It was December. That much, Alex is sure of, because she remembers the string of lights twinkling over their heads, the scent of mulled wine replacing the usual tanker of beer. Not just December, but Christmas, then. It had been the first time she'd seen Casey like that; soft, fuzzy around the edges. She remembers, the creases around her eyes, the way her lips lifted with ease into a wide, broad smile. That had been the moment. Up until then, she'd not so much as thought it. Maybe, in moments when the exhaustion and the stress and the frustration had reached some kind of invisible limit, she'd considered wanting to do something to break the tension. She'd wondered if Casey was just as infuriating in the bedroom. Once, fleetingly, and she'd scolded herself for it afterward, for even so much as letting herself think about it. Somewhere, she'd recognised - much in the same way as she had previously, about many colleagues, though all of them had been men - that Casey was vastly attractive and that sleeping with her would not have been ~the worst~ thing she could do, but, unlike many of those men, she hadn't made any move towards it.

Then, and only then, on that cold night in the middle of December (or was it later than that?), watching Casey in a soft-knit sweater, her hair loose, tossing her head back to laugh animatedly at something Fin was saying (or was it John? She couldn't be sure), her laughter rich and warm, had Alex really considered that what she felt for her was something other than basic attraction.

No, she's getting ahead of herself. She'd smiled, punch drunk and filled with the warmth of being surrounded by good friends, and watched Casey, undistractedly, and yes, she might have thought to herself "huh". Yes it might have registered as unexpected. But it hadn't been that instantaneous. It had only been months later that she'd gone back to that night and identified it as the start. Or at least, a part of the start.

They'd become friends. Eventually. It had a finality about it. Surely it had been inevitable, but Alex had been fighting it. They both had. She didn't want to like her; Casey had taken the job that Alex had loved most of all, the position that she'd molded carefully with her own two hands, working for the department whose work was the most important, and she'd shattered it into tiny pieces. Alex wanted to hate her. She wanted to scream at her for not taking better responsibility for her actions, for tainting the unit's title and being the cause of a long string of non-committed prosecutors who let the squad down. She'd been filled with anger when she'd found out Casey had been offered her job back, that she'd be working just down the hall, taking half of Alex's caseload, and no doubt soiling every case she touched.

But then she'd seen her.

Head in her hands, staring down at her desk. She looked nothing like the Casey she'd known in her early days at the DA's office. Nothing like the Casey who had put her would-be murderer behind bars. In her return, she'd clearly sculpted herself a new image. Gone were the garishly coloured sweaters and the ill-fitting suits, the tomboy accessories, the casual ponytail. Her hair was perfectly styled, her clothes tailored and expensive. And yet, here she was, slumped over, defeated, a kid playing grown up in their mother's clothes. A box of meagre belongings sat in the armchair next to her desk, the walls entirely bare. And any argument Alex had maybe wanted to have with her had fizzled and died on her tongue.

They'd started going for coffee. It started as a means to an end, a place to discuss cases that didn't mean sipping on burnt, weak caffeine, or sitting in stuffy offices. It started as an accident, as a "oh, this is where you go for coffee too?" and then it had become routine. Sometimes, eventually, there wasn't even a case file between them. They'd only stay a short while, but it was progress. Friendship. Sort of. They weren't arguing anymore, anyway. Once she'd settled back in, wasn't so anxious to not put a foot wrong, Casey was a decent lawyer. Better than decent, in fact. A lot of her infuriating qualities seemed to disappear into thin air the more Alex got to know her, the more some kind of attraction to her began to build in her stomach. If Casey felt it too, she was good at hiding it, despite the rumours. Alex began to be sure it was a one-way infatuation, and one that she'd never ever be able to make a move on.

The squad, for some reason or other, tended to treat them as separate entities, despite their occasional shared case, despite the fact they interchanged with some frequency, despite the fact they spent a lot of their own working hours together. If Alex was invited out for a beer after work, it was almost a certainty that Casey hadn't been. If Casey was looking into something for them, they saw no need to bother Alex with it. So on and so forth. At first it seemed only coincidental; they went out without Casey because it was Alex who was with them, Alex who had closed the case. They didn't ask Alex about a case Casey was working for them because Alex was busy with a trial. But then it came to a birthday, and Alex was invited and Casey wasn't, and it started to feel like it was being done on purpose somehow.

Alex doesn't remember whose birthday, but she does remember the look on Casey's face when she'd mentioned it, the brief flash of hurt in her eyes that she'd quickly masked with indifference.

"They probably just forgot to mention it," she'd said, weakly, but there was something about the way she started to move things about on her desk, the way she didn't quite meet Alex in the eyes, that betrayed her.

"You're probably right," Alex had agreed, carefully, "we should go together, then."

And if Casey had wanted to argue - and judging from the look of her, she had - perhaps the embarrassment of admitting that she thought she wasn't welcome won out because instead she simply agreed. Privately, Alex was pleased. She also felt like she might need to have a word with Fin - the easiest target - about how childish it was to exclude somebody, as if they were in middle school, but fortunately, showing up together seemed to be enough. The next time, they were both invited.

And then it was December, and Casey was laughing, and Alex was... feeling.

It's easy to ignore it at first. The new year rolls in with its own new wave of busy-ness, their respective caseloads almost doubling seemingly overnight. It's not unheard of; domestic violence, rape, and sexual harassment is often linked to alcohol consumption, and everyone knows the holidays is a bad time for it. Still, in some ways, Alex is grateful for the distraction. Christmas had been stressful in a way that was unexpected, and New Years hadn't been much better. She'd found herself spending extra time at work just to keep busy, relieved when Casey left for Nebraska to spend the holidays with her family. And then feeling guilty for it.

She barely sees her when she gets back, they're both so busy. They share a smile and a "hello" in the hallway, but they don't have time for weekly coffee dates, much less anything else. Alex begins to realise that the dull ache she feels in her chest that she had thought was stress induced, might actually be easier explained as an absence. Put simply: she misses Casey. Whether that is as a friend or as... whatever else she might be developing into, doesn't seem to matter. The point is, she misses her. And once she realises that, she knows she has to do something about it, regardless of whatever else happens.

Still, that's easier said than done, with their caseloads continuing to swamp them both well into January. On the brief occasions that she has time to swing by Casey's office, she's told the redhead isn't in, or can't be disturbed. She tries leaving her messages, but the only times Casey's available, Alex isn't. And that seems to go on for weeks, until cfinally, they're forced together by a case that's too big for either of them to handle alone.

Alex has never liked sharing cases. Prior to sharing SVU with Casey, her only shared cases resulted in her being moved to second chair, with a man taking first, purely because of his gender, not his capabilities. At the start of the previous year, when she'd been asked to share a few cases with Casey, she had been angry. She has her own way of doing things; she isn't good at sharing. And the last thing she wanted was to babysit somebody who had only just come off suspension.

But Casey has more than proved herself since then. Whilst her natural instinct is to be indignant about sharing cases again, there's an undercurrent of excitement at getting to spend time with Casey. Plus, they actually make a pretty good team.

Even sharing a case, though, they have to communicate more by phone - and even then, via secretaries or leaving messages - than actually face to face, whichever one of them is available going to liaise with Olivia and the team, the other one having to catch up afterward. It's a solid week and a half before they meet, in person, at their old favourite coffee shop, to trade notes.

Casey messages to say she's running late, and Alex settles into a table near the window, a coffee in front of her, untouched, her case notes open in her lap. The coffee house is located close enough to the courts to be convenient, but far enough that it isn't overrun by fellow attorneys. In fact, aside from Casey, Alex doesn't think she's ever seen anyone they work with - or oppose - in here. It's busy, though, and Alex is soon lost in the throng of people, drowning the noise of other customers out as she pores through her notes for the umpteenth time. She's so absorbed that she misses Casey's entrance, only noticing she's not alone once the seat opposite her becomes occupied.

Casey's dressed smartly in a thick knit grey cardigan over a white blouse, her black pea-coat discarded neatly over the back of the chair, her hands smoothing out a charcoal colored pencil skirt. She smirks as she meets Alex's eye, and Alex suddenly can't remember the last time they were so close together, even with a table between them.

"Earth to Alex Cabot," Casey teases, folding her hands onto the table top.

"Hey, I didn't hear you come in."

Casey smiles, "yeah, I got that. Do you ever stop working?"

"I barely have the time, lately," Alex admits, wryly, "besides, I was under the impression this was a work meeting."

"It is. A meeting, not a presentation, so you needn't memorise your notes."

God, they've fallen back into this teasing pattern so easily that it takes Alex by surprise. She doesn't remember the last time she had this kind of rhythm with a colleague... or, rather, she does, but she'd also been sleeping with him at the time. She'd never in a million years thought that she and Casey would get to this point and yet... here they are.

"Someone got out of the snarky side of bed this morning," Alex comments, then glances regrettably at her watch, "I've only got a half hour, so shall we get started?"

They win the case. Of course. And the celebratory drinks are only maybe the third or fourth time they've seen each other this year. Alex finds herself spending much of the night watching Casey in her peripheral vision. She isn't so soft around the edges tonight, not like at Christmas. She's jittery, insists she can't stay long, but somehow winds up there until the last people leave. They both do, because Alex can't quite force herself to leave before Casey does.

Eventually, her conversation partner - Amaro, who has spent much of the night telling her about his wife and daughter, and she's spent much of it nodding along, pretending not to be distracted - decides its time to leave, and Alex is left with very little excuse to stay. She glances at the bar, and can't see Casey anymore, frowning as she realises she must have not noticed her leave. Alex sighs. It shouldn't matter, but she still feels sort of disappointed. She'd thought that Casey would at the very least come over and say goodbye... but then, they're grown adults, and Casey owes her nothing, so Alex decides she ought to just let it go.

Until Casey sits herself down on the bar stool directly opposite her, that is.

"What happened to 'just a quick one'?" Alex asks, playfully, eyeing the bottle of beer Casey has just set in front of her.

"I think we both deserve to let our hair down a little," Casey answers, looking just a little bit sheepish, "besides, I've missed this. I feel like it's been the longest time since we all had something to celebrate."

"It's only February. New Years was what, a month ago?"

Casey rolls her eyes, picking absently at the label of her bottle, "if you had time to celebrate the new year, then I didn't notice because I was too busy. It feels like forever since we just relaxed. All of us."

Alex might have thought for a second that they were on the same page, but that final sentence confirms that they aren't anything other than friends. Part of a team. Alcohol makes that disappointment feel heavier than it should, but Alex tries to ignore it. She's been doing that a lot, lately.

"It is nice to be back here," she admits, instead, choosing her words carefully, "it's nice to catch up with everybody. Which sounds stupid because we live in eachother's pockets most of the time but..."

"...but, we never have time to talk about anything even remotely personal," Casey finishes, for her.

Alex swallows. Casey may not know it, but she's hit the nail a little too hard on the head.

"Did you know Fin's son got engaged?" Casey says, smiling.

"I did, actually. It's fantastic news."

With little else left to say on the subject, Casey returns to peeling her beer label. What was it that people used to say about that? That doing that was a sign of sexual frustration? As far as Alex is concerned, it's little more than a sign of awkward silence, a silence which feels like it's killing her after hours of making small talk with Detective Amaro. The only person in the room that she'd actually wanted to converse with, and now that she's finally sitting opposite her, neither of them have anything to say.

"I heard that—"

"How was—"

They laugh, both cutting off at the same time. It feels like they're both trying too hard, and that makes Alex feel particularly sad. Conversation had never been like this between them before, why had it suddenly started now? What, they couldn't even make small talk anymore? Alex sighs, pushing her glasses up into her hair and pinching the bridge of her nose, though she's still smiling, albeit faintly.

"Why do you look like you're working on a particularly hard pile of paperwork, not sitting down to a chat with a colleague?"

She looks up at Casey and the smile falters completely, "what do you mean by that?"

"I just... you seem stressed, Alex. And I don't quite understand why. I thought you wanted to talk to me. You've been watching me all night, so I assumed..." she trails off, her attention fixed to the white pulp left behind by the sticker on her bottle. She scratches at it with her thumbnail, as Alex feels her cheeks turn pink.

So, she'd noticed Alex staring. At least she isn't acting weird about it. Well, as much as Casey ever acted weird, maybe. Alex mulls over her words. She had been watching her, but what was it she wanted to say? What could she say that wouldn't make her sound vulnerable, a feeling Alex Cabot never liked to admit she was capable of. If she could help it, she liked for people to not realise she had feelings at all.

"Case..." she starts, but her voice already sounds too soft, and she's almost grateful when she's immediately cut off by Fin calling them over from the corner booth.

Casey gives her a look that she reads as meaning 'we'll talk later', and they both move back to where the rest of the team - those who are left - are sitting. If it's coincidental that they both automatically sit as far away from each other as possible, it's probably better that way.

They fall back into the swing of things as soon as their schedules aren't quite so fit to bursting, but they never do talk about that night. It's probably better that way, Alex decides, still unsure of what explanation she could possibly offer.

They go for coffee meetings, and share take out, talking about cases whilst picking over Thai food. They bump into each other on the way into the building, one following the other into their office and spending ten minutes talking over a case, or asking for advice. Soon, they don't even need that as an excuse to spend time together. Alex begins to spend almost as much time in Casey's office as she does her own. It's nice, in a way that she isn't used to, to have a close friend who she sees almost every day.

Of course, they bicker, too. Mostly over stupid things, like whose turn it is to choose a take out place, or whether or not one of their colleagues is sleeping with another one. Occasionally, they have real arguments, but never anything serious. Nothing a cup of coffee and an apology can't fix. A danish if it's really serious.

"It's good to see you two getting along so well," John Munch comments, one evening where they've all been working their asses off and the end of the day is nowhere in sight.

It takes Alex a moment to realise what - who - he means, and then she can't stop herself from glancing over in the redhead's direction, albeit across the other side of the squad room.

John gives her one of those knowing smiles of his. It's another conspiracy to him. Or maybe it's all his years as a detective that allows him to see what other people can't.

Then again, there's not really anything to see.

"I think we are doing a competent job at keeping all of you in line," Alex responds, teasing her old friend.

He seems to study her for a moment, before deciding what expression to fix to his face. In the end, it's neutral.

"You know, a lot of us weren't so sure about her coming back, much less when the alternative was having you full time. But she's more than proved herself. You two make a surprisingly good team."

"Well, she's an excellent lawyer."

John smiles, "oh yes, you two have that in common."

"It's rare to find somebody who is as passionate about the victims, and as determined as she is to reach justice. It's a lot of... only trying cases which have good odds lately. The DA's office is becoming more and more about statistics, not empathy."

"Yes. You have that in common, too," John agrees. He looks up, and over her shoulder. It's the look on his face - somewhat conspiratorial, somewhat teasing - that tells Alex who has crossed the room to stand behind her, even before she has a chance to turn and look for herself.

"Are we about done here?" Casey asks, smiling at Alex, her eyes soft, seemingly unawares of John's expression.

"I think so, yes."

"I wish I could say the same for us," Cragen interjects, appearing from his office, "I think it's going to be a long night. Keep your cellphones by your beds, ladies."

"Always," Alex comments, wryly, sharing a look with her fellow ADA.

They pack away their notes, find their jackets from where they've been strewn over chairs, and walk out of the station together, though silently. Casey is quickly typing something into her phone, and Alex doesn't see fit to disturb her, until they almost collide when Casey suddenly draws to a halt in the neck of the car lot.

"Shit, sorry."

Alex laughs, "it's okay. Everything alright?"

Knitting her eyebrows together, Casey types some more into her phone, then stuffs it into the pocket of her navy jacket. "Family," she offers as the only explanation.

They had travelled together, so it makes sense for them to travel back to the courthouse together, too, rather than Alex making Casey take a cab. They find her sedan, and quickly settle in, Alex throwing her attaché onto the backseat, and Casey's laptop case quickly joining it. Before Alex has even started the car, Casey is back to typing feverishly into her cellphone. Alex leaves her to it, knowing all too well how frustrating family members can be, even if she barely has any of her own these days.

"You'd think, at my age, my mother wouldn't continue to be up my ass about finding me a husband, but no, she's worse than ever," Casey grumbles, tossing her phone into her lap angrily.

Alex rolls her eyes, looking at her for a second before returning her gaze to the road, "yeah, that's a part of having a mother that I don't miss."

"All my siblings are celebrating anniversaries and popping out babies and they just don't understand how I could possibly not want to do the same. As if me putting my career first is brand new information to them. You know, I think they actually celebrated when I was suspended. They thought I might finally be forced to settle down. I'm so tired of them trying to force me into this little cookie cutter shape of what they believe a woman should be. It's bad enough getting it in the court room - 'Miss Novak, I don't tolerate pant suits in my court room, please wear a skirt tomorrow' and all that bullshit - but to have it at home as well... as if I didn't move out fifteen years ago."

Alex nods, but there isn't much she can add to the situation. Often, Casey just needs someone to rant to, and she gets that better than most people. But when it's obvious Casey has finished - and she's back stabbing at her phone - Alex makes a decision.

"You need a drink," she says, flicking her turn signal on and moving lanes.

"I do. I really do," Casey agrees, and Alex continues driving in the other direction from the DA's office, and towards one of her favourite little bars.

They settle in at a table in the corner, Casey with a tumbler of whiskey, Alex with her token glass of red. Their cellphones are sat on the table top, both of them aware that Cragen could call them in any second. It's the first time they've gone for a drink together, just the two of them, and though that's hardly a notable milestone, Alex feels it buzzing through her like electricity. They're sitting close, their legs just barely touching under the table, and she's taken back to that night in December all over again.

She shakes it off.

They've been sitting in a comfortable silence for a little while when Casey suddenly says: "Did I ever tell you I was engaged once?"

Alex shakes her head.

"Well, I was. I was at law school, and I met this boy who... seemed like absolutely everything to me at the time. He seemed perfect," she frowns, "we dated a while and when he proposed I thought it was the best thing that could ever happen to me. My parents were ecstatic. I don't think they've ever forgiven me for breaking it off."

There's something sad in Casey's eyes, and Alex wants to touch her, but doesn't. She wants to ask what happened, but she doesn't. She's not sure why. It just doesn't seem like the right thing to ask.

"I was engaged," Alex says, after a beat, "I've been engaged twice, actually. Once in law school, but I broke it off because I wanted to concentrate on work and I wasn't sure I was really in love with him, maybe just besotted. And then, when I came back from WITSEC and I wasn't sure who I was... well, that was definitely a mistake. I think I jumped into it in the hopes that it would give me back some kind of identity. Like being a wife would feel more comfortable than being somebody who didn't quite know who she was anymore."

Casey looks at her, eyes flicking away for a second then returning, her gaze searching. Eventually, after what feels like forever but can't be more than thirty seconds, she reaches across the table and puts her hand over Alex's.

"I'm glad you didn't marry him," she says, and Alex doesn't question which him, just nods, feeling like her heart is about to break free of her chest.

Between them, just inches away from their joined hands, a cellphone starts to ring, and Casey pulls away to pick it up. Alex misses the contact immediately, slowly withdrawing her own hand into her lap.

"Captain, what can we do for you?" Casey says into the phone, and they both know the moment is over.