the cardiologist walked in, cheerful and pleasant and about thirty seconds away from being grilled alive.

“Good morning!” he said, pulling up Casey’s chart on the tablet. “I’m Dr. Feldstein. So, Casey, how are you feeling now?”

“Much better,” Casey said. “Still a little tired, but not dizzy anymore. And the heart thing hasn’t come back.”

Dr. Feldstein nodded. “Great. Well, I looked over your EKG, and everything’s returned to normal. The SVT episode seems to have been an isolated event, which is common in your age group. Stress, dehydration, even caffeine can trigger it.”

Casey smiled. “That’s a relief.”

Alex narrowed her eyes. “Isolated event is a clinical term, not a guarantee. I did my research last night. What diagnostics have you run to confirm that?”

The doctor blinked. “Well, we reviewed the emergency room tests and—”

“Reviewed isn’t the same as replicated. Did you run your own labs? Holter monitor? Stress test? Electrophysiology consult?”

Casey buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God.”

Dr. Feldstein looked mildly alarmed. “I… we’re taking a step-by-step approach. If symptoms reoccur—”

“So, we wait for her heart to act like a malfunctioning blender before we take further steps?” Alex interrupted, voice dangerously smooth. “With respect, Doctor, I didn’t marry a woman just to watch her code on an office floor because someone wanted to ‘wait and see.’”

Casey coughed. “Alex—”

“No. No, you had a cardiac arrhythmia, Casey. A literal rhythm disorder. That’s not a sore throat. It’s not a stubbed toe. That is your heart saying ‘something’s wrong’ in Morse code.”

The doctor blinked again. “I understand your concern, Mrs. Cabot—”

“I am not concerned. I am prepared. I read the entire Mayo Clinic case archive on SVT before we got here. I have annotated printouts in my purse. I will out-patient litigation this office if necessary.”

Casey, mildly dying inside, waved a hand. “Can we just… do whatever tests she wants so she doesn’t smother me with a heart pillow from the gift shop?”

Dr. Feldstein smiled thinly. “We’ll set you up with a Holter monitor and schedule a stress echocardiogram.”

Alex smiled like a shark finally seeing the seal. “Thank you.”

————

Casey was wearing the Holter monitor, wires barely concealed under her shirt. She sighed as the elevator doors closed.

“You know, I love you,” she said, “but I’m not sure they’ll let me come back after you legal-thrillered the poor man into compliance.”

“I was polite.”

“You were alarmedly thorough. You made a nurse cry when she said my BP was ‘a smidge high.’”

“I simply asked her what her definition of ‘smidge’ was. That’s not aggressive. That’s specific.”

Casey laughed and leaned on her. “Still. I appreciate it. You fight so hard for me.”

Alex looked down at her and softened instantly. “Of course I do. You’re the most important person in my world. Your heart stops, mine stops.”

Casey smiled up at her. “I love you, even if you are That Wife.”

Alex smirked. “You’d better. I’ve got charts.”

————-

Casey flopped backward onto the couch, letting out a theatrical groan. “I feel like I’m wearing a bomb vest.”

Alex, standing nearby with two mugs of chamomile tea, arched a brow. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“Says the woman who brought a binder labeled CABOT VS CARDIOLOGICAL NEGLIGENCE to a ten-minute consult.

Alex placed the tea on the coffee table, unbothered. “I like to be prepared.”

“You had dividers.”

“And color-coded tabs. Please don’t forget the color-coded tabs.”

Casey grinned and tugged gently at one of the monitor leads under her t-shirt. “Ugh, this thing itches. It’s like having robot tentacles taped to my boobs.”

Alex sat beside her, pulling her legs up under herself. “I can distract you. I made muffins.”

Casey blinked. “You… baked?”

“They’re oat-bran banana flax muffins,” Alex said proudly.

Casey stared at her, deadpan. “You terrorist.”

Alex smirked. “Cardiologist-approved. And they’re gluten-free.”

Casey groaned again. “You know what else is gluten-free? Sadness.”

Twenty minutes later they were curled under a blanket. Casey was stretched out, head in Alex’s lap, scrolling her phone lazily while Alex ran her fingers through Casey’s hair with gentle precision, like she was defusing a bomb.

Everything was quiet. Cozy. Calm.

Until—

BEEP.

Alex froze.

Casey didn’t.

Alex leaned down. “Did you hear that?”

“Nope,” Casey replied casually.

BEEP.

“THAT. That beep. What was that? Was that your heart?”

Casey snorted. “No, that’s the monitor syncing data. It does that every twenty minutes.”

“You knew that and didn’t tell me?”

“I also didn’t tell you I farted during the cardio consult. I’m full of secrets.”

Alex leaned over, eyes wide, already peeking under the blanket like she was trying to read bomb schematics.

“Alex,” Casey whined, batting her hand away. “You are not inspecting me. I am not an airport security threat.”

“You beeped! Humans shouldn’t beep!”

“It’s the machine that beeped. My heart’s fine. It’s vibing. It’s doing its best. It’s doing jazz hands right now.”

Alex was up, snatching the instruction manual from the table and flipping through pages at warp speed. “Page seventeen says if it beeps more than three times in a row—”

“It hasn’t. That’s twice. Chill.”

“I am perfectly calm.”

“You look like you’re about to cross-examine the couch.”

———

Casey sat at the kitchen table, wearing her NYU hoodie and sipping from a mug that read “I Object To Mornings” in big bold letters. The Holter monitor had come off an hour ago, packed into the return envelope like an exorcised demon.

Alex, however, sat across from her with her laptop open, her glasses perched delicately on her nose, and a PDF pulled up labeled:

HOLTER MONITOR REPORT – CASEY NOVAK

“…You’re frowning,” Casey said, mid-toast bite.

“I’m analyzing,” Alex replied, without looking up.

“You’ve been analyzing for twenty-five minutes.”

“It’s a long report.”

“It says I didn’t die. End of report.”

Alex arched an eyebrow. “It says ‘three short episodes of elevated rhythm between 1:12 a.m. and 2:40 a.m.’ That’s during sleep. You were unconscious and your heart decided to play techno music.”

Casey blinked. “Maybe I was having a really good dream.”

“About what? Running a triathlon inside a haunted library?”

“Okay, I have had that dream. But my heart’s allowed a little flair now and then, right?”

Alex set the mug down and pointed to the screen. “It also says your average heart rate was 101. That’s high. Resting heart rate should be between 60 and 80 unless you’re being chased or about to argue with Barba.”

Casey tried not to laugh and failed. “So basically, my body thinks I’m perpetually dealing with Rafael.”

Casey was now standing beside Alex, leaning in over her shoulder, nibbling toast as she watched her wife do battle with cardiological terminology.

“Can I just say,” Casey said, “you look very hot when you’re defending my cardiovascular system like it’s on trial.”

Alex didn’t look up. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m admiring. You’re… glasses-on, sleeves rolled up, data-wrangling Alex. It’s a whole vibe.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Casey pointed. “What’s that word?”

“‘Sinus arrhythmia.’ It’s benign. But you still had three rhythm fluctuations, and the report clearly states follow-up may be needed if symptoms persist.”

“Are the symptoms me still being hot for my wife?”

Alex pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m scheduling another appointment.”

“Alex—”

“And you’re wearing the Apple Watch. With heart rate alerts enabled.”

“I don’t even know where that thing is.”

“I found it. Charged it. Synced it. Named it.”

“…You named it?”

“AlexNet 3.0.”

Casey blinked. “You named my heart monitor after yourself.”

Alex smiled. “Branding is everything.”

Casey watched as Alex started typing an email.

Alex was at her home office desk, headset in one ear, muted on a call. On her second monitor was a draft email:

To: Dr. Feldstein

Subject: Holter Report – Clarification Needed

Hello Doctor,

I have some follow-up questions regarding my wife’s Holter monitor results, specifically about the nocturnal SVT activity and the potential correlation to elevated average BPM. Please see my attached spreadsheet of timestamps and contextual data points.

Alexandra Cabot

Casey groaned. “You made a spreadsheet?”

Alex nodded. “Of course.”

Casey walked to the kitchen table and put her head down on it. “This is my life now.”

But she wouldn’t have it any other way.