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They checked in, and got two rooms on the eighth floor, and one on 3.
"You ladies take the two on 8. If I should happen to bump into a once or future Mrs. Munch, I may not want to chance running into either of you in the hall. I like my secrets to remain my own."
"Far be it from me to lift the veil of secrecy, Munch."
"Thank you, Olivia. I knew I could count on your discretion. Meet for breakfast?" They entered the elevator, John pressing the buttons needed to take them to their respective floors.
"Sure, meet downstairs about 7:30?" Alex nodded, and with a "see you then," John exited when the lift got to 3. The doors closed, and the elevator resumed its journey up toward 8. Alex sighed as she watched the number indicator above the door.
"Well, here's hoping there are no more surprises tomorrow. I want to get that prisoner and get back to New York."
"Me, too. I didn't plan for an overnight."
"Neither did I. I'm sorry for any inconvenience, Olivia."
"Yeah, but I'm glad I came. It was good to see you in action again. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed that."
"Missed what?"
"Alexandra Cabot, for the people of New York. I love that part."
"Oh, just my job."
"No, not just anything. The people of New York have no idea how lucky they are."
The doors slid open on 8, and the two women got out of the elevator, walking slowly to their rooms: 815 and 812, just diagonal from one another halfway down the hall.
"Alex, wanna have dinner?" They stopped in the hall, Olivia's hand resting on her doorframe, Alex's attention suddenly devoted to the keycard she toyed with in her right hand.
"I don't know, Olivia. I'm not sure I'd be good company. I think I'm going to order room service and just hide out." She turned to the door of 812, reaching to slide in the keycard, then flipping it over to try again after an angry beep and some flashing red lights rebuked her first attempt. "Don't you hate these things?"
"No," Olivia said. "No, Alex."
The door finally opened and Alex pushed it inward as she turned back to Olivia. "Sorry, Detective, I didn't realized you were a vocal proponent of the keycard industry." She chuckled, trying to keep it light, but Olivia wasn't having it. She pushed off her doorframe and took two steps to Alex's door, close enough to touch but not making any contact. She knew instinctively that it would spook her friend, and knew also that it was critical that not be allowed to happen. Not tonight, at any rate.
"I don't need good company." Seeing the attorney's quizzical look, Olivia continued. "Alex, please, don't hide out. Or at least let me hide out with you. Don't be alone tonight, not here in this place."
"I'll be okay, really. You don't have to do this. I know you'd rather slink around that Barnes & Noble Paul mentioned, grab something to read, find a good restaurant." Alex tried to smile. "Really, go on. I'll see you in the morning."
Olivia leaned against the metal frame, while the blonde held the door and tried to ignore the look Olivia was giving her. She'd never had much luck resisting it, but she was determined to try.
"Alex, I hate begging and I don't want to insist. But I saw you in the car this morning. You would hurt yourself to keep this bottled up. You don't have to deal with every damn horrible thing all by yourself. Let me..."
"I can't." Alex cut her off. "I can't put my burdens on you one more time. I won't. This morning, I...thank you for that. But I'll be okay. God knows you have better things to do than be a shoulder for me to cry on one more time."
Olivia looked wounded, her jaw set, though Alex couldn't tell if the muscles she could see clenching under the skin were holding in anger, or tears. She didn't have to wonder long. Olivia took one step back, into the middle of the hall, but never let her eyes leave Alex's.
"A shoulder to cry on?" Olivia repeated, incredulity, anger and sadness making her voice higher, louder than normal. "That's not the phrase I'd have used. I'd have called myself your friend. Goodnight, Counselor."
And she turned quickly back to her own door, sliding the keycard in and out, pressing down on the handle and entering the room without a backward glance, forcibly pushing the slow-closing spring-loaded door behind her.
Alex saw it all, standing there like a fool, until she finally closed her own door. She moved to the bed and sat down heavily, dropping her back and kicking off her shoes. The tears she'd felt earlier were back, and she pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyelids closed, knowing that if they started falling they wouldn't stop. She lay back on the bed, eyes closed and arm thrown over her face. Breathe, just breathe, she willed herself. She whispered her only truth like a mantra: You are Alex Cabot, not Sarah Clarke. You are Alex Cabot. You are Alex Cabot.
She woke abruptly almost two hours later, when she heard a knock at her door. She sat up and could see the shadow of feet in the hall. Another light knock, then Olivia's voice—almost a whisper, it seemed. "Alex, are you there?"
She started to get up, wanted so badly to open that door and take whatever Olivia was offering: comfort, consolation or any other damn thing she'd let Alex have tonight. But she stopped herself, and stayed on the bed, waiting for her to give up. She saw the shadow of the feet move away, and she still waited, still quiet. It must have been 10 minutes later when Alex's phone buzzed, jolting her from her reverie . She reached in her bag and pulled it out to see a text from Olivia.
Pkg at the front desk, a thank you from the People of New York. Goodnight
Alex turned on the desk lamp in the darkened room, and called the front desk.
"Good evening, Ms. Cabot. How can I help you?"
"I'm told a package was left for me?"
"Just a moment, please." The young woman put Alex on hold for less than 20 seconds, but it was too long—her return spared Alex one more second of a Coldplay song she hated. "Ms. Cabot"
"Yes?"
"There is a package. Shall I have someone deliver it to your room?"
"Yes, thank you. I'd appreciate that very much. I'll be in all evening."
A scant five minutes later, she heard a knock, and a man's voice called out, "Porter." Alex exchanged a $5 tip for a small shopping bag from H&M, an hotel stationery envelope on the outside with Alex's name and room number on the front, bold black ink in Olivia's handwriting.
She opened the note, and smiled as she read it:
Just a couple of things since we're sans luggage.
If you don't need it, no worries.
Liv
Inside, she found underwear, a t-shirt and shorts, and a hairbrush, along with another bag from Ann Taylor. This one had a blouse inside, a peacock blue that would match the suit she'd worn that day.
Olivia had known the hotel would have lotion, and shampoo, and a toothbrush. She'd known Alex would have brought makeup and a phone charger with her. And she'd known the fastidious attorney would hate to go to court in the exact same outfit she'd worn the day before, even though almost no-one would notice, and anyone who did would understand. The blue shirt would give her navy suit an entirely new look.
Olivia hadn't left the bag in front of Alex's door, not because it might be stolen, but because she knew that an unattended package, that bane of the post 9/11 world, would scare Alex even more than it would alarm hotel security, especially since the note had obviously not been attached until it was left at the front desk for her.
This unexpected gesture, far more than the sum of its parts and as knowing and tender as any Alex had ever known, proved to be her undoing. Here, in a hotel room in the city where a knock on her door had taken her out of the life of one stranger and dropped her back into her own alien existence, leaving Sarah Clarke behind to once again take up the mantle of Alex Cabot, she finally felt it all. And she finally knew she didn't want to feel it alone.
She stood on legs that were inexplicably shaky, grabbed her keycard and her phone, then her purse for some reason, and turned out the light. She went into the hall and straight across to Olivia's door. But her knocks went unanswered and it occurred to her after a long moment that it was nearly 6:30 and Olivia had probably given up on her, dropping the bag at the front desk on her way out to get dinner.
And suddenly Alex couldn't be by herself. She could no more head back into that empty room than she could pick up her feet and levitate. Munch was out, and she had no idea where Olivia had gone, but the room service plan now seemed a very bad one indeed.