"You're still here?"
Casey has no idea what the time is. For the past week or so, it's felt like she never leaves the office, the amount of time she spends at home becoming less and less until she wonders why she even bothers leaving work. Would Jack McCoy fire her if he found her curled up on her couch with a blanket one night? It would save her money in cab fares and subway tickets.
She looks up at Alex and winces. She's spent so much time staring at her computer screen, and then at scrawled notes, and back and forth again, that her vision has gone blurry and she could probably stand to borrow the elegant black-rimmed glasses that are perched on the blonde's nose like always. At some point, her office got dark, and she hadn't even noticed to turn on a lamp.
"I'm still here," she confirms, lamely, "are you heading out?"
She realises how stupid a question that is as soon as it leaves her mouth, a quick glance downwards telling her that of course Alex is heading home; she's wearing her coat, and her attaché is in her hand, her car keys dangling from her fingers. Casey would blame it on being tired, but the frequency with which stupid questions leave her mouth when Alex is involved would prove it a lie. She'd rather not perjure herself.
"About to, yes. I think if I spend a second longer in this building I might combust," she pauses, frowning, "you ought to think about doing the same."
It's a sensible suggestion, and Casey does feel a little like she's been caught with her hand in the cookie-jar, embarrassed to be being told off for staying late. Still, something within her complains at the thought of leaving. It isn't even really that her workload doesn't permit it... she's not sure exactly what it is, except maybe that her cold, empty apartment doesn't exactly sound appealing.
Still, walking to the parking lot with Alex, holding a conversation if only for a few minutes, maybe avoiding heading home so late that it's practically morning by the time she gets into bed...
"You're right," she says, pushing away from her desk before she can talk herself out of it, "I'm going to call it a night now, too."
Alex opens her mouth to speak but before words can form, the whirring of Casey's fax machine interrupts her. They both frown at the sudden noise, Casey halfway through putting her coat on, and Alex still leaning in her doorway.
"Good to know somebody else, somewhere, is working late too," Casey comments, absentmindedly heading over to the machine where it lives in the corner. Between email and cell phone technology being what it is, the fax machine is nowhere near as busy as it once was. In fact, Casey can't remember the last time something came through her machine, though her secretary every so often still brought freshly printed pages to her.
"Don't let it trick you into staying," Alex warns, "see you tomorrow, Case."
So much for walking together, Casey thinks as she watches Alex's retreating form. She bends to slide the sheet of paper out of the fax machine, debating whether to leave it until tomorrow or take a peek now, just in case it's something important. On the one hand, it's out of office hours and she could definitely get away with pretending she hasn't seen it until morning. On the other, with Alex gone, there are less and less reasons for her to leave right away. This could be the distraction she needs to keep her in the office a little longer.
With a sigh, she flips the printed page over, angling it under her desk lamp so she can actually read the damn thing. The print is tiny, and there's no cover sheet info to tell her who it's from. Maybe a wrong number, then? She reads through it, anyway, recognising a passage from the Old Testament as soon as she's read past the first line. Either a wrong number, or a prank, she decides, balling the print out up and throwing it into the trash.
Maybe if she walks fast enough, she can catch Alex up.
