If Nikita or Michael had been there, Alex would have her ass kicked on a daily basis until she got out of this...whatever it was. It was deeper and darker than depression. And it was threatening to consume her. She was not sleeping well by any means, and she hardly ate a thing. She had tried to act as normal as she could around others so they wouldn't worry, but now large amounts of her time were spent alone in her room. Katya wanted for nothing, but Alex wasn't taking care of herself the same way.
She felt like she was going through the motions, every single day. She'd been stuck here for over six months and Birkhoff had died here. That was a harsh reality to face. Nikita or Michael might have understood what she was going through, and they could have grieved together. Maybe she would be better off than she was now. She couldn't really hide anything from Nikita, try as she might. The older woman had seen Alex at her best and her worst.
But here, it was easier to hide. No one really knew Alex, at least not the way Nikita did, so it was easy to pretend she was fine. She had done something similar when she'd been sold into sex trafficking as a girl, at least then she'd had drugs though. When Eames had come by to take Katya, Alex had barely opened the door enough to let the excited dog out. People were probably realizing something was wrong now, but she was too exhausted to deal with it.
Alex frowned and sat up when she heard the knock at the door, mere moments after Katya had gone. "I don't really want to see anyone right now." She called weakly. She was far too pale now, dark circles under her eyes and so thin, even thinner than when Jaime had last paid her a visit. She didn't really want anyone to see her this way.