Hello . . . I'm back! I'm terribly sorry for the unacceptable delay. This school year just got soooo completely busy. But, now that summer is finally here, I hope to update very, very frequently :-) Remember, reviewing helps my creative juices flow . . .
Later that afternoon, Alex was finishing up some paperwork in her office before her 3:30 court appearance. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until a rather perturbed looking Liz Donnelly knocked on her door.
"Alex, what the hell are you thinking, arresting John Malcolm?" Liz shot, "You have no evidence, a search hasn't even been conducted –"
"Excuse me?" Alex could only muster. She'd been dealing with the worst headache all day, and did not want to now deal with Liz's rage.
"Look, I don't want to hear it," Liz finished, "There's nothing we can do now. You and Casey just better win this one…" With that, Liz turned on her heels and walked away, obviously none too thrilled.
Alex stormed into the precinct, beyond furious at what just happened. She eyed her targets and locked in, ready to let it rip.
"Liv, Elliot, can I see you in the hallway, please?" Though Alex was controlled and not outwardly angry, the two detectives knew that, whatever they did, they were in for it.
"Would the two of you like to explain to me why John Malcolm was arrested?" Alex spit, "I specifically told you to wait until after you executed the search warrant…"
"Wait a minute, you gave us the go-ahead," Elliot began, then the realization hit him, "And, no you didn't . . . "
Alex then had a realization that she was yelling at the wrong people.
"That fucking bitch," she whispered under her breath, "Sorry guys; either of you know where Casey is?"
"I think that's her coming in now," Olivia noted.
Alex left without another word, obviously intent and on a mission. She noticed a wrenching queasy feeling in her stomach, attributing it to how royally pissed she felt. Though the situation would have upset her anyway, the massive headache, and now queasy feeling, only amplified her aggravation.
"Liv, I know you're not a prayer person, but you might want to make an exception," Elliot joked, "Because God is about the only thing that can save Casey now!"
"Casey, interrogation 1," Alex shot, "Now."
As Alex left little room for negotiation, Casey followed Alex into interrogation, though she was fully intent on holding her own. Both knew one thing: there was a huge fight coming, and they would not be the one to lose.
"What the fuck?" Alex began with, "Look, I get that this partnership sucks, but I thought that even you cared more about judicial conduct than –"
"'Judicial conduct?" Casey interrupted, "Why don't we talk to Mrs. Cavanaugh about 'judicial conduct . . ."
As soon as she said it, Casey knew she'd gone way, way, way too far. The look on Alex's face, and the way she left the room without even attempting a comeback, only solidified the guilty lump forming in Casey's throat. Despite what everyone says, winning doesn't always taste sweet . . .
After the first five or six calls, Alex's phone went straight to voicemail. Casey desperately wanted to apologize. Finally, the realization struck her that if she wanted to return to some semblance of civility, if she wanted ever to be in Alex's presence without being murdered, she would need to gloss things over in person. Luckily, Casey's photographic memory allowed her to make her way to Alex's apartment without any assistance from her phone, though unluckily, no one answered the door. She noticed a light on and the faint sound of a radio, though, so she refused to give up.
"Look, Alex, I know you're in there," she began, and after a long silence, continued, "I can be just as stubborn as you. Hell, I'll sit here all night if need be. All night . . ."
Finally, out of sheer aggravation, Alex opened the door.
"Can you please just go away," Alex pleaded angrily, "I will call the police . . ."
"Please just hear me out," Casey interrupted, "I feel terrible about what I said - "
"As you should," Alex shot, "You know nothing about Sam Cavanaugh, nothing about me, so where you get off judging –"
Suddenly, Alex darted off, leaving her apartment door open. Casey saw her enter the bathroom, and took the opportunity to step inside the apartment. A few moments later, Alex returned, her game face back on. Casey then noticed, though, how pale the blonde was (unusually so even for her alabaster tone). She had the urge to ask if she was ok, but quickly stifled it; now would not be a good time to insinuate that Alex looked unwell.
"Now, if you'll please excuse me," Alex continued angrily, gesturing to the door, "I'd appreciate it if you'd allow me to –" but before she could finish, Alex again made a mad dash for the restroom. Now closer to the door, Casey distinctly heard the sounds of vomiting.
"Alex, you alright?" At this point, Casey assumed it safe to ask.
"No, I'm not alright," Alex angrily answered, re-emerging from the bathroom, "You're harassing me in my own apartment, the disgusting food in the court-house apparently gave me food poisoning, and on top of that I need to figure out a way to salvage this case you destroyed!"
Casey almost angrily shot back about the case but checked her emotions. Instead, she quickly felt the blonde's forehead, much to Alex's shock.
"I don't think it's just food poisoning," Casey replied, "You're burning up."
"Excuse me if I don't trust your wealth of medical expertise," Alex spit.
"I was a bio-chem major on the pre-med track," Casey calmly retorted, "I'm not Doc Warner, but I certainly know food poisoning doesn't elevate body temperature this much."
"Oh my God, you don't think I got some weird exotic disease from the Congo, do you?" Alex panicked; she had always been a bit of a hypochondriac. Though she wanted to be absolutely furious and continue trying to get Casey out of her apartment, her anxiety trumped her anger.
"I sincerely doubt it," Casey comforted, "You've been home for practically three weeks; most viruses have no more than a ten day intubation period. Still, though, you should probably take your temperature. Where's your thermometer?"
"I don't have one," Alex answered, "I never run fevers; my body temperature tends to run low."
"Why does that not surprise me," Casey muttered under her breath. Alex heard, but was no longer feeling up to fighting, "Do you at least have some Advil?"
"Probably in the cupboard above the sink," Alex answered. She went to lie on the couch, now too exhausted to even care that Casey was in her apartment.
Sure enough, the cupboard above the sink contained a bottle of ibuprofen, but it was entirely empty.
"You're all out," Casey continued, "Want me to run and grab a few things at the drug store? It's the least I could do . . ."
"Absolutely not!" Alex tried to sit up and fight more vehemently, but dizziness overcame her, "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and even if I weren't, I certainly don't need any help from you!"
"Very well," Casey contrived, "I'll just call Cragen over to make sure you're all set."
That certainly got Alex's attention. Alex's father left when she was very young, and everyone, including Casey even, knew that Cragen and Alex were close like father and daughter. Though he protected all of his detectives, he always took particular care to ensure Alex's safety and health; it was no secret Alex still possessed his prized, single-shot revolver. Alex's main concern, though, involved his tendency to insist on hospital stays; Alex had several phobias, but none terrified her as much as hospitals.
"Fine," Alex relented, "If you absolutely insist, there's a drug store on the corner."
Casey's guilt led her to go a bit overboard. Within twenty minutes, she returned with a digital thermometer, Advil, Aleve, and Tylenol so Alex could choose, some all-natural chicken broth, some Theraflu in case of a sore throat, and some Nyquil. Even in that short time, though, Alex felt much worse. Not only did her stomach feel like it was about to explode, but her head and her entire body ached. She could hardly recall ever feeling so lousy.
"Jeez, Alex, your temperature's 102," Casey read the thermometer then laid out the medicines, "I wasn't sure which you preferred . . ."
"Advil's fine," Alex barely mustered, taking two liquid-gels.
At this point, Alex felt too weak and exhausted to care that she was supposed to be mad at Casey; Casey now simply worried about her co-worker's well-being, even if she usually wanted to rip her head off. While Casey went to heat some soup, Alex flicked on the television and tried to use the background noise of it to help her relax and possibly even doze off to sleep.
"Seriously, you watch Dance Moms?" Casey asked in disbelief as she returned with soup and toast.
"Hey, it is the most fantastic shit-show on television," Alex vehemently defended (well, as vehemently as her ill state allowed), "The moms are absolutely ridiculous! I'm a bit obsessed . . ."
"Don't get me wrong, I'm obsessed with the show, too," Casey laughed, "I'm just surprised Alexandra Cabot watches reality television. I would've expected Masterpiece Theatre on PBS or something like that."
"That's not on till 8:00, silly!" Alex replied, obviously becoming loopier and loopier from the fever, "They're playing part two of Great Expectations tonight!"
"Oh boy, I'll make sure to program my TiVo," Casey laughed sarcastically under her breath, "Now, here, you should really try to eat something.
Alex slowly made her way through some of the food then once again lay down. Even though she wrapped herself in a blanket, she could not stop shivering, though she didn't feel cold per say.
"Why the hell are you being so nice to me?" Alex whispered, practically asleep, "I was absolutely horrible to you."
"You were upset," Casey responded, absolutely shocked that she was getting what, for Alex Cabot, just might be called an apology, "And I really shouldn't have gotten the arrest warrant without talking –."
"No, not about today," Alex continued, though out of it and somewhat incoherent because of the fever, "I mean way back when we first met, that comment I made about you being ready. You didn't exactly wheel out the welcome wagon, either, but most of our issues stem from me acting like a petulant five-year old towards you since then."
Casey knew that Alex would say this only under the influence of a high fever, but she felt touched all the same. She was about to respond and apologize for her own negative attitude when she noticed Alex completely and utterly asleep. The sight of Alexandra "Ice-Queen" Cabot sleeping completely amused Casey; she looked so peaceful and not scary for a change. The red-head quietly covered the blonde with a wool blanket that hung over the side of the couch, turned the television off, and quietly made her way out of the apartment, intent on calling her soon to make sure Alex stayed stable.
So, thanks for reading! You know you want to press that review button, it's just so pretty . . . Anyway, I've set a new goal for myself of updating both of my stories at least once a week for the rest of the summer. Your reviews will (in all seriousness) help keep me honest and give me inspiration to update!