Summary: Cassie stills from the nurse station and stands up as soon as she hears her name. Her heart drops to her stomach when she sees you. You're not bringing in a patient. You are the patient.
Pairing/s: Cassie Mckay x Female Paramedic!Reader
Tags: Possible medical inaccuracies, r being assaulted on the job, r being afraid of needles, slander about tapioca pearls (don’t even ask)
Word Count: 1.2K
A/N: Just a little fluff piece to get me out of writer’s block. Comments and reblogs are appreciated. :)
AO3
You're dead.
Well, not really. Just possibly… concussed. And in need of a few stitches. You feel your head pounding and you know you’re bleeding. Your hand is painted red with your blood.
“Special delivery for one Dr. Cassie Mckay,” your medic partner announces, wheeling the stretcher you're lying in into the emergency room of PTMC.
Cassie stills from the nurse station and stands up as soon as she hears her name. Her heart drops to her stomach when she sees you. You're not bringing in a patient. You are the patient.
“What the hell happened?” Cassie asks, grabbing a pair of gloves in the box and quickly approaches your side to check on you.
“Drunk and aggressive patient. He tackled her to the ground and she hit her head -”
“I’m fine,” you insist, holding a cold compress against your bleeding head.
“You're not fine,” Cassie says firmly. Her glare shuts you up. For now. “Dana, what's available?”
“Central 6!” Dana points to the room, eyeing you and Cassie. “Wow. You look terrible, kid.”
You roll your eyes. “Thanks, Dana.”
Once you're settled in the room, Cassie starts assessing you while Princess takes your vital signs.
“Let me take a look,” Cassie gently pats your arm away. “Mild laceration. It's not that deep but it's a long cut. Where did you fall?”
“On the ground. It was rocky.”
Cassie hums and presses on the surrounding tender spots and you wince. “We need to clean this and stitch it up.”
“You're not gonna give me a bald spot, right?” When Cassie purses her lips, you try again. “Right?”
“I will try, honey.” Cassie reassures you, the pet name earning a side eye from Princess. “For now, I’ll order some labs. CBC, platelet, PT -”
“I’m not pregnant,” you immediately say, almost laughing.
“Hospital protocol. Just to be safe,” Princess says.
“Well, unless Dr. Mckay here can impregnate me with her str -” Cassie covers your mouth with her hand.
Princess stifles a laugh.
“You are embarrassing,” Cassie hisses at you. “God, just for that, I will take my time stitching you up and I am debating whether or not to give something to numb you while I do.”
“Hey, Princess, you hear this?”
“I have to go call laboratory and radiology for CT?” Princess confirms to Cassie her orders and the doctor nods. She smirks, taking the iPad from Cassie. You're sure Princess won't shut the hell up about this.
“You and your mouth, I swear.” Cassie shakes her head.
“You love me and my mouth.” You grin up at her.
“Lucky you.”
“Lucky me.”
Cassie sits on a stool beside your bed. She looks at you and you know every crease of worry on her face. “Are you sure you're okay?”
“I had better days.”
“I know.” Cassie takes your hand and kisses the back of it. “Where is the asshole that did this to you?”
“Cassie, it's -”
“It's fine, yeah, you said that already. I just wanna know because if they're here -”
“They took him to Presby.”
“Good. You have to report this.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. Just patch me up already, doc.”
“Demanding. I better be getting a perfect patient satisfaction score.”
“I will even suggest that you replace Dr. Robinavitch.”
Cassie cackles. “I’d rather not.”
You’ve worked long enough and been to The Pitt countless times to know almost everyone. You’ve also met them a few times outside of work when Cassie brings you along to one of their after-shift fun. You're particularly close to those who Cassie meets often during the street team (Whitaker and Kiara) and those who she asks to babysit Harrison (Mateo and Javadi, and on some occasions, Mohan).
“Dr. Mckay, your patient in South 14 -” Javadi looks up from the iPad, eyes growing wide. “Hey. What happened?”
“Work hazard,” you answer with a shrug. “Nice to see you, Dr. J.”
Cassie asks Victoria to look after you for a minute while she checks on her other patients. Victoria takes over on assessing you and your injury and accompanying you to get your CT scan.
Cassie comes back a few moments later with Princess and a tray of sterile saline, gauze, lidocaine, suture, and needles. You try not to panic at the sight of the curved needle, knowing it will penetrate the skin of your head.
It's ironic, really. You're a medic. You poke people with a needle every day. You're not supposed to be scared of it.
“Hey, you okay?” You hear Cassie's voice, soft and worried. “Something else hurting?”
“Idon’twantneedles,” you say in one breath, panicked.
Cassie smiles in understanding. She rubs your forearm, trying to comfort you. “Honey, we have to stitch up your wound. We’ll numb you up first. You won't even feel it, I promise. You won't even see it.”
“I will feel it. I already know it's happening.” You know how ridiculous you sound, how pathetic. A fucking medic who’s afraid to be a patient.
Victoria steps in. “If you want, I can do it. Dr. Mckay can hold your hand and talk you through it?”
You glance at Cassie and she nods, reassuring. “Okay. I… that's better, I guess.”
“Okay, honey. I’ll be here.” Cassie takes a stool and sits beside you, holding your hand. Her lips press on the back of your hand and you instantly feel more relaxed than you were a minute ago.
Princess adjusts the bed level so Victoria could reach your head. She starts preparing for the procedure. You flinch at the first shot of lidocaine around your wound.
Cassie notices this. “Hey, honey, look at me.” You try your best to open your eyes. “What do you want for dinner later, hmm?”
“I can't think about dinner -”
“Do you want a pizza? Tacos?” She continues, ignoring your protest. “We could go to that new Chinese restaurant a few blocks from our apartment? I know you love orange chicken.”
“I do.”
“Yeah?” Cassie smiles, squeezing your hand gently. She takes out her phone and googles the menu. “What else would you wanna try?” She holds up her phone in your eye view.
You scan the menu, quickly forgetting that you're in a hospital bed being stitched up. “Spring rolls, beef with broccoli, and mapo tofu.”
“All good choices.”
“I want dumplings too. Steamed, not fried.”
“Noted. Anything else?”
“Do they have boba?”
“Uh huh. You want brown sugar milk tea? No tapioca, only pudding?”
“You know me too well.”
“You're very specific about it every time. You know it's not boba without the tapioca, right?”
“I don't like a lot of chewing.”
Cassie chuckles, shaking her head.
“All done,” Victoria announces, cutting the end of the thread.
“Thank god.” You breathe out.
“No god. Just Dr. Javadi.” Cassie tells you.
“Thank you, Dr. J! I will tell your followers how good you are.”
“Shut up.”
Cassie gently strokes your cheek. “You stay here for a few minutes and I’ll take care of the rest so we can get you discharged, yeah?”
“Yes, doc.”
“Good. Behave.”
“Always am.”
Cassie presses a kiss on your forehead then follows Victoria and Princess on the way out.
“I love you!” You shout. When she doesn't reply, you shout again. “I said I love you, Dr. Mckay!”
“Yeah, yeah, I love you too!” You hear her shout back, along with the roars of laughter from the nurse station.
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Summary: When you applied to be the new attending in Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, you didn't expect to see an old friend from twenty years ago.
Pairing/s: Cassie Mckay x New Female Attending!Reader
Tags: Possible medical inaccuracies, ex-friends to lovers, pining, yearning, tackles cassie's addiction, mention of robby's implied suicide (sorry)
Word Count: 4.3K
A/N: This one has been sitting on my docs for a long time. Might as well just let it out of the cage that is my mind.
AO3
Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center is different from any hospital that you have worked in. It has everything. From technologically-advanced machines to greatly improved facilities to highly competitive staff. It's overwhelming, to say the least.
You mostly worked in a small coastal town, near the beach but far from everything. You managed to work with what is given by the management which is a lot less with what this hospital has. The primary hospital that you previously worked in only has three beds in the ER and an e-cart that barely has anything, just one or two of each and gets a refill once a week. Twice, if lucky.
It's not as challenging in terms of volume of patients but damn it if your critical thinking skills didn't get trained to the point of frustration. And being the only emergency doctor in a five-mile radius definitely was a pressure you wouldn't put yourself through again.
You're sitting in the nurse's station, looking around the highly chaotic environment around you. You’ve never felt this overstimulated since the last year of your residency in Mount Sinai. It's probably what drove you to take something small and calm when you moved to a coastal town that's basically not in the map unless you zoom in a hundred times.
“You must be the new ED attending,” a brown woman approaches you. She has the posture of someone who seems unforgivably professional. Curly, half up half down hair. Grey Lululemon jacket. “I’m Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi.”
“Oh, hi, Dr. Al-Hashimi.” You quickly stand up and shake her hand. You introduce yourself to your co-attending. “Gloria told me your name. I just didn't know what you look like so I don't know how to find you.”
“It's fine.” She smiles politely, hugging the iPad to her side. “I like to give them surprise drills before the shift starts,” she says when your eyes drift to a room where a group of people is coding a mannequin.
“Makes sense. Good for stimulation and review.”
“Your predecessor, roohesh shād, didn't think so but I like to do things that could improve the system.”
“I admire that.”
She tilts her head just slightly, looking at you. “Well, doctor, I think you and I will get along really well running this ED.”
A smile graces your lips. “Of course, Dr. Al Hashimi.”
“Please call me Baran.”
“Baran,” you correct yourself.
Dr. Al Hashimi - Baran - shows you around the ED. She starts by introducing you to the charge nurse, Dana Evans, and her staff nurses. Then she introduces the residents one by one. Victoria Javadi, R1. Dennis Whitaker, R2. Trinity Santos, R3. Mel King, R4.
“Oh, and Dr. Cassie Mckay, also an R4. Dr. Mckay is a valued doctor here with the highest satisfaction scores from the patients.” Baran says.
You don't hear the rest of what your co-attending says.
Could it really be…?
No. That's got to be a different Cassie Mckay.
Last time you saw your Cassie she had dirty blonde hair. This woman has red hair. And bangs. The Cassie Mckay you knew hated her bangs. She had short, uneven bangs and -
No.
The redhead pauses. Then she glances at you. Just a quick look.
No.
You know those eyes anywhere. Partially because they're the most fascinating grayish blue eyes you’ve ever laid your eyes on. And mostly because… you used to know them very well.
“Something wrong?” Baran asks you.
You blink multiple times. Then, you shake your head. “Yeah, I’m good. Shall we move on?”
Baran nods then guides you to different areas in the emergency department, starting from triage. You're listening, you swear you are. But your mind keeps drifting back to Cassie.
Cassie who you have not seen since college. The last time you spoke to her was over the phone. She was crying and high on drugs and you were too angry and exhausted from pulling her away from people that took advantage of her wild child curiosity and excitement.
Needless to say, you didn't handle it all that well and moved away after graduation. The last thing you heard about Cassie was that she was hanging around with some older guy, a notorious dealer in the university campus that never gets caught because he has some sort of connections everywhere. And that Cassie was supposed to graduate the same time you did but she didn't.
You haven't thought about her in ages. Half of your life was spent trying to forget her and you think you did.
Until now.
“So how do you wanna play this, doc?” Baran asks.
You blink. “Oh, uh, however you want. I don't mind.”
“How about I take this wing,” She gestures at the rooms on the south wing of the ER. “And you take north? Dr. Mckay and Dr. Santos are manning the north wing.”
“That's great. You don't mind if I ask questions if I have them?”
“I’d rather be answering stupid questions than fixing mistakes.”
“Good to know. Thank you, Baran.”
This ED is overwhelming. Pretty much like how the hospitals you had your residency, fellowship, and subspecialties in. You're not used to this, at least not after spending five years in basically nowhere.
You easily spot Dr. Mckay in the nurse station. She is sitting in front of a computer and charting. You wonder if you should go talk to her or wait for her to talk to you. You're not even sure if she remembers you. You changed a lot in the last twenty years and she obviously did too.
“So you're the new attending,” you hear a voice behind you. Dr. Trinity Santos. You introduce yourself and flash a smile. “Nice to meet you. Big shoes to fill.”
“I heard.”
“Yeah. Robby was a great doctor.”
Robby. Dr. Michael Robinavitch. Your predecessor. Right. You heard all about him from Gloria, and a little bit from Baran when she’s showing you around. It's really unfortunate and sad that burnout and his mental health got him the way it did.
“No pressure though. I heard you're quite the lady. Triple board certified in Emergency Medicine, Internal Medicine, and Critical Care.”
“I also subspecialize in Medical Toxicology and Hyperbaric Medicine,” you add as a matter-of-factly.
“Wow.” Santos claps, impressed. “Got the time and the money.”
“I was lucky.” It's true. Generational wealth was something you're always thankful for having. It gave you the privilege and time to do what you wanted and when you wanted it.
“Okay, then, doc, I have a patient for you.” Santos leads you to North 3. She opens her iPad and starts presenting her patient, showing you the labs, xray, ultrasound, and CT-scan.
You can already tell Santos is a great doctor. She's observant and thorough. She is one of those doctors that sees through patient's lies and has remarkable instincts that only experience can teach. She still needs to work on her snark though, especially in front of a patient.
Santos actually reminds you of a young Cassie. One that you lived with in college. She was prickly at first. She had no filter and could totally be misinterpreted all the time because of her tone and dark humor. Cassie may not always be nice but she was always kind.
“Has anyone seen Dr. Al Hashimi?”
Cassie.
You clear your throat. “Hi. Do you need an attending or Dr. Al Hashimi specifically?”
She looks up from her iPad. And from the look on her face, she knows.
She still knows you.
“Y/N?”
“Cassie,” you breathe out. Saying her name out loud feels like taking a breath after diving underwater.
“Oh, wow. Hi.” Cassie puts the iPad down the counter. “You're the new attending?”
“Yes, I am.”
Cassie lets out a whistle. “I’ve heard great things except your name. Wow. It's crazy. You're absolutely insane for being triple board certified.”
“Believe me, I almost was.”
Cassie laughs. Something tightens in your chest. You haven't heard her laugh in ages that you don't even remember anymore. But fuck, something twists in your stomach too.
“It's really good to see you again,” you say before you could stop yourself.
“Yeah. It's been a long time,” Cassie replies, almost sounding nostalgic. “I actually thought I was seeing things earlier when I saw you. How have you been?”
“Busy, mostly. Spent five years off the map until I got bored.”
“You're tanned.”
“I used to live near the beach.”
“Just like you always wanted.”
You nod your head, smiling. She remembered. “I didn't think I would get bored fast.”
“Yeah? Are you sure you don't miss the beach?”
“I do, actually. I also miss the chaos.” You pull on the stethoscope around your neck as if it would keep your balance. “How, uh, how have you been? How's… everything?”
Stupid.
“I’m in my last year of residency and looking for jobs.”
“Oh? You're not planning to apply here and stay?”
“Still thinking about it. I like to keep my options open.”
“I’m sure you’ll do whatever is best for you.”
The corner of Cassie's mouth curves upward. “The last time you saw me I was starting to make bad decisions.”
Oh, don’t you know it. No one could stop her from making those decisions. Not even you. And you tried.
“Fair enough,” you agree. “You seem better now though. I-I mean, are you? I’m sorry. I wasn't trying to make assumptions -”
“Relax, Y/N.” Cassie lets out a small laugh. “I’m twelve years sober now.”
Pride roars in your chest. Happy is an understatement for the way you feel for her.
“Really? That's great. I’m really proud, Cassie.”
“Thank you. My 14-year-old son tried to make a whole cake to celebrate it. You can imagine how it looks and tastes when the baker has no experience in baking at all.” She chuckles.
Son.
She has a son.
She's married?
“That's… that's nice. Really nice. I’m happy for you.” Fuck, why does your throat suddenly feel dry and tight?
“Thanks. How about you? Are you married? Children?”
“No.” You shake your head. “Just cats. Three.”
“My son wanted one but between residency and actually keeping him alive, I just can’t.”
“What's his name? Your son.”
“Harrison.”
“Harrison,” you repeat. “He’s 14, you say?”
“Yes.”
“That's… wow. I can't believe you have a 14-year-old. A teenager.”
“Me neither.”
“Is his father a doctor too?”
Cassie laughs, actually laughs that you think you asked something offensive. “I’m sorry. God, I just had this image of him in my head and he’s a doctor and it’s the funniest thing I thought of in a while.” She wipes the small tear from her eye. “To answer your question, he's not. He’s a douchebag and we’ve been divorced for longer than we were together.”
“Don't tell me he’s named Chad.”
Cassie bursts out laughing that everyone in the ED glances at her. “Am I that predictable?”
“He’s really named Chad?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Oh, god.” It's your turn to laugh. “I hope your son looks like you, at least.”
“Just a little boy version of me.”
“Then he’s a beautiful boy.”
“He is.”
Just like his mother.
Time only made Cassie more beautiful. The wrinkles on her forehead, the bags under her eyes, her laugh lines, and the slightly loose skin of her neck only made Cassie look more alive. She's full of life now unlike the last year you spent together where she would end up on your couch drunk and high as a kite almost every night.
“We should catch up sometime,” Cassie suddenly says. “If you want. I mean, if that's not inappropriate since you're my attending now and all.”
“No, of course not. I would… I would love that, actually.”
“Great.” Cassie smiles widely, her perfect dimples on display. “Anyway, I need you to take a look at this patient. Patient’s name is Herbie Cruz, 55, male. Lives on a farm. Covered himself with pesticides after claiming he felt and saw bugs all over him. He’s now complaining about nausea, difficulty breathing, and feeling bugs crawling under his skin.”
“What has been done so far?”
“Currently at 6 lpm O2 support. Atropine given. Also tried gastric lavage and activated charcoal.”
“Good enough so far. You might wanna refer him to psych. Could be signs of schizophrenia or something if he says he keeps seeing and feeling bugs all over him. Otherwise, it will keep happening.”
Cassie nods in understanding. “On it.”
“Good job, Dr. Mckay.”
“Thanks.”
You watch as Cassie talks to the patient and his treatment plan. You only realize now how much time has passed since the last time you saw her. You never thought Cassie was a hopeless case but she sure is complex and never in your wildest dreams did you think she would end up doing this.
But knowing Cassie, it just fits right.
Cassie, to this day, is still one of the kindest, most empathetic people you know. You remember how she keeps a snack and a small first-aid kit in her tiny sling bag in case she meets someone who might need it. She used a portion of her allowance to feed a homeless kid that she frequently met one term and how she bawled her eyes out for days when she found out that same kid died from hit and run.
Cassie was full of kindness and light before she got involved with the wrong people and made one wrong decision after another. And seeing her again, years later, finding her way back to helping people, you can't help but feel a great pride and joy for her.
You just wish you had seen her growth; seen her struggle; seen it all.
-
“Cassie, where are you going?”
“Just hanging out with Alex and Sam.”
You sighed deeply. “Cass, you know they're -”
“Selling drugs, yeah, yeah.” Cassie chuckled, unbothered. “It's not like I’m buying.”
“Cass -”
“Can you stop worrying?”
“No, actually.”
“I’m just hanging out with them, okay? I’m not doing anything.”
“You could get in trouble just by being associated with them.”
“Then, it’s my name to disgrace.”
You felt a migraine coming just from this conversation alone. “Cassie -”
“Can you stop?!” Her voice echoed in your shared room. “You're not my girlfriend. Stop acting like it.”
Your brows furrowed in hurt and confusion. “I wasn't acting like your girlfriend,” you said softly, hurt laced in your voice. “I’m sorry for caring.”
You didn't give her a chance to say anything else when you slammed the door hard.
That was one of the last times you ever talked face-to-face.
You couldn't see her wasting her life anymore. You stopped entertaining her calls and the knocks on your door. Hoping that maybe - just maybe - you were important enough for her to let go of the bad habits she's starting to get addicted to.
But Cassie only got worse from then on.
You would see her on campus hanging out with different questionable people, kissing boys that were old enough to know better, going to parties, and snorting a line in the bathroom. She barely went home anymore and stayed over at her drug dealer friends’ place.
It actually hurt watching the girl you knew faded into someone you barely recognized. Sneaking in late at night in your dorm, leaving your place a mess, smoking in the room and triggering building alarms, stealing a couple of bucks from your wallet, calling you in the middle of the night to bail her out. You didn’t know how you’d find yourself forgiving her every time.
But the last straw was your graduation night.
Cassie should have been on the stage as well but she got delayed a year for flunking a couple of subjects in her program. But she had promised to come to your graduation party.
It was midnight and people had started to go home one by one, congratulating you on your achievements, giving you gifts and hugs and throwing you good luck on whatever you do next. You remembered every single one. None of them were Cassie.
How stupid of you to believe you would be important for her to remember.
-
She remembered you two days later. She tried to call you multiple times from morning until past midnight. She sent you multiple messages, begging for you to answer her calls. It took everything in you not to.
Until she sent you a photo of her bloodied hand.
Cassie, what the hell?!
Doesn't hurt. Can you patch me up?
Send me the address.
Cassie sent you the address. A back alley of a sketchy bar. You came ten minutes later with a first-aid kit in your bag.
“You came,” Cassie sighed in relief, eyes red and puffy from crying. The dark circles around her eyes had gotten darker the last time you saw her. Even in the dim light, you could see how flushed she was. Probably wasted and most definitely high.
You didn't ask what happened. You didn't want to know anymore. You stopped wanting to. It only hurt to know what she's been doing to herself. Instead, you quietly clean and bandaged her hand.
She looked up at you with bloodshot eyes. “Thank you,” Cassie mumbled.
“You need to get your shit together,” you told her firmly, refusing to meet her eyes by tidying up the kit. Cassie never heard you this cold to her. “I won't be here forever picking you up your ass.”
Panic set in. “What does that mean?”
“I’m moving to California.”
Cassie grew still, suddenly feeling like she was hit by cold water.
“Take care of yourself, Cassie.”
“What - what about me? You can't leave me.”
“What about you?!” You huffed in annoyance, heart beating out of your chest in anger but mostly in disappointment. “You're not my responsibility but I kept picking you up and forgiving you because I thought you would change, that you would be the Cassie I knew again! But you're fucking hopeless and selfish and I’m so, so tired of feeling like a dog begging for scraps, Cassie.”
Tears streamed down your cheeks fast, breaths failing to catch up, and Cassie tried to reach out to wipe your cheek but you flinched. You never flinched when she touched you.
Were you scared of her now? Had she become something you didn't even want to breathe the same air with? Did she become someone you hate?
Cassie felt her own tears wetting down her face, her shirt growing damp. She stood up and tried to wrap her arms around you, beg for your forgiveness, but you stepped back, shaking your head.
There were no words needed. Even when you were still standing in front of her, Cassie knew she already lost you.
-
The Pitt, as Baran indifferently calls it, is a big adjustment from your last job. But you're very adaptable and in the first two weeks of being an attending, you had managed to exceed expectations from everyone.
In a particularly busy shift, the residents have learned to depend on you. Especially Trinity Santos, one of the most curious - nosiest - doctors you’ve ever known.
“Do you and Mckay know each other?” Trinity's voice pops behind you. You're unfazed, typing something on the computer.
“Well, yes, Dr. Santos. I happen to know Dr. Mckay because she's a colleague.”
“Technically she's below you like I am but that's not the point,” Trinity folds her arms and looks at you. “There's a history there.”
“You're a historian now?”
“Oh, come on. I see the looks. Give me something. Mckay won't give Crash anything and I thought she could sweet talk it out of her ‘cause Mckay has a soft spot for her -”
Your head snaps to her. “She does?”
A smug smile appears on the resident's face. “Oh, yeah. Mckay is Crash’s mentor on her first day here. They're very close. Sometimes she babysits Harrison.”
“Isn't he fourteen?”
“Mckay is a boy mom,” Trinity says with a huff. “But the kid’s great.”
“You met him?”
She nods. “I let him beat me in Mario Kart.”
Everyone seems to know Cassie beyond these hospital walls more than you do.
No big deal.
“You two go way back, don't you?” Trinity presses. “College perhaps?” You don't answer. “You know Cassie before her addiction then? Or during?”
That hit a nerve.
“Dr. Santos,” you say sternly. “Whatever my relationship with Dr. Mckay is - or was - is none of your business.”
Trinity puts up her hands and backs up. “Geez. So serious.”
“Get back to work.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
God, you hate Santos sometimes.
You try to focus, you really did, but your eyes keep darting to Cassie and Victoria talking to their patient. They're right in front of the station, you reason. That's all.
But Cassie gives her a ‘good job, Vadi’ and squeezes her arm and the younger woman smiles up at her. She clearly admires Cassie and while you don't know the extent of their mentorship, knowing Cassie, she's always been capable of teaching.
Cassie is her mentor. That's all.
Mentor.
But Victoria is giddy, holding on to the ends of the stethoscope on her neck, and walking back to the station to chart.
You're not concerned. It's none of your business what your residents are up to out of the ER or whatever they are to each other -
“Dr. Javadi?” Fuck. It's your mouth with her own mind again.
The younger doctor turns her head to you.
“How's your patient with Dr. Mckay?”
“She's stable now,” she answers. “We're preparing her for transfer in the ICU.”
“Good.” You nod. “That's… good.”
Victoria doesn't miss the slight hesitance in your voice. “Is there a problem?”
“No,” you shake your head. You pause. “Actually - you know what - it's nothing important.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, yeah. I just need a snack or something. Can you tell Dr. Al-Hashimi I’ll be back in ten minutes?”
Victoria nods. “Sure. Just a heads up, the cafeteria is terrible. But there are vending machines near the main lobby, you can't miss it.”
“Uh, thanks.”
This is all Dr. Santos’ fault.
-
The shift ends earlier than usual. You always make sure to not leave before the entire morning shift does, usually just a few minutes after Baran.
You grab your things from the locker and take one more look before heading out. As you wait in the bus stop, you hear a beep. A red pickup car stops in front of you. The window rolls down.
“Get in,” Cassie offers.
“I’m fine. I’ll wait for the bus -”
“Come on. Get in.” She opens the passenger door for you.
Without another thought, you get in the car. “You can drop me on the nearest -”
“I’ll drive you home.”
“You don't even know where I live.”
“I’ll take you home anyway,” Cassie insists. She starts driving, smooth and easy, eyes focused on the road. “Put in your address.”
You punch in your address on her GPS.
The drive is mostly quiet aside from the soft rock music playing on the radio and the occasional sounds of the car horn.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Cassie says after a while.
“About what?”
She lets out a shaky breath. “I owe you an apology.”
“Cassie -”
“Just let me say it. Please.”
You glance at her. Her eyes are still on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel harder than she should. She takes your silence as a sign to continue. “It's been years and I… I still think about our last… the last time we saw each other. It's burned in the back of my mind, really.” Cassie takes a deep breath. “I was awful to you. I hurt a lot of people… including you.”
“It's a long time ago, Cassie. I don't…” You swallow thickly, looking at your hands fidgeting on your lap. “I’ve forgiven you long before I received an apology.”
“You were always nice. So caring and understanding and - and I was terrible. I was mostly high on something when I went home and I wasn't - you shouldn't have had to deal with that, with me.”
“You were my friend,” you remind her. “I will always care.”
Cassie slows down and parks on the side of the road. Then, she turns to you. “I was a bad friend.”
“Not all the time. The end wasn’t all that we had.”
“I wasn't the best.”
“You were my best friend.”
Cassie loses a rebuttal. How can you still see the good in her after seeing the worst?
“You're not your mistakes, Cassie,” you add.
Cassie knows that. Years and years of therapy and AA meetings have taught her that. But somehow, she still finds it hard to believe, especially coming from you, someone she hurt deeply, someone she lost once and thought would never see again.
“How can you forgive me so easily?” She asks.
You don't really have an answer other than the obvious truth that you’ve concealed for a long time.
A truth that remains true twenty years later.
“Because I love you,” you say softly, not quite meeting her eyes, afraid of what you’ll find.
Cassie, for her part, feels almost as if she drove into a speeding train and hit with an impact she never felt before. She stares at you for a moment, both in disbelief and hope.
“Everyone knew except you,” you continue, looking out the window. Your eyes drift on nothing but the darkness outside. “Our friends wanted me to tell you but I… I was too much of a coward then. I was afraid to lose you.”
But I still lost you.
Cassie’s heart beats wildly in her chest. Her breathing turns shallow. And before she could overthink it again, she unbuckles her seatbelt and makes a quick work of yours too. You don't have the time to ask questions. Cassie kisses you.
Oh.
Cassie is kissing you.
Cassie pours everything in the kiss. Desperation. Apology. Adoration. Devotion. You feel it all.
I love you too.
You can barely breathe, barely able to respond. Cassie is all over you; you feel her on your skin, in the air you breathe, in the sighs of your lips. It's all Cassie.
Summary:
Cassie should know better. She has been through a lot in her life. Addiction. Divorce. Custody battle over her son. Limited freedom from the fucking ankle monitor courtesy of her stupid ex-husband and his new flavor of the month, which surprisingly lasted more than a month -
That’s not the point.
The point is, Cassie has been through a lot.
And Cassie should know better.
Pairing/s: Cassie Mckay x Victoria Javadi
Tags: guilty mckaaaaaay, jealous vic
Word Count: 1.4K
A/N: I have not written anything proper for almost two years. Mcvadi drought got me back to writing so here we go. English is not and will never be my first language so be gentle. Thanks and I hope you like it. Feedback and reblogs are always encouraged.
AO3
This isn’t supposed to happen. Not now. Not ever.
Cassie should know better. She has been through a lot in her life. Addiction. Divorce. Custody battle over her son. Limited freedom from the fucking ankle monitor courtesy of her stupid ex-husband and his new flavor of the month, which surprisingly lasted more than a month -
That’s not the point.
The point is, Cassie has been through a lot.
And Cassie should know better.
So how did Victoria Javadi, her med student, end up in her bed?
That’s a stupid question. Of course, she knows how Victoria ended up in her bed and everything that happened before that. She wasn’t high or drunk. She doesn’t do that anymore. Now, every mistake is done stone cold sober.
Victoria is 22 years younger than her, for fuck’s sake. She might as well be closer to Harrison’s age, and Cassie cringes at that. Fuck, she really hates herself for that thought.
Cassie really needs to learn to shut the fuck up sometimes. What was she thinking, blurting out at work that she needed to get laid? Although in her defense, she only told Samira about this. She has no idea how Victoria found out about her little secret.
Or that she was going on a date with a patient. Of all people.
”Dr. Mckay,” Victoria smiles, standing beside Cassie. “How’s it going?”
”Oh, it’s… going.” Cassie sighs, placing a chart back on the shelf. “You need anything, Vadi?”
Victoria shakes her head. “I just… thought I’d check on you.”
Cassie’s brows furrow in worry. What has she been hearing?
”Little bird told me you’re going on a date? A patient?”
”Brian.”
”Yeah, Brian.” Victoria feels her stomach churn uncomfortably, eyes widening slightly as she gulps. “What’s… what’s his problem?”
”Problem?”
”I mean, concern! His, uh, he was a patient, right?”
”Oh. Foot injury from soccer.” Cassie turns to Victoria. “You’re a curious cat today.”
Victoria laughs nervously. “Y-Yeah. Sorry. I’m just - you’re going on a date.”
”Yeah. For the first time since the divorce.”
”S-so you’re ready now? Seeing someone?”
”I think so.”
”Why him?” Victoria blurts out, her mouth moving faster than her brain. “I mean, is he nice?”
”That’s what I’m about to find out,” Cassie answers, eyeing Victoria as she tugs on the hem of her jacket. “Are you okay, Vadi?”
“Gooutwithme!” Victoria’s eyes look like they’re going to pop out of their socket and she’s about to faint or evaporate out of thin air. “I-I… I’m gonna go!” Victoria turns around to run but Cassie grabs her wrist.
”What did you just say?”
”I have a patient -“
”Victoria.” If Victoria doesn’t pass out from the humiliation, she might die from the way Cassie says her name. “Did you just ask me to go out with you?” She whispers.
”We can forget about it! I didn’t - I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”
Cassie inches closer, towering over Victoria. “Why did you ask about my date?”
Victoria would rather be swallowed by the ground than to answer that. She swallows, biting her lip nervously. “I’m sorry.”
”For what?”
”I don’t want you to go on a date,” Victoria admits, heart sinking. The thought of Cassie going on a date with another person actually makes her nauseous she could die.
They both stop on their tracks and move inside a just-free bed, quiet and hidden. Cassie pulls the curtain close to give them privacy.
”Vadi, what’s going on? Why don’t you want me to go on a date?”
God, Victoria hates this. Does she really have to spell it out to her?
So instead of answering, Victoria inches closer to her and looks up. Her big brown eyes, shining and unsure and scared -
Victoria kisses Cassie.
It was only a few seconds, but Victoria’s mind had never felt more peaceful and quiet than it did right there when her lips were on Cassie’s.
And Cassie’s has never been louder, panicked, and blissed out all at the same time before.
“Please don’t go on that date,” Victoria pleads, her doe eyes glistening as she looks at Cassie. She might actually cry.
And who was Cassie to say no to an angel who kissed her?
”Okay,” Cassie simply answers as if she could say otherwise.
Now, lying in bed next to a naked and sleeping Victoria, Cassie realizes how powerless she is next to the younger woman. Victoria’s head is lying on her arm, dark hair splayed out on the pillow. Cassie wants to tuck the messy strands of her hair behind her ear, but somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach, something bubbles, and it scares her to touch Victoria, afraid to wake her up - to ruin her.
Cassie might ruin her. Maybe she already did. That’s what she does after all, right? She ruins everything she touches - her marriage, her family, her life. She could ruin Victoria, too.
And fuck, that scares Cassie more than it should.
Victoria. Beautiful, sweet, young Victoria. Victoria, who is so much younger than her. Brilliant, amazing Victoria with limitless potential ahead of her.
Cassie touches Victoria’s face anyway. Gentle and loving like she’s a fragile porcelain doll. Softly stroking her thumb against Victoria’s cheek, then her hand slides on her shoulder and arms. She sees the small bruise forming on Victoria’s chest, just a few centimeters below the collarbone. Cassie feels guilty for doing that. She should have been more careful, should have stopped, should have -
Cassie nods, pulling her hand away from Victoria’s skin and awkwardly holding on to the sheets. “Did you sleep well?”
”Better than I have in a long time,” Victoria answers with a smile, but it falls as soon as she senses Cassie’s reluctance to touch her again. “Did I do something wrong?”
God, Cassie wants to punish herself for causing that look on Victoria’s face. She wants to kiss her, make it all go away. Erase the worry, fear, and guilt -
Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Cassie says truthfully.
”Then what is it?”
It’s me. I’m rotten. I shouldn’t have -
“Cassie,” Victoria strokes her cheek, and Cassie has never felt like she’s been touched so gently before. Victoria’s touch feels heavenly that Cassie might start believing in god again because there is no way she deserves to be touched by an angel.
Cassie leans into the touch, closing her eyes. Maybe if she didn’t see Victoria’s loving eyes, she would feel like she deserved her touch.
Victoria can be a lost cause in some social cues but she’s learned a lot from Cassie. She also learned how to read Cassie. Victoria knows what this is, what she feels even without telling her. So, Victoria leans forward, kissing the tip of her nose. Then her cheek. Then her lips. She stays a few seconds longer, lingering on Cassie’s lips.
If Victoria could kiss the guilt and fear away, she would do so. Or she will die trying.
“Did I ruin you?” Cassie asks, lips a few millimeters away from Victoria’s. She can practically feel her breath against her lips.
”Why would you ever ruin me?”
”I shouldn’t have touched you.”
”I kissed you first,” Victoria reminds her.
”I should have walked away,” Cassie tells her. “I should have - it’s wrong. I don’t want to ruin you, Victoria.”
”You didn’t ruin me, Cassie. You didn’t ruin anything.”
Then why did Cassie feel like she deserved punishment for this? For wanting this?
Maybe Cassie should have gone on that date with that patient instead. Got laid, quick and easy, never see him again after. That’s what she should have done. Not this. Not corrupting a 20-year-old, not feeling a thousand things all at once for a med student -
“Cassie,” Victoria calls, cradling her face. “Please look at me.”
Cassie’s blue eyes meet Victoria’s brown ones.
”What’s going on, Cass?”
Cass. God, she really doesn’t deserve Victoria’s gentleness with her.
”I don’t deserve you,” Cassie tells her. “I never will.”
But damn it, I want to.
”Cassie, you don’t have to deserve me.”
For the first time that morning, the creases of worry on Cassie’s forehead vanished. “I don’t?”
Victoria nods. “Just love me.”
That’s easy, Cassie thinks. Victoria Javadi is easy to love.
(Eileen Shamsi can fuck off.)
”I already do.” Cassie wraps her arms around Victoria, pulling her closer to her.
Cassie is warm and inviting. Victoria never wants to leave and easily makes Cassie’s arms her home.
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Summary:
You could tell that Emily was just as anxious about this as you were. But you could also see the hopeful glint in her eyes that maybe, just maybe, she and Elizabeth could still repair their strained relationship. After all, Elizabeth was the one reaching out this time.
And you understood Emily for that. You really did. But it didn't mean that you loved it when Elizabeth visited.
Pairing/s: Emily Prentiss x (female) reader
Tags: horrible mother/mother-in-law behavior by Elizabeth Prentiss, mentions of anxiety
Word Count: 6.5k
A/N: I haven't written anything in over a year and this idea just popped into my head and started writing it while in line at the grocery store. I don't know if it's anything worth posting but here it is anyway. As usual, english isn't my first language so if there's any grammar mistakes, I don't really give a flying fuck. (Kidding, I do, I'm a people pleaser.)
You and Emily have been together for ten years now; dated for three years before getting married and two years married before you both decided to start a family. You and Emily opted for shared motherhood or co-IVF. Emily's eggs were retrieved and fertilized with your chosen sperm donor then the embryo was transferred to your uterus and you carried the pregnancy for 39 weeks (which almost turned 30 because your daughter seemed to be excited to see the world but that's another story).
Five years ago, you gave birth to Ava Eleanor Prentiss. Ava was a little over 9 pounds at birth and there’s no wonder she's a big baby because everyone thought you were already carrying twins. You look like you swallowed two watermelons, Derek said once and Emily hit the back of his head so hard that he didn't say another thing to you that day.
Emily had always been a great wife and partner - attentive, caring, loving, reassuring, and most of all, understanding. Those traits just intensified during your post-partum. She didn't just care for Ava, she cared for you. One time her phone was left unlocked while putting Ava to sleep and you saw “Postpartum care for wife” in her last google search. You're about to cry but then you saw your one-week-old sleeping peacefully and yeah, you could save the tears some other time than risk waking them both up.
For five years, you and Emily have been raising Ava along with the help of your family and Emily's chosen family, the BAU. You only met Elizabeth Prentiss a total of three times when you and Emily were dating and she only visited once a year since Ava’s birth. Elizabeth even declined coming to your wedding, using her Ambassador duties as an excuse. Emily told you she’s used to it but you knew deep down, it still hurt her. (You only hoped your mother filled that void during the ceremony because she absolutely adored Emily.)
Emily had been dreading this day since last week when Elizabeth called her that she's planning to visit. No questions if she or you are available or even home that day. She was just telling you both that she will drop by.
This will be the first time she will visit since you and Emily announced the news of your second pregnancy. And it's twins. A boy and a girl. Elizabeth then made it clear through the unusually frequent phone calls (more than three times a year, yay!) to Emily that she wanted to spend more time with her grandchildren.
You could tell that Emily was just as anxious about this as you were. But you could also see the hopeful glint in her eyes that maybe, just maybe, she and Elizabeth could still repair their strained relationship. After all, Elizabeth was the one reaching out this time.
And you understood Emily for that. You really did. But it didn't mean that you loved it when Elizabeth visited.
Elizabeth was not outright mean or anything. She was quiet, reserved, but her eyes spoke more than her mouth will ever say. She looked at you like she's scrutinizing every single move you make, waiting for one single mistake that could wake Emily up from the trance you apparently put on her daughter, which was ridiculous since Emily was the first one to make a move but she didn't even know that.
And today, on your 22nd week of pregnancy, you felt even more pressured and anxious and nauseous. You’ve told yourself a million times before that you never needed Elizabeth's approval. You certainly didn't need it when you and Emily got married so you're not about to start begging now. (Repeat until nausea stops.)
-
You dressed Ava in her favorite yellow Spongebob shirt and paired it up with her chosen black shorts.
“You ready?” Emily asked, leaning against the doorframe of Ava’s room.
“Me or Ava? Because you know my answer.” You let out a small titter, looking at Ava through the mirror of her small dresser. You put her dark hair in braided pigtails.
“I know, love.” Emily walked towards you, rubbing your back. She looked at Ava with familiar fondness in her eyes. “You look pretty, Ava.”
“Mommy made me pretty!” The kid said, grinning from ear to ear, looking at her mothers through the reflection in the mirror.
“She absolutely did.” Emily kissed the top of her daughter's head. “Are you excited to see Gramma?”
“Yeah! Is she gonna stay here tonight, mama?”
Let's hope not, you bit back your reply.
“That depends, sweetheart. She'll probably just be here for a few hours. You know Gramma is very busy.”
“Is she the president?”
You both laughed at your daughter's innocence. Emily tried her best to explain in a five-year-old’s terms what her mother does. It was both funny and entertaining.
You ended up changing too, wearing your new maternity dress that Emily bought for you last week just because it's in your favorite color. You looked at yourself in the mirror and the disheartened sigh you let out didn't get past Emily's attention.
“Something wrong, love?” Emily wrapped her arms around your waist, gently lifting your huge baby bump, a habit she did since she found out that it relieves some pressure off your back.
“I look different.” My face and neck are darker, my nose is bigger, I have pimples everywhere, stretch marks all over…
“You look beautiful.” Emily said firmly, not letting you believe - not even for a second - that you're not. “You're perfect.” She kissed your shoulder, then looked at you through the mirror.
“You're just saying that.”
“Because it's the truth.” Emily gently let go of your baby bump and you mumbled a thank you. “I know my mother is a lot but we’ll handle her together, okay?”
“I know.”
“Thank you for keeping up with this.”
“Keeping up with the Prentisses is my specialty.”
Emily laughed out loud, too proud of you for that joke. “Oh, I love you. I love you so much.” She kissed you, cupping your cheeks a little too hard but not enough to hurt. “My very beautiful, perfect, majestic wife.”
“Right back at you.”
“Mama! Mommy! Gramma’s here!” Ava’s voice came from the living room and you both froze for a second. You took Emily's hand and moved to the living room.
Ava had always loved her grandparents, all of them. She especially loved Elizabeth for her gifts - toys, treats, snacks, clothes. It's no surprise when you found that Elizabeth had swept your daughter into her arms. But her smile vanished as soon as her eyes landed on you.
There's that look again. One that started from your head to your toe. Her eyes lingered on you for a second more as if she's scanning you. Assessing. Calculating. You thought this must be what those live fishes in the supermarket felt just before they were bought, killed, cooked, and eaten.
“Mother,” Emily greeted Elizabeth, unsure whether to go for a hug or a handshake so she opted for a polite smile instead.
“Emily,” Elizabeth acknowledged then she put Ava down. Instantly, her eyes were back at you. “You’re looking well.”
“Hi, Elizabeth.” You said, flashing the most polite smile you could possibly give her.
Her eyes roamed over your figure, taking a second too long at your rounded belly. Emily placed a hand on your back as if to remind you to breathe and that her mother wasn't actually Medusa for you to turn into stone.
“Can we offer you anything? Tea, coffee, water…?”
“Tea, if you're making a pot.” Elizabeth replied, her gaze still not leaving you.
“Tea it is.” You finally got an excuse to leave, heading to the kitchen.
As you busied yourself in the kitchen with the tea, the sounds of conversation from the living room carried over. You could hear Ava chattering with her grandmother, sharing about school and her recent camp story.
Elizabeth asked her driver to bring in the bags of toys, clothes, and god knows what other things she bought for Ava. You couldn't help but feel a pang of envy at how effortlessly Elizabeth connected with your daughter. It seemed so natural, so easy for her to be the doting grandmother Ava adored.
You tried to push down the feelings of jealousy and frustration that threatened to bubble up within you. But it was hard, watching your daughter be showered with affection and gifts while you stood there, feeling like an afterthought.
Your mind wandered back to the first time Emily had brought you home to meet her mother. The cold reception, the questioning looks, the sharp tone of her words. It had been clear from the start that you were not the type of partner Elizabeth had envisioned for her daughter. And even after all these years, you could still feel the remnants of that initial disapproval in her every word and her every gesture.
It wasn't just your relationship with Emily that Elizabeth seemed to have an issue with. It was everything about you – your career, your personality, your background. She never failed to make subtle jabs about your work, your family, and even your upbringing. She would always compare you to Emily, as if trying to highlight all the ways you fell short.
You would often wonder if it was just about you being a woman, or if she would still have issues with anyone that Emily chose for herself. But deep down, you couldn't help but feel like her disapproval was directly tied to you as a person. It was hard not to take it personally.
You set the cup of tea down on the coffee table. "Would you like anything else, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth looked up at you. "No, thank you," she replied, her voice steady. "That will be all."
She took a sip of the tea, her eyes never leaving you. You could sense the tension in the air, the undercurrent of silent judgment.
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the cheerful chatter of Ava playing with her new toys. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, feeling the weight of Elizabeth's gaze on you.
Emily, sensing your unease, shifted closer to you on the sofa. She slipped her hand into yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
You all watched as Ava unboxed more of Elizabeth's gifts, thanking her grandmother for each one.
“Would you like to stay for dinner?” You asked a few moments later.
Elizabeth seemed to consider your question for a second, drumming her fingers thoughtfully on the arm of the chair. “I suppose I could stay for dinner," she finally replied, her tone nonchalant. "I have nothing else planned for the evening.”
“I’ll start prepping.” You told Emily, giving her thigh a gentle squeeze before standing up and heading back to the kitchen.
Emily watched you go, a hint of worry in her eyes. She knew how much you struggled with Elizabeth's presence in your home, how her critical nature seemed to always find a way to undermine you.
In the kitchen, you found momentary respite from Elizabeth's disapproving gaze. You began to prepare dinner, the familiar motions of chopping, peeling, and boiling provided a welcome distraction.
But still as you worked, your mind kept wandering back to the living room, to the thought of Elizabeth still in your home, judging you silently. You could almost feel the weight of her gaze, even from afar.
You tried to shake off the negativity, tried to focus on the task at hand. But it was hard, knowing that Elizabeth was just a room away, probably sizing you up with every passing moment.
You didn't have to wonder if she was doing the same thing with Emily. Of course, she was. Elizabeth was constantly criticizing her own daughter, probably ever since Emily was conceived. You wouldn't put it past her. She was always so critical, so judgmental, so unforgiving.
You tried to put your focus and energy back on cooking instead. This you can do. This you're good at.
You started making your wife-approved broccoli chicken casserole and your daughter's favorite spaghetti and meatballs.
You were just finishing up when you heard footsteps approaching. You looked up to see Emily entering the kitchen, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Smells good in here," she commented, crossing the room to wrap her arms around your waist from behind. She nuzzled her face into your neck, her breath warm against your skin.
“I’m making Ava’s favorite. And what I think your mother would like if she doesn't like Ava’s favorite.”
Emily chuckled at that, her lips brushing against your earlobe. "You're always so thoughtful, even when it comes to my mother." She gently spun you around to face her, her palms smoothing over your sides, coming to rest on your baby bump. "How are you holding up?" she asked, looking into your eyes worriedly.
“Cooking is giving me an excuse to stay here and avoid her. I can't breathe when she's looking at me like that.”
"I know, love." Emily's fingers traced comforting circles on your stomach. "But don't let her get to you, okay? You're doing great. Ava is happy, I'm happy, and that's all that matters.”
"I know. We're fine when it's just us. And it's her right as your mother and Ava’s grandmother to visit whenever she likes. That doesn't mean I like it though.”
"I know, trust me, I know. She can be... difficult." Knowing difficult was an understatement to describe her mother. Emily paused, her gaze roaming over your face, taking in your worried expression. "But you don't have to deal with her alone, okay? We're in this together. I'm here, and I won't let her get to you.”
You nodded. “Help me set the table.”
"Of course, love." Emily nodded, offering a reassuring smile. She reluctantly let go of you, already missing the closeness.
Together, the two of you moved around the kitchen in an easy rhythm, gathering plates, silverware, and glasses, and making the table setting look as inviting as possible.
-
Throughout the meal, you could feel Elizabeth's gaze drift towards you intermittently. She was undoubtedly noticing every little thing, every gesture, every word you spoke. It was almost as if she was waiting for you to slip up, to give her a reason to find fault with you.
But you refused to give her the satisfaction. You continued chatting with Emily and helping your daughter with her food, making a conscious effort to remain composed and gracious despite the tension.
"Did you settle on names of the twins?" Elizabeth suddenly asked.
The question seemed innocent enough, but you couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease at her subtle tone.
Emily, however, smiled softly. "We've got a list of options," she replied, her thumb rubbing small circles on your leg under the table. "But we haven't decided on anything definite yet."
Elizabeth, of course, wasn't satisfied with that answer. "You're running out of time," she commented, her gaze flickering towards your baby bump.
"We still have four months. We'll know before then." You smiled courteously.
Elizabeth seemed a bit annoyed at your response. "Four months is nothing. Names are important. You should have a shortlist by now."
Emily's grip on your leg tightened ever so slightly. You took her hand, intertwining your fingers together.
“We’re both loving the names Alexandra for the girl and Sebastian for the boy.”
Elizabeth's eyebrow quirked at the mention of those names, and you could tell she was silently judging your choices.
"Alexandra and Sebastian?" She repeated, her tone dry. "They're a bit… old-fashioned, don't you think?”
You felt a pang of defensiveness at Elizabeth's tone, but you held your ground, determined not to let her get the better of you.
Emily, sensing the tension, quickly chimed in. "We think they're timeless," she defended. "And they have a nice ring to them.”
Elizabeth sniffed disdainfully, clearly not convinced. "If you want your children to sound like a couple of elderly, then by all means..."
You had to bite your tongue to prevent yourself from snapping back at her. Emily had to hold your hand to physically stop you from throwing a spoonful of broccoli at her mother. "It's not like they're going by their full names all the time.”
"Exactly," Emily agreed to you, shooting her mother a look.
Elizabeth, however, was far from done. She raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips. "Then what will you be calling them? Alex and Seb? How mundane.”
You could practically feel the disdain radiating from her, and it was taking all your self-control not to snap at her. But before you could respond, Emily spoke up, her tone sharp. "Why does it matter? It's our kids, Mother. We'll call them whatever we please.”
Elizabeth visibly bristled at Emily's retort, her eyes narrowing slightly. "It matters because they're my grandchildren. I have a right to express my opinion.”
“Yes. Opinion.” You paused, taking a bite of your food. “We still get the last say.”
Emily's lips twitched into a small smile at your comment, appreciating your defiance.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, looked as if she'd just eaten a sour lemon. Her expression was a mix of irritation and frustration. She took a sip of her water, her gaze flickering between you and Emily. "You're both so stubborn," she commented, her tone almost begrudging.
"It's a Prentiss trait," Emily quipped, her hand still resting protectively on your knee.
Ava, who had been silently observing the conversation, chimed in with a giggle. "You're all stubborn," she piped up, earning a light swat on the arm from Emily.
Despite herself, Elizabeth couldn't help but chuckle at her granddaughter’s comment. "Yes, I suppose you're right, little one." She said grudgingly.
The tension in the room seemed to lessen just a little, thanks to the innocent interjection of your daughter. But you could still feel Elizabeth's critical eye on you, silently assessing and judging your every move.
You suddenly gripped Emily's forearm. “Oh, god. The twins are having another soccer tournament inside me.”
Emily immediately shifted her attention to you, concern and sympathy written all over her face. "Again?” Emily immediately rubbed your belly, trying to soothe and calm down the babies.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong?”
“Just a lot of kicking.”
“It’s like they have personal vendetta against your organs.” Emily unhelpfully added, earning a glare from you.
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
As soon as you were out of sight, Emily turned her attention back to her mother.
"You don't have to be so harsh on her, you know," she said, her tone tinged with frustration.
Elizabeth shrugged nonchalantly, taking another sip of her water. "I'm just being honest. She needs thicker skin.”
Emily bristled at her mother's dismissive response. "She has plenty of thick skin. But there's a difference between being honest and being cruel."
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, clearly not backing down. "You know how I am. I don't sugarcoat things. And you can't deny she's not exactly the type of person I envisioned for you.”
"You mean, she's not some posh, well-bred high society man?" Emily's tone was sharp. "Is that what you wanted for me? Someone with the right pedigree, the right connections?”
Elizabeth's expression hardened at Emily's retort. "Yes, maybe that's exactly what I wanted. Someone who would fit in with our circle. Not some…" She paused, as if searching for the right word, "... common woman.”
Emily's jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing. "Common woman? Are you even listening to yourself? You make it sound like she's some... some charity case. She's my wife and the mother of my children. And a damn good one. She's kind, she's smart, she cares about us. She loves us. Isn't that more important than some stupid pedigree?”
Elizabeth's lips thinned into a tight line, her gaze flickering with annoyance and frustration. "Love is all well and good, but you can't build a future on that alone. It requires stability, resources, and a certain... reputation."
Emily shook her head, her patience wearing thin. "You make it sound like a business arrangement, mother. That's not how relationships work. Love is the foundation of relationships. It's no longer some strategic move to climb up the social ladder. In case you haven't taken a look outside, we're not in the 18th century anymore.”
Elizabeth was about to speak again when a small voice interrupted them. “Mommy is very good.” Ava said, twirling the spaghetti on her plate with her little fork. “Mommy loves to read me stories. She makes funny faces with my food so it's cute. Mommy doesn't get mad when I color outside the lines.”
Emily smiled at her daughter's abrupt remark, her heart swelled with pride and appreciation for Ava’s bravery, innocence and understanding. It wasn't often that children so young could verbalize their feelings with such insight.
Elizabeth, for her part, seemed uncharacteristically speechless. It was as if Ava’s words were cutting through the layers of judgment and prejudice that usually defined her view of you.
“My mommy is very good.” Ava repeated, putting the fork down. “Don't say bad things about mommy, Gramma. I love her.”
Ava’s simple yet powerful words reverberated around the table, silencing the room even more.
Emily's heart pounded in her chest as she looked at her daughter, seeing a fierce protectiveness in her eyes that mirrored her own. It was clear that Ava was not going to tolerate any disrespect towards you, her mommy.
Elizabeth, still reeling from the heartfelt defense, swallowed hard, her gaze shifting awkwardly between her daughter and granddaughter.
Emily finally broke the silence, reaching for Ava’s little hand and giving it a light squeeze. "That's right, baby," she said softly. "We don't say bad things about people we love, do we?"
Ava shook her head, her expression serious.
Elizabeth, still uncharacteristically quiet, just sipped her water, her gaze drifting towards the hallway where you disappeared to the bathroom.
You got back a minute later when the twins seem to have calmed down in your belly. The dining room was strangely quiet, all sets of Prentiss eyes on you, until your daughter ran to you, hugging your waist.
"Hey, sweetie, what's wrong? Are you done eating?” Ava nodded, clinging to your waist. “Dessert then?”
Ava’s brown eyes lit up. “Cake?”
“Cake,” You confirmed.
The silence was gradually replaced by soft murmurs as everyone savoured the chocolate cake. You were completely clueless about your own daughter defending you against her grandmother.
-
Once the dinner was over, Elizabeth and Ava went back to the living room and Emily volunteered to clean up the table. You put the leftovers in the fridge as Emily loaded the dishwasher.
“Hey,” you grabbed Emily's forearm. “Did something happen while I was in the bathroom?”
Emily sighed, her expression darkening slightly. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, her thumb caressing your hand gently. "It was... a bit tense," she finally admitted. "My mother started nitpicking again, you know, the usual. But this time, Ava... she spoke up for you.”
Your eyebrows quirked up in surprise. “She did?”
"She did," Emily affirmed, her voice tinged with pride. "She told Mother off for talking about you like that. Defended you without even realizing it." Emily couldn't help but crack a small smile at the memory, her fingers still stroking your hand in a comforting gesture. "My mother was a bit gobsmacked. I've never seen her speechless like that before.”
“I just... I wish Ava didn't have to do that.”
Emily nodded in agreement, her expression softening. "I know. It's not fair to her. No kid should have to defend their parent like that, especially not because Gramma couldn't keep her mouth shut.”
“But…?” You smiled knowingly that there's more she wanted to say.
"But... at the same time," she added, her voice thoughtful, "I'm proud of Ava." Her thumb kept tracing soft, comforting circles on the back of your hand. "She's got guts. Standing up for what's right, even at such a young age.”
“She's the best of you and me.”
“That, she is.”
-
Once everything was cleaned up and organized in the kitchen, you and Emily went back to where Elizabeth and Ava were. You found Ava dozing off, her head on Elizabeth's lap.
“Somebody had too much cake, I think.” Emily chuckled. With practiced ease, she carried her daughter in her arms. She rubbed Ava’s back gently, waking her up. “Baby, you have to brush your teeth before bed.”
“And change her into her pajamas.” You reminded Emily.
“Yes, love.” Emily nodded, acknowledging your reminder.
In their absence, the room fell back into an awkward silence. You and Elizabeth were left alone, the air almost crackling with tension.
Elizabeth seemed lost in thought, her gaze fixed on the empty doorway where Emily and Ava had just disappeared. She was quiet, her usual sharp tongue suddenly silent.
You waited for a moment, expecting her to break the silence with a derisive comment or a stinging remark. But she remained unexpectedly mute, her eyes still fixed on the door.
"I don't know what you need from me." You said, finally breaking the agonizing silence.
Elizabeth's gaze slowly shifted from the doorway to you, her sharp eyes now focusing on you. She was silent for a moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she spoke, her words measured. "What makes you think I need something from you?"
"What does it take for you to accept me as your daughter-in-law? Do I have to love your daughter and treat her with nothing but love and respect? I already do. Do I have to give her a family? Oh wait, we already have that too. What does it take for you to show even a little bit of acceptance?”
Elizabeth's expression hardened at your words, her eyes narrowing at you. Your directness seemed to have shaken her. "It's not just about acceptance, it's about suitability, and I simply think my daughter could have done better than you.”
"Oh, you and me both.” You huffed out a laugh. “I think she could do better, she could get anyone she wanted. I mean, that's Emily. From the start, I knew she's way out of my league.” You took deep breaths and started massaging your belly to try and calm yourself down. “But I must have used all my luck because that woman loves me. She loves me and I love her.”
Elizabeth's composure wavered further, expression faltering slightly at your words. It was rare to see her so visibly affected, and you had clearly struck a nerve. She clenched her jaw, her knuckles turning white as they gripped the arms of her chair. But she held her tongue, the words she wanted to say clearly stuck in her throat.
"I know I'm not some snobby rich guy - or a guy at all - with generational wealth and various connections but you know what I have? Parents who have given me everything and taught me to love fiercely and wholeheartedly. Those things are what children remember when they grow up and as a mother, I will never ever let you corrupt any of my children with your snotty privileged beliefs."
You took another deep breath. You didn't know where you got the sudden wave of bravery (audacity?). You could blame it on your hormones later, right? Not for years of her belittling and judging you or her bare minimum tolerance of you. It's definitely just pregnancy hormones.
"Emily and I can raise these children on our own. We built this family and we will protect and love this family until we die so I suggest that for you to keep your grandmother privileges, you start playing nice because I have been nothing but kind and understanding every time we meet. I have ignored your every single comment and tirade on my upbringing, my career, my whole being. But when my child feels the need to defend me in front of her grandmother, that's when I draw the line.”
Your words hung heavily in the air, the weight of your declaration settling like a heavy fog. For the first time, she seemed at a loss for words, her sharp tongue rendered speechless by the unexpected strength you'd just displayed. Your mention of the impact her behavior was having on her granddaughter made a ripple of guilt flash across her face.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Elizabeth spoke, her voice cool and even, but with a hint of something new: respect. "You have a backbone," she admitted, her gaze flickering up and down your form, assessing you carefully. Her next words, however, were delivered with a hint of a challenge. "But that still doesn't mean I think you're good enough for my daughter.”
"I don't care what you think. I only care what Emily thinks because she's the one that matters the most to me.”
The corner of Elizabeth's lips twitched at your firm response, hinting at a hidden admiration for your unwavering loyalty to Emily. "Stubborn," she remarked, a subtle edge to her voice. "You're as stubborn as she is.”
“Emily got that from you.” You quipped.
For a moment, it looked as if Elizabeth was going to argue, her eyes narrowing in response to your comment. But then she surprised you by giving a short, reluctant laugh.
"Touché," she admitted, the corners of her lips twitching upward in a small, grudging smile. "I underestimated you," she said, her gaze softening ever so slightly. "You've got more fire in you than I thought."
There was a tone of begrudging admiration in her voice, a hint of approval that felt foreign coming from her.
“Don't mess with a pregnant woman.”
Elizabeth let out a short chuckle, the first real, genuine one you'd ever heard from her. "Noted," she replied, her tone holding a rare touch of humor. "Pregnant women are off-limits.”
"That doesn't mean you get to be you again after these twins are out.”
Elizabeth’s gaze flicked down to your belly, her eyes lingering for a moment on your pregnant bump. There was a hint of something else in her eyes, something you couldn't quite name... concern, curiosity, regret?
“How far along are you?”
“Twenty-two weeks.”
“Twenty-two weeks,” she repeated. “Halfway there now.”
"Yeah," You gently massaged your belly, feeling a slight kick from one of the twins. "It's kinda scary. One kid, I know I can push. Ava was a big baby but that's a one-time, big-time push. But two kids consecutively?” You shook your head in disbelief and horror.
Elizabeth, still silently observing your every move, saw the slight wince on your face as one of the twins kicked you from within. There was a hint of understanding in her eyes, a rare moment of genuine empathy.
"Twin pregnancies are a whole different beast," she agreed.
“It is… but it's worth it.”
Your response stirred something in Elizabeth, her gaze softening. She looked at you, really looked at you, her gaze taking in the sight of you as a mother-to-be for the second time. The subtle shift in her expression hinted at a realization, a quiet acknowledgement of the love and sacrifices you'd already made and would continue to make for your children.
"You truly believe that?" She paused for a second before clarifying, "That it's worth it? That the pain and the challenges are worth it for them?” Her gaze drifted again to your belly, her hand unconsciously reaching out towards the visible bump. But before she could touch it, she caught herself and pulled back, her hand falling back into her lap.
“Was it not worth it with Emily?”
The mention of her own daughter made Elizabeth freeze for just the briefest of moments. "Of course it was worth it with Emily," she said quietly.
"Your daughter is a wonderful, beautiful woman, Elizabeth. She's... she's everything. May it be because of you or despite of you, only Emily can tell you that. All I can tell you is that she's the best wife for me and the most perfect mother for our children.”
As Emily entered the room, she took in the sight of you both, her eyes flickering between you and her mother, gauging the atmosphere.
"Is everything alright here?" she asked, her eyes searching your face first, then her mother's.
“Everything's fine,” you answered, reaching for her hand. “Help me up. I need to pee. Again.”
Emily's expression softened as she took in your complaint, a fond yet exasperated smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"You'll practically be glued to the toilet seat at this rate," she teased, stepping over to you and offering her hand to help you up.
“Shut up.” You shot your wife a glare before heading back to the bathroom.
Emily chuckled affectionately at your grumpy expression and watched you waddle off to the bathroom. Her gaze lingered on your retreating form for a moment, a protective and affectionate gleam in her eyes.
Once you disappeared around the corner, Emily turned back to her mother, the familiar tension now hanging in the air once again. She couldn't remember the last time she liked being left alone with her own mother.
Her tone shifted, a hint of caution creeping into her voice. "So... what were you two talking about?"
Elizabeth, her composure back in place, met Emily's questioning gaze with a tight-lipped smile. "Just... things," she said, her reply as vague as it was cryptic. "She has fire in her that I can't put out.”
Emily's eyebrow raised slightly at her mother's words. She knew her mother's tendency to be critical, and she braced herself for the inevitable judgment.
"You mean she's stubborn," she said bluntly, her tone a bit defensive. "Like you and me.”
Elizabeth let out a scoff, her expression a mix of irritation and reluctant agreement. "I can't deny that. Stubborn as a mule, both of you.”
“That fire you speak of… it’s what makes her a great woman and an even greater wife and mother.”
“Alright, alright. I get it. She's tough and you love her to pieces. Happy now?”
“It's about time you acknowledge how amazing she is.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, her expression a mix of reluctant acceptance and mild annoyance. "Alright, I'll admit she's impressive," she begrudgingly conceded. "She's strong, she's determined, she's stubborn. And... I suppose she makes you happy. As much as I hate to say it, I can't argue with that.”
Emily's small smirk widened into a satisfied smile. Hearing her mother's reluctant admission was like a small victory, a sign that maybe, just maybe, she was starting to understand why Emily chose and loved you.
"See?" Emily teased, her tone playful. "Was that so hard to say?”
Elizabeth shot her daughter an annoyed glance. "Don't get used to it," she said, her tone dry. "I still think you could do better."
Emily rolled her eyes at her mother's comment. She's already used to her mother's endless critiques by now. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. You think I'm wasting my life on someone who's not up to your snobby, impossible standards. But I don't want better. I already have the best."
Elizabeth let out a soft scoff. "Spoken like a lovestruck fool," she muttered sarcastically.
Emily raised an eyebrow, unphased by her mother's sarcasm. "Maybe I am lovestruck, but I'm happily so," she replied, a confident glint in her eyes.
-
You and Emily sent her off to the door when Elizabeth called it a night. Once the front door closed, it felt like the clouds over both of your heads vanished.
"That was... an eventful evening," Emily said, her voice tinged with a little exhaustion. She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close in a comforting embrace.
“It always is with your mother.” You snickered, leaning on her embrace.
Emily couldn't help but agree. "Tell me about it," she replied, nuzzling into your shoulder. "She has a way of making any gathering feel like a battlefield." Her grip on you tightened, a mix of exhaustion and tenderness in her hold. "Thank you for putting up with her. I know she can be… a lot.”
"She doesn't scare me. Well... not when I have the pregnancy hormones to blame for my being rude.”
Emily raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "So, you're using the pregnancy hormones as your own personal armor against my mother?" She chuckled, her tone tinged with affectionate amusement. "I have to admit, it's a pretty smart strategy.”
"I think she's starting to warm up to me.” You remarked, hopeful. “It only took her ten years.”
Emily couldn't help but snort out a laugh at that. "Only ten years? Oh, wow, she's practically gushing with motherly love now. I mean, a whole ten years to start tolerating you? That's a record for her. It's taking me my whole life.”
“Right?” You chuckled, sharing a high-five with your wife.
"We should commemorate this milestone," she suggested. "Maybe get a plaque saying 'Elizabeth Prentiss finally tolerates her Daughter-In-Law after 10 long years'.”
"Thank you for this award. Thank you to my daughter, Ava, for standing up on my behalf. Thank you for my pregnancy hormones for giving me the courage to speak up. And to my wife, because she couldn't have a better mother.” You bowed, well, as far as your body could go.
Emily burst out laughing, her eyes sparkling with happy tears. "That's the acceptance speech of the century," she said, still chuckling. "Very heartfelt. And a little brutal, considering you're calling out my mother in front of a global audience." She was still laughing as she tightened her hold around you, her amusement contagious. "I love you so much, you know that?”
"I love you too. You and me, we'll always conquer your mother.”
Emily pulled you even closer, her body molding against yours in an intimate embrace. "Just remember, no matter how many snide remarks or disapproving glances she throws our way, we'll face it together," Emily murmured, her voice a low, comforting vow. "We've got each other, and that's all that matters.”
“You're so sweet.” You gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “Even sweeter if you gave me a foot rub.”
“You know I can't say no to you.”
-
It was two days later when packages from a baby store were delivered to your house, unmistakably addressed to you and Emily. You didn't even remember ordering these many things online. Or at all.
“Emily!” You called your wife, watching the delivery guys move the packages in one by one.
First came the big ones (twin strollers, cribs, carriers, car seats, play mats, twin high chairs) then the baby essentials (diapers, changing pads, bottles, bottle sterilizer, breast pumps, milk bags, bibs, clothes, shampoos, soaps, lotions, baby monitors) and to your surprise, maternity essentials for you (maternity dresses, maternity belts, pregnancy pillows, nursing pillows, compression stockings, stretch mark creams).
Emily's eyes went wide in surprise. There was barely any space left in the living room to move around. “What the…? I didn't order anything online, I swear!”
“It's paid for.” One of the delivery guys handed over an envelope before asking you to sign on the delivery form, which you did. “Thanks.”
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Pitt (TV)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Baran Al-Hashimi/Cassie McKay
Characters: Baran Al-Hashimi, Cassie McKay, Harrison (The Pitt), Baran Al-Hashimi's Son, Dana Evans
Additional Tags: Secret Relationship, MILF4MILF, single parents dating each other, and not wanting their sons to know, except those sons want their moms to date each other, workplace violence where a drunk patient punches cassie, but baran is there to kiss it better mwah
Summary:
What could two 13-year-olds do to get their mothers to date each other?
Prompt: Memory
Word Count: 320
Tags: fluff, hospital setting, surgery
A/N: It's a very short piece but I still hope you guys like it! 💘
JJ wakes up groggy and floaty after her appendectomy. She hears the faint sound of television in the background and the sound of a keyboard clicking and someone quietly singing Bonnie Tyler’s “Holding Out for a Hero”. She tries to move to look who it is but every little bit of movement causes her pain, especially on her abdomen.
“Hey, hey. Take it easy, JJ.” A woman with dark hair and the most captivating brown doe eyes she’s ever seen runs to her side. The woman’s hand strokes her shoulder tenderly. “Just relax, honey.”
JJ stills. Does she know her? She looks at the stranger with furrowed brows, confused. “Honey?”
“Yes, honey? What is it?”
“Why are you calling me ‘honey’?”
The raven-haired woman looks equally confused. “Because you're my wife?”
“I’m your wife?” JJ’s jaw drops and her eyes almost bulge out of her sockets. She's this woman’s wife?
JJ immediately wonders what prayers she said for God - if there is one - to grant her this.
“You're my wife?” The other woman nods with a smile. “Goddamn…”
Her wife laughs and JJ swears her heart knew that sound somehow. “I hope it's a good goddamn, honey.”
“Very, very good. Well done, me.” JJ grins, raising her hand weakly to show her wife a thumbs up.
She laughs heartily. “Yeah. Well done, Mrs. Jennifer Jareau.” She presses a kiss on JJ’s hand and JJ swears she knew the feel of her lips all too well too.
JJ, still high on the effects of anesthesia, smiles dreamily at her. But it doesn't take long before JJ is yawning again.
“Go back to sleep. You better remember me in the morning.” Her wife presses a kiss on her forehead and JJ can't help but smile like a baked idiot. “Good night, honey.”
JJ murmurs something gibberish and just before the blonde woman falls into a deep slumber, she mumbles a soft Emily.
