an: There are three things I'd like to say. One, I'm very angry that FF has deleted all the docs I had saved. Two, I have not updated in a while because I have not had anyone to brain storm with, and that is something I need. Three, I'm unsure of this little oneshot's quality, but I do like it. It's pointless A/C fluff. I'm not crazy about the title, but I couldn't think of one that fit better. :( If you have anything to say, please review.
Disclaimer: I do not own "Blue Velvet" or "Twilight Time", nor do I own Casey Novak or Alex Cabot. Also, I don't have a beta so expect mistakes.
She's careful as she walks down the stairs in the pencil skirt that hugs her hips in just the right way. She's delicate like this every morning, her high-heels softly making contact with the hardwood floor at the bottom of the steps. And every morning, you can still hear her. You wake up to an open bedroom door and the lingering scent of her strong perfume. A silent invitation you never accept. Then comes the clicking of her heels, followed by the strong aroma of vanilla coffee – her favorite. The final note is the hesitance you think you can hear in her steps as she leaves. She starts her car, and you can hear that damn engine all the way down the street. That sound used to be the thing you looked forward to every night; my baby's home, you'd think. The sound only makes you sad now.
You're almost relieved each morning she leaves, and you don't know when you started looking forward to being alone, but you do. The house you share has been the first place to ever feel like home and it doesn't take long for you to realize it's only because of her. Without her, this house is not a home. But you find being alone easier than walking on eggshells around her.
What exactly went wrong? You can't answer that question because it hadn't been one thing or one specific time. If you had to guess, you would say it was a series of mismatch schedules and stress-induced fights, and maybe the inability to admit to being wrong. Sometimes, when she's gone out of her way to avoid you, you don't blame her. Others, you resent her. You resent her because she has shutdown on you. Shut you out. Given up. And that's not at all fair to you. In all the years you've known her, you know Casey Novak does not simply give up. But you find yourself wondering if you've really known her at all.
You fell in love with a woman who made your heart melt when she said your name. Who was both the same as you and still your polar opposite. Who loved you when you were mean and kissed you when you were sad. Who wore pearls the day after she told you how much she despised them, because you said you loved them. You fell in love with a woman who was not afraid to die for you. And now, this woman that you love, looks at you with Bette Davis eyes as though you're unworthy of her time. It isn't so one-sided though, you'll admit to that. There have been plenty of times that you've hurt her. And much worse. After all, they don't call you cruel for nothing.
Still, and often, you think of the day you first saw her, really saw her. It was a charity event of sorts, not really her thing. She had never said that, but you attended several events and you know that was the first you had seen her at one. You know because you had never been speechless at a gala like you had been when she walked up to you. You had been the only familiar face for her, and she, with her long hair and hoop earrings, had been the only face you could focus on. She talked to you as if you were a close friend, dishing on some of the other lawyers and their dates. And you stared at her lips whenever her dark eyes glanced across the room, and the silver cross that hung around her neck when you thought she wasn't looking. To this day, you have no idea what she had been saying. You only know the melody of her voice that evening. Your favorite part of that night though was when she suggested the two of you alone on the rooftop. So you sat on the ledge of a very tall building, not at all afraid to look down, and she walked to you, drink in hand and hips swaying.
You could see the vodka gloss in her eyes, the same one that made your own eyes water. She sat beside you and asked, "what's the thing you want most in life?" and it had thrown you so far off course you couldn't figure out how to get back. You had plans, a set list of aspirations you were proudly checking off one by one. But somehow, you knew that wasn't what she meant. When you found your feet again, however tipsy they were, you found your answer too,"The thing I want most in life, right now... is you."
She had been smug when she rendered you speechless, and then it became your turn to take back the control you normally had. Head tilted, she was smiling to herself and staring at anything but you.
"Are you feeling good now?" You had asked, knowing the last of her martini was long gone. She responded with a simple "yeah", and finally looked at you. She let you kiss her, and you remember the cool silver of her earring against your cheek when you kissed her neck. And the way her breath hitched every time your lips grazed somewhere new. You remember that she had called you 'tiger' afterward and then laughed at herself, and you wish you had that moment recorded because that was something you never wanted to forget. The way her eyes lit up and how pretty she was when she smiled at you.
Before that night, she was merely another lawyer working in the DA's office. Another lawyer you had noticed once or twice, consulted on cases a few more times, and forgot about at the end of each day. You thought her voice reminded you of poprocks and soda until weeks later when you had heard her humming Blue Velvet. Suddenly her voice was honey and you were asking her to dinner. And she responded by asking what took you so damn long.
You knew you loved her the night she let you drive her Jetta. You were doing ninety down a back road outside of the city and she was experiencing her sunroof as a passenger for the first time. She had her hands out, palms against the wind and was staring at the stars. She turned to you and said you were the bestest and you decided then that you would always love her and the odd things she said.
You pulled off to the side of the road and told her she needed to drive because you were lost. When the two of you met in front of the car, you didn't let her pass. You pushed her on the hood instead, and she sat there, confused, as you stared at her and fought to find your words. When you finally did say those three little words, she pulled you close and you could have sworn you felt her smile into the crook of your neck. She whispered the same three words back to you, and remembering this now only reminds you of how long its been since she's said anything at all to you.
...
It's nearing 8pm when you finally hear the roar of the Jetta down the street. It isn't long before you hear the familiar sounds that follow; the door unlocking, heels against hardwood, the keys thrown in the bowl and the humming. You can see her from the living room – your office away from the office – and she's wearing those same silver hoop earrings, making tea to unwind. And within seconds, she's humming Twilight Time.
You set down the pen you've been fiddling with all night and close your laptop, thinking if you don't touch her now you never will again. You think she's enticing and for a while, you simply watch her. You quickly lose your chance when she turns around, catching you looking entirely too guilty.
"Did you remember to take out the trash? Tomorrow's trash day." She says softly before turning back to the counter. She's pouring honey in her tea and when you don't respond, she turns back to you, licking the bit of honey off her fingertip. "Alex?"
In your favorite pajama shorts and her Yankees t-shirt, you step into her and ask, "What's the thing you want most in life?"
Her reaction isnt the one you expect. You can't say for sure what you thought she might say or do, but you know sad eyes are not something you desired. She looks around the kitchen, spotting your coffee mess and smiles at it. When she finally meets your blue eyes, she is still smiling, but you can see she is close to crying.
"I missed you." She says and looks down at her deep blue pumps and your ridiculous socks. "I've missed you a lot."
Your only response is to lean into her, to breathe her in and remind her that you haven't gone anywhere. You run your fingers through her copper hair, still long and soft. And the kiss you give her is both your apology and your forgiveness. It's months of tension and heartache, and there is nothing soft about it.
"Do you know why I love you?" You ask, and you can't say it doesn't hurt when she shakes her head no. "Because you're a walking radio. You sing or hum us a soundtrack no matter where we are or what we're doing. Because you whisk me away in your fast car at all the right times. And you wear pearls, just for me."
She nods and laughs. "Only for you. They're so ugly, Alex."
"Honey, you make them pretty." You smile when she tilts her head. "You're my dream girl."
She bites her lip and you can't seem to keep your hands off of her. You say you're making up for lost time, but the idea of never doing this again, never touching her again, makes you never want to let her go. And as she runs her hands along your arms, you're reassured she feels the same. Through a softer kiss, you say you wish you had done this sooner.
"Better late than never." She tells you without missing a beat. She has a gleam in her green eyes, one you haven't seen in a long time. "Take me to bed, tiger."
You yank her from the counter, and she laughs at your eagerness. She stops you halfway up the stairs. You're two steps ahead of her, looking down at her and hoping she isn't going to make things more difficult than they need to be. That's typically your job.
She smirks at you, those Bette Davis eyes looking up at you in an entirely new way. "The thing I want most in this world," She says, "is you."