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hiiii love your writing to the moon and back !! i was wondering what your take was on some cassie angst + comfort. a little bit like reader is all over cassie in the er, her crush is very very clear, but cassie is overwhelmed and the only way she can handle her emotions is to shut her down— i mean after all, she has a kid, the ankle monitor, she thinks she’s too much to handle. maybe makes a jab at readers age??
but it’s yours to pick and choose from. even if u don’t write it ty for reading my thoughts <3🙂↕️
✉️ there isn't much comfort included but that's cause I wrote more than I originally anticipated for the build-up! I hope that this is still what u were looking for, nonie, cause this is for uuuuu <3 thank u for the kind words, I absolutely adore u & I hope u have the greatest night/day/afternoon ever! kisses
demure! situationship!cassie & reader, hotshot!reader, medical inaccuracies, mentions of a stab wound, age gap (cassie is 42 & reader is early 20's), mentions of a restraining order, NOT PROOFREAD wc 3.7k
The first word people would tend to describe Cassie as is patient.
She’d heard it many times. From Robby, when it came to family members of patients who needed to be handled. As a steady hand and voice that was calm enough to soothe worries. From Harrison’s friends’ parents, whenever the kids would have rambunctious playdates in her apartment. Because demanding children can be so focused on whatever task they were doing, but Cassie had the ability to catch and slow them down. With med students, angry patients, her parents, even with Chloe (at first), Cassie was always recognized for tolerance. Composure. Forbearance– She’d heard it all.
She didn’t necessarily agree, though.
Surface level, maybe Cassie was patient. Perhaps she knew the right things to say and the body language that would indicate if a person was about to act out, could mentally prepare herself, and match sentences to reactions to ease both herself and whoever she was with. It stemmed from motherhood, she assumed. Fretting over the thing she loved most in the world and simultaneously lasering in and onto herself to make sure she didn’t mess her kid up too badly. Motherhood was a joy, even if it was unexpected. The course of her life jerked abruptly in right angles from substance abuse to pregnancy to a fascination with the way things worked in rehab to becoming a doctor.
Her so-called patience, which she was recognized for throughout her workplace, had been well-earned. With late-night wailing and the initial aches and pressure (much worse than those two words could ever amount to) of withdrawal. With the murmuring jabs that followed her after she returned to school, debating what a woman her age was trying to accomplish so late in life. People were too competitive in the medical field now. That had been an irritating fact that had taken a while to build a resistance toward. Like Chad’s new girlfriend. Chloe. Cassie had to give him props, honestly, they’d been dating for almost a year and a half before he asked to introduce her to Harrison (was that too early? Too late? What was the right way to co-parent?). Cassie had tried to be open-minded. At least, until she saw that the girl was 23-years-old. Annoyingly obsessed over Cassie’s ex and apparently hyperfixated on motherhood.
It was the first time Cassie had let her patience wear thin enough to break–when Chloe had taken Harrison to her apartment without Cassie knowing for an entire weekend. Unaware of where he was and if he was hurt, was enough to push her over the edge. And it had ended with an ankle monitor for an 80-day trial and what eventually would become a restraining order.
Cassie had vowed that she would never be stupid enough to build a kind of relationship like that with someone young. Not after seeing how obsessive and stupid young adults can be in their early twenties. Not that she was trying to discriminate or anything, but she didn’t want to lose focus on what was actually important. Which was that patience. Understanding.
At least, until she met you.
You were a whirlwind of a med student.
Had a high zest for life in the way only young people did. Was always asking questions and jumping into things headfirst the second a resident or attending looked your way. Which was a good thing, in terms of the job–a means of more experience and a kind of jarring enthusiasm or confidence or whatever you were calling it (you had different words to describe things every day, it was almost impressive). But it also meant you hardly thought about consequences. You rivaled Harrison with energy, moving so quickly through the ED that Cassie wasn’t sure how you hadn’t run into someone and toppled over yet. Smiled so widely and laughed so loudly that you were a favorite with patients. It was how you’d ended up working with her at first: her, with her patience, and you, with your infectious zeal.
Robby also mentioned to Cassie that he hoped she would calm you down a little, but that wasn’t the point. Because instead, you knocked her entire orbit off its axis. You just came with a high, was the only way she could describe it. Listening to the words that spilled from your lips at a million miles a second with jerky movements while double-tasking with whatever medical procedure you were knuckle deep in. It drove Garcia nuts, but Cassie could only watch transfixed.
An excitement in her life. Something to look forward to when things seemed too depressing and dull to push through with focus.
You stuck to Cassie more than anyone else. Trailed after her and talked her ear off in a way that would usually have her patience stretching like you were testing tensile strength on a polymer. Testing, pushing, teasing, and doing it all while smiling.
Before Cassie knew it, things felt empty when you weren’t around.
Which was bad. It was the exact opposite of what she’d promised herself would never happen.
“Coming through!” you squeal, twirling around a gurney being pushed in by a pair of paramedics to get to the second one rolling in. Squeezing between Robby and Whitaker, simultaneously hitting the younger man in the face with one of your gloves as you rush right next to Cassie’s side. There’s a sharp bark of your name from Robby as Al-Hashimi comes to supervise yours and Cassie’s work on the other side, as the squeaky little wheels turn and sputter right into one of the trauma bays.
And Robby’s sticking his head back around for a split second with another prickly utterance of your last name: “Come get in on this one.” But you’re shaking your head, already snatching the EFAST from Jesse.
“Nope,” you hum, and Cassie can practically see the way you’re trembling with energy. “All good here, Rob, thanks for the concern.” When your eyes dart to hers briefly before redirecting to the screen as you control the ultrasound, something tugs in her chest at the slight smile that reaches your mouth.
Focus.
Cassie forces herself to look away from your face, back to the patient. Back to the present and to reality that she so often forgot when you were involved. The one with the 23-year-old male with the singular stab wound in the left upper quadrant. Found outside a bar approximately ten minutes ago. No weapon on scene. Hypotensive en route with the pressure now dropped to eighty systolic. “Sir, what’s your name?” Cassie asks, watching the way you handle the equipment, how you keep looking to her for tiny reassuring glances. By the third one, when the man has given his name, Cassie has to give you a little nod to direct your attention back to the patient (as well).
That was the other problem: you distracted her, but she made you feel like you needed to do everything in your power to impress. Risky procedures, rattling off every symptom and possible medication, interrupting Robby and Al-Hashimi to give reasoning or make guesses. Your way of signaling: ‘I’m here. I’m competent like you, even if I am younger. See?’ And it was because you liked her.
Everyone knew it. Everyone saw it. The way you hung onto every word that left her mouth by keeping your eyes on her lips or glued to her own, how you volunteered to help Cassie with anything that she needed (including finishing her charts when she was late to pick up Harrison once, which she had to inform you was in fact, was not possible since the action was solely for educational purposes for you). Maybe Cassie played into it too much, chatting to you about her life outside the Pitt and eventually letting you babysit Harrison, but she couldn’t help it.
Because she tended to break all of her limits when it came to you.
“I’m Dr McKay, this is Dr Al-Hashimi and one of our med-students,” Cassie continues as your tongue darts out in the way it does when you’re concentrating. “You’re gonna be just fine, alright? We’re gonna get you on some meds–”
“EFAST is positive,” you alert her just as the guy lets out a groan of thanks. It has Cassie moving a bit quicker, nurses as well, to put the necessities for transfusion protocols. “Free fluid in Morrison’s pouch.”
Somewhere distant, Jesse acknowledges that the BP is seventy systolic, so Cassie is forced to pull her gaze from where you have the ultrasound angled as Al-Hashimi gives the go-ahead to activate the MTP. You’re reaching over Cassie, pressing your arm against hers, and she can’t even focus on whatever it is you’re doing and what she’s supposed to be doing because she’s caught on the way you smell.
“Where do we want the BP?” Al-Hashimi questions, in your direction, which has you speaking up immediately, probably startling the poor guy on the gurney.
“Keep systolic around ninety, but we don’t want to chase the pressure,” you ramble, hands brushing against Cassie’s briefly in a way that has her head snapping towards you, bangs brushing against her forehead. And even though Al-Hashimi gives a nod of approval, your eyes meet Cassie’s. She knows she probably looks a little stunned, but you’re just so close. Again, nothing abnormal for you, not when it comes to her, but it was never something so persistent during a trauma. That look on her face–the one that you probably decipher as wanting more, it has you continuing. “We don’t want to raise it too high or too quickly because high pressure in surgery can dislodge forming clots–”
“Okay, hotshot,” Cassie forces herself to say with a breath of a laugh that seems to undo something in your shoulders. “Check on our guy for us, make sure he’s not–”
“Going into shock,” you finish with a tiny nod, the line of your mouth setting into something determined as your attention finally parts from Cassie. Along with your arm.
The BP’s rising, she can hear your voice–strong and a little loud, but part of her still feels distant. Out of it. That focus is gone as she helps Al-Hashimi pack the wound with gauze, because she can still smell you. You linger in her mind, her nose, the sensory nerves beneath that paper gown and her long-sleeve beneath that. The focus is gone until you’re moving again. In that same way that’s difficult to keep up with, pinched brows and a slight downturn of Al-Hashimi’s mouth somehow managing to follow you.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Cassie rushes out, turning with red spots of blood on her gloves to keep both eyes on you. “Are you good? Feel lightheaded?–” You shouldn’t, you’ve seen stuff way worse than this, but hey, it was important to check.
“He’s about to crash,” you pipe up, and when you return to her side, she identifies the catheter in your hand. “Shock is setting in. Pale skin, slower speech, exhaustion, weak pulse–”
“Whoa–”
“We should do a REBOA, right?–”
You’re already moving, in that way that’s familiar to you and only you. So quickly that everyone in the room is blinking, halfway to telling you to stop, only because that other half isn’t sure what you’re doing in the first place. Cassie’s first instinct is to catch your wrists and steer you away. Except, she still has the guy’s blood on her fingertips. Thankfully, Al-Hashimi intervenes first with a gentle: “He’s stable for now.” It’s delivered in a way that probably makes you grateful it's her here instead of Robby. “The drugs for his pain are starting to kick in. We wait for the patient to crash. We don’t try to catch it. It’s actually less of a risk that way.”
The reprimanding, honestly, can’t even be called a reprimanding. You hadn’t even done anything wrong. But it wasn’t the first time a scenario like this had happened, and it wasn’t the first time you gave a nod to the attending before looking right to Cassie. Al-Hashimi does the same, and Cassie knows the message she’s trying to convey by the expression on her face.
You can’t give this one patience.
And if that blame without words wasn’t enough, by the time the guy gets wheeled up to surgery, Al-Hashimi pauses by Cassie as she peels off her gloves. It’s that same tone she used earlier on you, one that was clearly specifically used for students who didn’t know any better. It made Cassie’s stomach twist uncomfortably. “You’re the one who encourages her.” Pause. “Stop this from happening again.”
Cassie had danced around it all day.
The first lull of the shift comes roughly around 5 P.M. With most patients stable and either waiting to be discharged or for a bed to open up, most residents turned their attention to charting or to a bit more pressing cases from chairs. Cassie was doing neither. Instead, she was watching as you hovered nearby Javadi, talking about God knows what as your fingers don’t even budge on the keyboard. No, instead, your chin is propped on your hands as you nod enthusiastically about something.
And then your eyes dart over to where she’s sitting across the central nurse’s station.
If Cassie were younger, maybe she would freeze. Maybe she would let warmth take over her cheeks and break eye contact, but she doesn’t. Because she’s older than you. She should know better. Know better than to guide you down a path that could affect your career, but she didn’t because she liked you a little too much. It was affecting her efficiency, the focus she needed.
She’s getting up and crossing the space before you can get anything else over to Javadi, tapping the counter next to you with two of her fingers. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
You look up to her hastily, head tilting off your chin as you scramble up from your chair in a way that has Javadi turning back to her computer with a barely concealed smile and wide eyes.
“Yeah, of course, what’s up?”
Cassie jerks her head in the direction of the hallway that leads to triage, eyes drifting from yours as something in her chest flips. She had no idea what she was even going to say. She was just moving, moving and thinking of the best way to go about this without tearing apart that bright part of you she needed. “Somewhere a little more private, maybe?”
You nod quickly, not noticing the way Javadi’s eyes widen a little with her brows lifting as she keeps her eyes glued to the screen. “Yeah, yeah– No rush,” you agree, falling into step beside her. And then it’s quiet. A bit awkward, which was not normal for the two of you. It was like you could sense something was off, that Cassie’s mind was working overtime on how to take care of this.
“Is something wrong?” you ask as you slow to a stop nearby the entrance to one of the chairs, hands clenching into fists by your sides as you face her, only a few inches between the two of you. Citrusy. Soft, everything–
Cassie blinks, wishing that she could hold her breath and scrub the scent of you from her mind.
“You know I think you’re great,” she starts, one arm folding over her chest as her other hand holds out between the two of you. Immediately, your face scrunches a little, lips pressing together in a small pout. Cassie wants to press her thumb to that expression. Wipe any confusion from your mouth with a kind of restlessness that claws at her. “And your personality is so huge here, and there’s nothing you should change about that–”
“Hold on,” you cut in, hands lifting a little as you blink quickly, head shaking a little. “What’s going on– This feels…”
Like a break-up.
You don’t even have to say it to have Cassie taking a deep breath, arms fully folded over her chest now. “It’s not that.” She stops, swallowing thickly as another wordless message passes between the two of you. Because it was never that in the first place. And Cassie wants to say anything else except for what she needs to. But she can’t. Not with the pressure building from what Al-Hashimi had said and not with everything else she had going for her. “Look,” she says slowly. Bite the bullet. “It’s nothing you need to be embarrassed about, but I know you have a crush on me–”
A soft scoff leaves you, your head shaking harshly again as your pout turns into something smaller. Something that pulls at a piece much deeper in her.
“That doesn’t have to do with anything,” you mumble, eyes drifting from hers to look down at your feet as you shift a little in front of her. Cassie presses her lips together, brows pinching slightly as she tilts her head to try to follow your eyes. “I mean– It’s nothing, you shouldn’t worry about it, I just– Look up to you–”
She says your name softly.
When you look up to her again, she reads the embarrassment slowly leaking into your features. How your expression crumbles, how you’re flushing slightly, and how you avoid her eyes. So unlike you–exactly what she was afraid of.
The shrug you give her is sharp. “Okay, yeah,” you whisper. “I feel something for you.”
The wording makes it so much harder for her.
“That’s fine,” Cassie says gently, trying to remain calm. Trying to keep her composure instead of doing something she would regret. Something that she wanted to do so much more than what she should–like kiss you. Take your face into her hands and press your mouth to hers right in the doorway next to triage. Taste that cherry lip gloss you carried around all of the time and whatever gum you were chewing earlier. “But it can’t happen, kid.”
“Kid?” you repeat, eyes snapping to hers finally. “Kid?”
“Yes, kid,” Cassie restates, doing everything in her power to stand her ground.
“I’m over twenty-one–”
The sound that escapes Cassie is half huff, half laugh, the smile flickering onto her lips a bitter one. “You’re a kid to me.”
You’re frowning again, that energy of yours that she’s so used to, that’s become part of her everyday life and something that has, in turn, begun to energize her, is missing. In its place are furrowed brows and a kind of unsteadiness that makes that unease in her grow.
“Okay?” You don’t move. It’s like you’re refusing to give her even a tiny nod of agreement, something to signal to her that things between the two of you would be okay from this. Not even the relationship, but you. “You need to understand that I am not what you need,” Cassie continues, voice surprisingly unwavering. “I have a– a kid, and you have so much of your life ahead of you still, it’s just–”
“It’s what I want,” you finally speak up. That crease between your eyes is gone, but your body still mirrors hers: crossed arms and a tilted chin. Finally giving her the signal she had been waiting for. Except, it wasn’t the kind of surrender she was trying to get from you. It was one that told her you weren’t going to back down.
“You don’t know me, and you don’t know what you want–”
“I do know you,” you continue, a flicker of something passing over your face that makes Cassie’s own argument falter. That need her chest to press her mouth against yours, continuing to grow, whispering into her ear like some kind of devil on her shoulder. “You care about everything and everyone, and you want what’s best for people, and you make others feel confident– You’re funny and– and observant and–”
Another mumble of your name as your arms finally unfold for your hands to find her elbows. She should pull back at the contact, but she doesn’t. Not when the weight of your hands on even just a small part of her spreads warmth from the point of contact throughout her chest and directly to her heart.
“I’m not good for you, and it’s starting to show–” Cassie’s voice is starting to sound thin to her own ears. Like her resolve is breaking, that patience she’s supposed to uphold constantly beginning to crumble.
“And what about you?” you press, ignoring her words. “When was the last time you got something you wanted?”
“It’s starting to affect you, affect your place here.” Her hands move to find yours, clutching your knuckles between her fingers and her palms as her thumbs rub softly over the slightly dry skin. “And it doesn’t matter how I feel about you, because I can’t ruin your future.”
“You’re not going to ruin anything,” you mumble, frustrated now.
“Which is naively optimistic of you to think,” Cassie says firmly with one last squeeze to your hands. “You don’t know anything. Stop trying to act like something you’re not. You’re here to learn and listen, so do that.”
She’s gone before you can fully process her words.
Something you’re not–her girlfriend.
But even as you return to the central nurse’s station, not on the verge of tears but irked beyond belief, set to your highest setting and pushed to your farthest point, you still feel the way Cassie’s eyes follow you. Still don’t miss how she subtly checks in on you. Leaves a granola bar by the computer you’d been charting at when you take a bathroom break. Avoids cases with you, sure, but you feel her every time she brushes by you.
And thirty minutes before your shift ends comes the same text, like clockwork.
Am I still driving you home?
And because you can’t help yourself, because you’re young, and because Cassie doesn’t truly have the patience to stay away from you as long as she should, you say yes. You know how you’ll end the night with her, the soft words that will be exchanged in her car or maybe over drive-thru fast food, and you’ll let yourself get caught up in the idea all over again.
Reinforce that sentiment despite her words earlier. Kid, naive, something you’re not. Because you didn’t believe those terms one bit, and you would refuse to let Cassie’s stubbornness and worry trick her as well. So, truthfully, it was going to happen again. You were right back where you started.
hiiii love your writing to the moon and back !! i was wondering what your take was on some cassie angst + comfort. a little bit like reader is all over cassie in the er, her crush is very very clear, but cassie is overwhelmed and the only way she can handle her emotions is to shut her down— i mean after all, she has a kid, the ankle monitor, she thinks she’s too much to handle. maybe makes a jab at readers age??
but it’s yours to pick and choose from. even if u don’t write it ty for reading my thoughts <3🙂↕️
✉️ there isn't much comfort included but that's cause I wrote more than I originally anticipated for the build-up! I hope that this is still what u were looking for, nonie, cause this is for uuuuu <3 thank u for the kind words, I absolutely adore u & I hope u have the greatest night/day/afternoon ever! kisses
demure! situationship!cassie & reader, hotshot!reader, medical inaccuracies, mentions of a stab wound, age gap (cassie is 42 & reader is early 20's), mentions of a restraining order, NOT PROOFREAD wc 3.7k
The first word people would tend to describe Cassie as is patient.
She’d heard it many times. From Robby, when it came to family members of patients who needed to be handled. As a steady hand and voice that was calm enough to soothe worries. From Harrison’s friends’ parents, whenever the kids would have rambunctious playdates in her apartment. Because demanding children can be so focused on whatever task they were doing, but Cassie had the ability to catch and slow them down. With med students, angry patients, her parents, even with Chloe (at first), Cassie was always recognized for tolerance. Composure. Forbearance– She’d heard it all.
She didn’t necessarily agree, though.
Surface level, maybe Cassie was patient. Perhaps she knew the right things to say and the body language that would indicate if a person was about to act out, could mentally prepare herself, and match sentences to reactions to ease both herself and whoever she was with. It stemmed from motherhood, she assumed. Fretting over the thing she loved most in the world and simultaneously lasering in and onto herself to make sure she didn’t mess her kid up too badly. Motherhood was a joy, even if it was unexpected. The course of her life jerked abruptly in right angles from substance abuse to pregnancy to a fascination with the way things worked in rehab to becoming a doctor.
Her so-called patience, which she was recognized for throughout her workplace, had been well-earned. With late-night wailing and the initial aches and pressure (much worse than those two words could ever amount to) of withdrawal. With the murmuring jabs that followed her after she returned to school, debating what a woman her age was trying to accomplish so late in life. People were too competitive in the medical field now. That had been an irritating fact that had taken a while to build a resistance toward. Like Chad’s new girlfriend. Chloe. Cassie had to give him props, honestly, they’d been dating for almost a year and a half before he asked to introduce her to Harrison (was that too early? Too late? What was the right way to co-parent?). Cassie had tried to be open-minded. At least, until she saw that the girl was 23-years-old. Annoyingly obsessed over Cassie’s ex and apparently hyperfixated on motherhood.
It was the first time Cassie had let her patience wear thin enough to break–when Chloe had taken Harrison to her apartment without Cassie knowing for an entire weekend. Unaware of where he was and if he was hurt, was enough to push her over the edge. And it had ended with an ankle monitor for an 80-day trial and what eventually would become a restraining order.
Cassie had vowed that she would never be stupid enough to build a kind of relationship like that with someone young. Not after seeing how obsessive and stupid young adults can be in their early twenties. Not that she was trying to discriminate or anything, but she didn’t want to lose focus on what was actually important. Which was that patience. Understanding.
At least, until she met you.
You were a whirlwind of a med student.
Had a high zest for life in the way only young people did. Was always asking questions and jumping into things headfirst the second a resident or attending looked your way. Which was a good thing, in terms of the job–a means of more experience and a kind of jarring enthusiasm or confidence or whatever you were calling it (you had different words to describe things every day, it was almost impressive). But it also meant you hardly thought about consequences. You rivaled Harrison with energy, moving so quickly through the ED that Cassie wasn’t sure how you hadn’t run into someone and toppled over yet. Smiled so widely and laughed so loudly that you were a favorite with patients. It was how you’d ended up working with her at first: her, with her patience, and you, with your infectious zeal.
Robby also mentioned to Cassie that he hoped she would calm you down a little, but that wasn’t the point. Because instead, you knocked her entire orbit off its axis. You just came with a high, was the only way she could describe it. Listening to the words that spilled from your lips at a million miles a second with jerky movements while double-tasking with whatever medical procedure you were knuckle deep in. It drove Garcia nuts, but Cassie could only watch transfixed.
An excitement in her life. Something to look forward to when things seemed too depressing and dull to push through with focus.
You stuck to Cassie more than anyone else. Trailed after her and talked her ear off in a way that would usually have her patience stretching like you were testing tensile strength on a polymer. Testing, pushing, teasing, and doing it all while smiling.
Before Cassie knew it, things felt empty when you weren’t around.
Which was bad. It was the exact opposite of what she’d promised herself would never happen.
“Coming through!” you squeal, twirling around a gurney being pushed in by a pair of paramedics to get to the second one rolling in. Squeezing between Robby and Whitaker, simultaneously hitting the younger man in the face with one of your gloves as you rush right next to Cassie’s side. There’s a sharp bark of your name from Robby as Al-Hashimi comes to supervise yours and Cassie’s work on the other side, as the squeaky little wheels turn and sputter right into one of the trauma bays.
And Robby’s sticking his head back around for a split second with another prickly utterance of your last name: “Come get in on this one.” But you’re shaking your head, already snatching the EFAST from Jesse.
“Nope,” you hum, and Cassie can practically see the way you’re trembling with energy. “All good here, Rob, thanks for the concern.” When your eyes dart to hers briefly before redirecting to the screen as you control the ultrasound, something tugs in her chest at the slight smile that reaches your mouth.
Focus.
Cassie forces herself to look away from your face, back to the patient. Back to the present and to reality that she so often forgot when you were involved. The one with the 23-year-old male with the singular stab wound in the left upper quadrant. Found outside a bar approximately ten minutes ago. No weapon on scene. Hypotensive en route with the pressure now dropped to eighty systolic. “Sir, what’s your name?” Cassie asks, watching the way you handle the equipment, how you keep looking to her for tiny reassuring glances. By the third one, when the man has given his name, Cassie has to give you a little nod to direct your attention back to the patient (as well).
That was the other problem: you distracted her, but she made you feel like you needed to do everything in your power to impress. Risky procedures, rattling off every symptom and possible medication, interrupting Robby and Al-Hashimi to give reasoning or make guesses. Your way of signaling: ‘I’m here. I’m competent like you, even if I am younger. See?’ And it was because you liked her.
Everyone knew it. Everyone saw it. The way you hung onto every word that left her mouth by keeping your eyes on her lips or glued to her own, how you volunteered to help Cassie with anything that she needed (including finishing her charts when she was late to pick up Harrison once, which she had to inform you was in fact, was not possible since the action was solely for educational purposes for you). Maybe Cassie played into it too much, chatting to you about her life outside the Pitt and eventually letting you babysit Harrison, but she couldn’t help it.
Because she tended to break all of her limits when it came to you.
“I’m Dr McKay, this is Dr Al-Hashimi and one of our med-students,” Cassie continues as your tongue darts out in the way it does when you’re concentrating. “You’re gonna be just fine, alright? We’re gonna get you on some meds–”
“EFAST is positive,” you alert her just as the guy lets out a groan of thanks. It has Cassie moving a bit quicker, nurses as well, to put the necessities for transfusion protocols. “Free fluid in Morrison’s pouch.”
Somewhere distant, Jesse acknowledges that the BP is seventy systolic, so Cassie is forced to pull her gaze from where you have the ultrasound angled as Al-Hashimi gives the go-ahead to activate the MTP. You’re reaching over Cassie, pressing your arm against hers, and she can’t even focus on whatever it is you’re doing and what she’s supposed to be doing because she’s caught on the way you smell.
“Where do we want the BP?” Al-Hashimi questions, in your direction, which has you speaking up immediately, probably startling the poor guy on the gurney.
“Keep systolic around ninety, but we don’t want to chase the pressure,” you ramble, hands brushing against Cassie’s briefly in a way that has her head snapping towards you, bangs brushing against her forehead. And even though Al-Hashimi gives a nod of approval, your eyes meet Cassie’s. She knows she probably looks a little stunned, but you’re just so close. Again, nothing abnormal for you, not when it comes to her, but it was never something so persistent during a trauma. That look on her face–the one that you probably decipher as wanting more, it has you continuing. “We don’t want to raise it too high or too quickly because high pressure in surgery can dislodge forming clots–”
“Okay, hotshot,” Cassie forces herself to say with a breath of a laugh that seems to undo something in your shoulders. “Check on our guy for us, make sure he’s not–”
“Going into shock,” you finish with a tiny nod, the line of your mouth setting into something determined as your attention finally parts from Cassie. Along with your arm.
The BP’s rising, she can hear your voice–strong and a little loud, but part of her still feels distant. Out of it. That focus is gone as she helps Al-Hashimi pack the wound with gauze, because she can still smell you. You linger in her mind, her nose, the sensory nerves beneath that paper gown and her long-sleeve beneath that. The focus is gone until you’re moving again. In that same way that’s difficult to keep up with, pinched brows and a slight downturn of Al-Hashimi’s mouth somehow managing to follow you.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Cassie rushes out, turning with red spots of blood on her gloves to keep both eyes on you. “Are you good? Feel lightheaded?–” You shouldn’t, you’ve seen stuff way worse than this, but hey, it was important to check.
“He’s about to crash,” you pipe up, and when you return to her side, she identifies the catheter in your hand. “Shock is setting in. Pale skin, slower speech, exhaustion, weak pulse–”
“Whoa–”
“We should do a REBOA, right?–”
You’re already moving, in that way that’s familiar to you and only you. So quickly that everyone in the room is blinking, halfway to telling you to stop, only because that other half isn’t sure what you’re doing in the first place. Cassie’s first instinct is to catch your wrists and steer you away. Except, she still has the guy’s blood on her fingertips. Thankfully, Al-Hashimi intervenes first with a gentle: “He’s stable for now.” It’s delivered in a way that probably makes you grateful it's her here instead of Robby. “The drugs for his pain are starting to kick in. We wait for the patient to crash. We don’t try to catch it. It’s actually less of a risk that way.”
The reprimanding, honestly, can’t even be called a reprimanding. You hadn’t even done anything wrong. But it wasn’t the first time a scenario like this had happened, and it wasn’t the first time you gave a nod to the attending before looking right to Cassie. Al-Hashimi does the same, and Cassie knows the message she’s trying to convey by the expression on her face.
You can’t give this one patience.
And if that blame without words wasn’t enough, by the time the guy gets wheeled up to surgery, Al-Hashimi pauses by Cassie as she peels off her gloves. It’s that same tone she used earlier on you, one that was clearly specifically used for students who didn’t know any better. It made Cassie’s stomach twist uncomfortably. “You’re the one who encourages her.” Pause. “Stop this from happening again.”
Cassie had danced around it all day.
The first lull of the shift comes roughly around 5 P.M. With most patients stable and either waiting to be discharged or for a bed to open up, most residents turned their attention to charting or to a bit more pressing cases from chairs. Cassie was doing neither. Instead, she was watching as you hovered nearby Javadi, talking about God knows what as your fingers don’t even budge on the keyboard. No, instead, your chin is propped on your hands as you nod enthusiastically about something.
And then your eyes dart over to where she’s sitting across the central nurse’s station.
If Cassie were younger, maybe she would freeze. Maybe she would let warmth take over her cheeks and break eye contact, but she doesn’t. Because she’s older than you. She should know better. Know better than to guide you down a path that could affect your career, but she didn’t because she liked you a little too much. It was affecting her efficiency, the focus she needed.
She’s getting up and crossing the space before you can get anything else over to Javadi, tapping the counter next to you with two of her fingers. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
You look up to her hastily, head tilting off your chin as you scramble up from your chair in a way that has Javadi turning back to her computer with a barely concealed smile and wide eyes.
“Yeah, of course, what’s up?”
Cassie jerks her head in the direction of the hallway that leads to triage, eyes drifting from yours as something in her chest flips. She had no idea what she was even going to say. She was just moving, moving and thinking of the best way to go about this without tearing apart that bright part of you she needed. “Somewhere a little more private, maybe?”
You nod quickly, not noticing the way Javadi’s eyes widen a little with her brows lifting as she keeps her eyes glued to the screen. “Yeah, yeah– No rush,” you agree, falling into step beside her. And then it’s quiet. A bit awkward, which was not normal for the two of you. It was like you could sense something was off, that Cassie’s mind was working overtime on how to take care of this.
“Is something wrong?” you ask as you slow to a stop nearby the entrance to one of the chairs, hands clenching into fists by your sides as you face her, only a few inches between the two of you. Citrusy. Soft, everything–
Cassie blinks, wishing that she could hold her breath and scrub the scent of you from her mind.
“You know I think you’re great,” she starts, one arm folding over her chest as her other hand holds out between the two of you. Immediately, your face scrunches a little, lips pressing together in a small pout. Cassie wants to press her thumb to that expression. Wipe any confusion from your mouth with a kind of restlessness that claws at her. “And your personality is so huge here, and there’s nothing you should change about that–”
“Hold on,” you cut in, hands lifting a little as you blink quickly, head shaking a little. “What’s going on– This feels…”
Like a break-up.
You don’t even have to say it to have Cassie taking a deep breath, arms fully folded over her chest now. “It’s not that.” She stops, swallowing thickly as another wordless message passes between the two of you. Because it was never that in the first place. And Cassie wants to say anything else except for what she needs to. But she can’t. Not with the pressure building from what Al-Hashimi had said and not with everything else she had going for her. “Look,” she says slowly. Bite the bullet. “It’s nothing you need to be embarrassed about, but I know you have a crush on me–”
A soft scoff leaves you, your head shaking harshly again as your pout turns into something smaller. Something that pulls at a piece much deeper in her.
“That doesn’t have to do with anything,” you mumble, eyes drifting from hers to look down at your feet as you shift a little in front of her. Cassie presses her lips together, brows pinching slightly as she tilts her head to try to follow your eyes. “I mean– It’s nothing, you shouldn’t worry about it, I just– Look up to you–”
She says your name softly.
When you look up to her again, she reads the embarrassment slowly leaking into your features. How your expression crumbles, how you’re flushing slightly, and how you avoid her eyes. So unlike you–exactly what she was afraid of.
The shrug you give her is sharp. “Okay, yeah,” you whisper. “I feel something for you.”
The wording makes it so much harder for her.
“That’s fine,” Cassie says gently, trying to remain calm. Trying to keep her composure instead of doing something she would regret. Something that she wanted to do so much more than what she should–like kiss you. Take your face into her hands and press your mouth to hers right in the doorway next to triage. Taste that cherry lip gloss you carried around all of the time and whatever gum you were chewing earlier. “But it can’t happen, kid.”
“Kid?” you repeat, eyes snapping to hers finally. “Kid?”
“Yes, kid,” Cassie restates, doing everything in her power to stand her ground.
“I’m over twenty-one–”
The sound that escapes Cassie is half huff, half laugh, the smile flickering onto her lips a bitter one. “You’re a kid to me.”
You’re frowning again, that energy of yours that she’s so used to, that’s become part of her everyday life and something that has, in turn, begun to energize her, is missing. In its place are furrowed brows and a kind of unsteadiness that makes that unease in her grow.
“Okay?” You don’t move. It’s like you’re refusing to give her even a tiny nod of agreement, something to signal to her that things between the two of you would be okay from this. Not even the relationship, but you. “You need to understand that I am not what you need,” Cassie continues, voice surprisingly unwavering. “I have a– a kid, and you have so much of your life ahead of you still, it’s just–”
“It’s what I want,” you finally speak up. That crease between your eyes is gone, but your body still mirrors hers: crossed arms and a tilted chin. Finally giving her the signal she had been waiting for. Except, it wasn’t the kind of surrender she was trying to get from you. It was one that told her you weren’t going to back down.
“You don’t know me, and you don’t know what you want–”
“I do know you,” you continue, a flicker of something passing over your face that makes Cassie’s own argument falter. That need her chest to press her mouth against yours, continuing to grow, whispering into her ear like some kind of devil on her shoulder. “You care about everything and everyone, and you want what’s best for people, and you make others feel confident– You’re funny and– and observant and–”
Another mumble of your name as your arms finally unfold for your hands to find her elbows. She should pull back at the contact, but she doesn’t. Not when the weight of your hands on even just a small part of her spreads warmth from the point of contact throughout her chest and directly to her heart.
“I’m not good for you, and it’s starting to show–” Cassie’s voice is starting to sound thin to her own ears. Like her resolve is breaking, that patience she’s supposed to uphold constantly beginning to crumble.
“And what about you?” you press, ignoring her words. “When was the last time you got something you wanted?”
“It’s starting to affect you, affect your place here.” Her hands move to find yours, clutching your knuckles between her fingers and her palms as her thumbs rub softly over the slightly dry skin. “And it doesn’t matter how I feel about you, because I can’t ruin your future.”
“You’re not going to ruin anything,” you mumble, frustrated now.
“Which is naively optimistic of you to think,” Cassie says firmly with one last squeeze to your hands. “You don’t know anything. Stop trying to act like something you’re not. You’re here to learn and listen, so do that.”
She’s gone before you can fully process her words.
Something you’re not–her girlfriend.
But even as you return to the central nurse’s station, not on the verge of tears but irked beyond belief, set to your highest setting and pushed to your farthest point, you still feel the way Cassie’s eyes follow you. Still don’t miss how she subtly checks in on you. Leaves a granola bar by the computer you’d been charting at when you take a bathroom break. Avoids cases with you, sure, but you feel her every time she brushes by you.
And thirty minutes before your shift ends comes the same text, like clockwork.
Am I still driving you home?
And because you can’t help yourself, because you’re young, and because Cassie doesn’t truly have the patience to stay away from you as long as she should, you say yes. You know how you’ll end the night with her, the soft words that will be exchanged in her car or maybe over drive-thru fast food, and you’ll let yourself get caught up in the idea all over again.
Reinforce that sentiment despite her words earlier. Kid, naive, something you’re not. Because you didn’t believe those terms one bit, and you would refuse to let Cassie’s stubbornness and worry trick her as well. So, truthfully, it was going to happen again. You were right back where you started.
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after losing a patient, you’d felt pretty drained emotionally. cassie realized just how much it had affected you when she saw your hands trembling. as she frowned, she felt a gnawing in her stomach.
she’d never seen you look so hurt. you were always so positive, looking on the bright side.
she knew you were someone who needed support so cassie kept an eye on you and was never too far.
it was inevitable, you knew it.
you’d only stepped outside for a moment, for some fresh air. cassie could hear your deep shaky breaths as she turned the corner to find you.
no words were uttered, only a gentle hand on your shoulder.
"Not to make this awkward, but there is something I can't keep to myself any longer."
maybe cassie realizes her feelings for you are affecting her work and she needs to do something about it
just thinking about being concerned that something is wrong and moving cassie to a side hallway or something and being like “hey what’s going on?” your hand on her arm or something hhhh
- lesbian tess anon
ok wait bc
“I can’t take any other cases with you,” says cassie. she keeps her voice low in the crowded ED, so low you can barely hear her. “you’re… impacting my ability to care for patients.”
her words hit you like a ton of fucking bricks. you stand there silently for a second, blink, and then pull her into the empty break room. “why? what the hell is going on?”
she’s been distant lately — avoiding you whenever she can, brushing past you, ignoring you. even your coworkers have noticed, and you have been cornered by dr al-hashimi a number of times to be questioned on if you have any bad history with cassie.
“I don’t want you to think I’m angry with you,” cassie says, “or that I don’t want to work with you. that’s not the case.”
“then what’s going on?”
she hesitates. “it’s unprofessional.”
“I don’t care, tell me.”
cassie steels herself. she takes a deep, steadying breath and the confession slips out before she can stop it. “I think about you constantly. I’m always wondering where you are, what you’re doing… and it’s worse when we’re at work together. you come into the room and suddenly you’re the only thing in this world worth caring about.”
“shit,” you murmur, running your hands over your face. “you’re right, that’s really fucking unprofessional.”
she shrugs. her voice is small. “you wanted to know.”
“I did.”
she’s quiet for a second. she takes a small step closer to you, enough that it makes your heart beat faster. “now what?”
“I don’t know,” you say. “I think you’re supposed to ask me to go get coffee or something now so that you can make up for accusing me of impacting your work.”
cassie smiles. she nods, shoves her hands into her pockets. “alright, then. we’re both off tomorrow, right? how about coffee?”
“it’s a date.”
“really?”
after making sure no one is watching, you lean in and press a quick peck to her cheek. and you notice the way she blushes afterwards, how she looks down.
you try not to let her know how much it affects you. “see you tomorrow,” you say softly, and walk out.
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summary: a collection of texts between you and your gen x/old millenial girlfriend cassie mckay
a/n: this could be cassie as your girlfriend or wife, it's never clarified. the contact name says wife, but that doesn't necessarily mean she literally is. also reader is lowkey a self-insert lol.
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