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James is generally wide-eyed and at times clueless, but the severity of the sentiment catches Cassie’s attention as she passes the long-suffering white board. He’s at once motionless and in a great hurry. She stops by him at a respectful distance and bends slightly down to find his wandering eyes. “Hey, Ogilvie?” He blinks up at her, stare red and blue, but mostly obsessed. She straightens and fiddles with the tablet in her hands full of blank paper. “Just wanted to say you did well with Kiki today.”
He nods a few seconds late, as if her words had registered with a delay in transmission. “If you say,” he drones on monotonously, “but I saw Dr Robinavitch with you thirty minutes ago. That didn’t sound anywhere close to well—”
“No, no—” Cassie leaps a step closer to Ogilvie, right about when a gurney needs a clear way through the ED halls. “That’s not yours, that’s mine. As a student doctor, your job was to listen to your seniors, including someone like me. You did perfectly well on that front. Whatever criticisms Robby levies against me, they are not against you in this particular case. Got it?”
He nods again, mechanically. Like a shaky dog figurine upon a car’s glove compartment. “Yes. Thank you. I think I need to go—Dr Shamsi is going up—”
“I’m sure,” Cassie says slowly, recalibrating something in her mind, “Dr Shamsi can about wait. Are you alright?”
That’s his cue to puke word salad. “Had a patient intake. English teacher. I gave him a book to read, one of mine, but now I don’t know where it is—” she puts a light hand on his shoulder. He starts at that, pausing anxiously, but focuses better now. His speech acquires the usual clipped clarity. “I thought kidney stone. Turned out triple-A.”
“Did you present to someone?”
“Dr Mohan.”
“Then?”
“He Coded. Almost died. But it was a nice save, not in the least because of Javadi.”
Cassie strangles the untimely pride that swells in her chest like a water-filled drum. Her face stays frozen in a position of polished sympathy, attentive and kind. “If you presented to Samira, the question lies with her first, of which I am sure she’s aware.”
“I was—!” Ogilvie whispers angrily, and rights himself as apology the very next second. “I was his primary. I should have caught it.”
She pats his shoulder a few before pointedly letting go. “Take five, okay? Check your own state before continuing.”
“I can’t,” he gestures a sharp no. “I’m scrubbing in for that triple-A. Dr Shamsi has allowed.”
Cassie briefly looks down, calming herself. “Okay. You do what you need, what your patient needs. You did well with Kiki,” she reminds gently.
“Thank you,” he says, and this time with genuine thought behind it. “Um. Weird question. I understand you and Javadi are close?”
A foolish smile nearly splits apart her lips as a memory pops in her head of the way Victoria answered a similar inquiry. ‘What, proximity-wise? It’s complicated.’ “I, uh—” she sighs, careful not to overthink. “Sure. She can be a studious presence in the ED, so I have taken to teachin’ here and there. Never runs out of questions, much like yourself. Why?”
“I also take it that Dr Shamsi is her—”
“That,” Cassie interjects sharply, flexing her shoulders a little, “you can discuss with Victoria personally. I won’t gossip about a student.”
“No, of course not. I meant— Can you check in on her?”
She doesn’t allow on her face just how unusual the question. “Is there reason to?”
“Dr Shamsi thought it was Jadavi that had missed my triple-A,” Ogilvie explains, cringing visibly at the recollection alone. More shame sticks to his face now at having witnessed this than Cassie has so far managed to notice anywhere in Eileen’s body language. “She got called out in front of every—” he stops abruptly, lost in his own mind. “It wasn’t— I think I get it now. It just wasn’t— It doesn’t feel good,” he admits, “when people do that. To other people.”
Cassie’s right eye twitches from the pressure she keeps at bay, and the rage she has long since turned into a pet rat. She smiles limply at him in a hasty goodbye, “I’ll make sure she’s alright. You go assist. Do what’s best for the patient,” she repeats. It is a mantra larger than life, larger than all of them in this ED. She lets him ascend to surge without further prodding. Once his silhouette disappears, she can’t quite help but search for a certain purple stain in a crowd of professional black.
***
She is diverted roughly four times before her feet finally drag themselves to the set landmark. Javadi sits at one of the clerk desks in the hall, seemingly has done so only for the last few minutes. No reprieve in the hours prior, no opportunity for even one idle word to pass between them—all exclusively patients, all labs, all T-sheets. A soft glance here and there, an empathic nod. Not enough, of course.
Cassie swiftly beelines for the spot. At the sound of somebody’s approaching, Victoria’s resigned posture rebuilds itself with a sharp needle and sinew for its thread. She looks up with a depressing readiness, a circus animal in wait of new tricks to learn, but paces herself when recognition sets upon her face. “Dr McKay?”
“Hey,” Cassie smiles slightly, almost not, and rests a relaxed hand on the edge of the desk, close enough for Victoria to reach out if she so wants. “You’re thinking about something. What’s up?”
“Pranita,” she sighs, sagging a little in her seat.
“Yeah…” Silence sits a third person between them, grey and mournful. The ER noise becomes less than background for a blink or two. “We’ll probably be called in for a new case in a minute, but—” Cassie breathes deeply. “I’m here, Javadi. We can talk. Go to a viewing room, if you feel exposed here.”
“No, I’m—” frowning, Victoria finds Cassie’s face above to study it relentlessly. “Why did that sound like an apology?”
She chuckles airily, “Is, kind of. Pranita, though?”
Javadi complies, but her attention sharpens. “I just—I can’t believe we let them take her—”
“We did as much as we could,” Cassie tries, but Victoria could be deaf for the lack of reaction.
“They might come for me one day.” McKay tenses at the words right away, recognising them for truth. Javadi’s eyes fill up effortlessly with tears, the way her own cannot anymore. “I was born here, but that shouldn’t even matter—and it doesn’t, not even to those fucking hacks. But then my mother wasn’t—born here. How do we protect our patients and each other? People like me, how do we protect ourselves?”
“I, uh—” Cassie lifts a tentative hand to caress Victoria’s back, who abruptly gets up before any contact is established. She walks right past her mentor, her one true mentor, leaving Cassandra McKay to swallow dust and hide her face in her palms. “I don’t know, kid,” she whispers into darkness. “I don’t know…”
***
They split for their respective patients before reuniting for a fresh intake of a nasty arm dislocation that needs reduction. He’s a Caucasian white-haired man in his sixties, and it takes him all of five minutes after the morphine wears off to fully imprint on Javadi, who doesn’t mind on account of his tireless grandfatherly whimsy. Cassie watches from the sidelines when she’s not needed as a safety net, trying not to hover and deferring at every possible chance. Once Victoria fits the sling properly on the man, Cassie peruses the work critically and, finding no reason for reproach, nods importantly, “Very well. You’re in capable hands, Mr Clarkson. Javadi,” she turns around a little, their shoulders colliding as they always do, “you mind finishin’ this up? I need to catch up on another patient.”
“Sure, Dr McKay,” Victoria smiles a tad too tremulously. “Go ahead.”
Trimmed fingernails brush against purple fabric in silent support. Then Cassie departs, once again devoured by this ED, once again swimming as part of its stomach contents.
Next on the roster is a patient whose private nickname is, and could only be, Patriot Sunburn; all due to the US of A flag plastered upon her bikinis. When Cassie enters the room, it’s with a mix of concern and good-natured amusement. “Hi, I’m Dr McKay. How are you feelin’ today?”
“Stupid?”
Sure. ‘Nuff said.
Routine list of questions to tick through, and they’ll be about done until mandatory bloodwork comes in. But then—Esme. Lovely Esme from Environmental Services offers her that stupid, patch-covered blanket within the fabric of which still lingers Roxie Hamler’s scent. McKay accepts it gingerly, her eyes wide and subtly wild with a deeper shade of blue for a tell. She handles it as if it were an unexploded ordnance, carefully tracking her way outside the patient’s room, and swears with the ardour of a last time. “Fuck—!”
“You alright?” Langdon asks, blinking at her, when she sways on unsure feet all the way to his desk.
He tries to exchange niceties and even reach out for a dubious hug, but she takes immense pity, passing it off as a distant manner. First year of sobriety. High achiever. Probably Mama’s boy. She waves him off, for his healing cannot be impeded by her presence. He may not have what it takes—or he may have it. Too many from that previous life didn’t, and yet she did. But then, Langdon’s no woman, and he’s no single mother trying to claw back into life from death and despair. Leave him alone, Cass. Leave everyone in peace, as you have done so—
“Dr McKay?” That voice cuts right through her cranium as if led by Garcia herself. She drops the already-packed blanket on the pristine white desk and tsks, neck flexing under the ED’s bright lights. “Sorry. I thought I’d look for you, give an update about Mr Clarkson.”
“Of course,” she answers softly, swallowing a scream. This visibly troubles Victoria—nearly everything on her face happens visibly, to a gobsmacking extent. Disarming beyond end, that openness. Not naivety or innocence, not in this case, but instead a conscious choice. Cassie forgets herself and her own ugliness in favour of… this. “Anythin’ concerning?”
“Oh, no,” Victoria promises earnestly. I wouldn’t let you down, her eyes impart. “I gave him a referral for an ortho consult, he’ll take it from there. Such a dapper man.”
Cassie does a double take, laughing soundlessly. “I see you’ve inherited his vocabulary?”
Victoria gives a weird upside-down smile, a tad embarrassed, but then nods at the package cradled by Cassie’s clenched hands, “What’s this?” These may be the words, but the true question is other.
“Roxie’s blanket.” McKay breathes through her nose, remembering the vital need in oxygen. Why? What for? Harrison. Of course. “They forgot it, I guess. I need to leave it with Dana so that Nurse Lena picks it up for the family.”
Silence. She hears it in the way the package crumples under the rough sting of her nails, and she hears it in the rustling that ensues when Victoria’s hands, much smoother and warmer, cover hers. Those veins never shot up, never clogged with dope. Face never contorted in an artificially gleeful absence of all thought. I was like this once, wasn’t I? She looks up, until now unaware that her eyes ever did close. “I’ll do it, Dr McKay,” Javadi offers so kindly Cassie might disappear, woven entirely from silk and prayer.
She’s manhandled by the younger into letting go of the blanket like a lifeless robot. That metal claw in a kiddie machine full of stuffed animals. This doesn’t make her cry. She comes about the closest to it, but it does not end in any waterfall or drowning. Doesn’t end at all, in fact, but continues on as she promptly goes back to treat Patriot Sunburn.
***
Blood ends up all over her white gown, and adorns half her goggles, too. She disposes of the PPE via a designated bin in T2 while the nurses diligently watch over the now-stable patient. Victoria disposes the same and with even more urgency, though less marked by carnage. Her skin is just as soapy, however, and hair as dishevelled. Eyes like two earth-coloured wildfires as they meet Cassie’s own, blue and menacing dry ice. Eileen Shamsi is insanely obtuse. Victoria, Cassie McKay’s Victoria held hostage in Surgery? Fucking please. Repetitive. Sterile. Boring in such a profound way that an addict like her might consider shooting up again.
They sanitise their hands in unison, a companionable silence that nonetheless weighs a ton and is only interrupted by a rabbit’s heartbeat. Adrenalin sings in Cassie’s bloodstream, but it’s a dull song with a flat voice. Alcohol tickles the nostrils as the skin on them both dries. The ant kingdom of ED buzzes with work and masochistic anxiety as they both measure the state of disaster, standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Soon to separate, or perhaps to join together again. “Thank you, Victoria,” Cassie says, aiming for intimate despite the oppressing crowdedness. Victoria catches that—how could she not?—and starts like a clueless doe. Version of her from last year, for this fleeting moment at least.
“For?”
“Really?” Cassie smiles crookedly, all that sarcasm directed towards herself.
“That save just now was yours, Dr McKay, so—”
“The blanket.”
“Ah.” Victoria nods, all nonchalance. “Of course. Happy to help.”
“You are, aren’t you?” Cassie rummages in her pockets for a pen, fidgeting incessantly with the button that activates the tip. “Whether the person deserves it or not.” She walks further to pick up another barbaric T-sheet in lieu of electronic records, but the steps behind her recede. She turns around to find Victoria frozen in place, completely still and mute. They lock eyes. Electricity shuffles somewhere close.
“I’m sorry, um— What’s that mean?”
“Look,” McKay sighs, brows lifting awkwardly. “What about that sigmoid volvulus, huh?”
“What’s that got to—?”
“I’ve been sent on a mission, actually,” she states proudly, eyes twinkling and hands stuck in pockets rather inelegantly. Slowly but surely, Victoria follows after her, either enamoured or flabbergasted. Both, likely. “To ask after you. Want to guess by who?”
Victoria cringes violently, eyes bulging from her head as she strains to recognise her whereabouts. “I barely remember my own name right now, Dr McKay.”
“Sure,” Cassie chirps with a chuckle. Dana eyes her as she passes, then Javadi, but elects no comment. By the state of the nurse’s face, she’s barely got enough stamina to stand. Fuckin’ ditto. “Our very own Ogilvie, if you can believe it.”
“What!?” Javadi exclaims, running up to Cassie immediately. Cartoon smoke surely trails after her, like in that Wile E. Coyote thing Harrison still loves. Dana snorts as an afterthought somewhere behind. “Has he hit his head on one of the lamps? Does he possibly need a CT scan?”
“I’m certain he doesn’t, but he tells me that—”
“McKay!” Barks Dana. Cassie pulls a ridiculous U-turn, Victoria along for the ride. “Attendings indisposed. Big girl pants. Double trauma, ETA 4 minutes. Take your girl with ya, both be handy.”
Join together, then. They do. They treat a nasty knee injury while McKay’s brain mulls over the innocuous ‘your girl’ comment, all completely against her own wishes, turning the phrase this way and that to the point of itching irritation. By the end of it, her teeth shiver as if her gums were bleeding. She still gives all she can, all she usually does give while mentoring; the encouraging murmurs, the instructions and the shortcuts to be taken from experience. Less of it since a few months ago, because Victoria has come to need much less.
Less management. Less Cassie.
In other ways, much more. She strains against it. Leave her alone, Cass. Leave everyone in peace, as you have done so—
A messy Javadi walks into the dim breakroom, scanning it. Cassie waves at her weakly from the floor, holding a bruised banana like a gun without realising it. She doesn’t seem bothered in the least, lowering herself next to Cassie and hugging her own knees endearingly. McKay takes a moment to commit this image to memory while Victoria picks up the discussion exactly where they had left it, “You’re sure he doesn’t need a CT?”
Cassie laughs brighter than she has done so far into the shift, briefly scratching her cheek with the banana tip before peeling it halfway. “Ogilvie told me about the triple-A,” Cassie finally explains, without interruption now. “Good catch, Victoria.” She emphasises the words by offering the peeled half to Javadi, who accepts the gift with an insincere eyeroll. Her fist holds up her chin as she watches the younger’s profile. The first bite makes Victoria spasm with the most basic pleasure.
“Wow. This feels like a five-star dinner after going empty for so long.”
Cassie searches into her face, thinking quietly. Longingly. “…Your mom really think you were to blame?”
Victoria shrugs it off, “Well, after the sigmoid—”
“Don’t. Eat and listen.” Cassie ends up handing off the other half, too. Victoria isn’t quick-witted enough to refuse, so she resigns to consuming all of the thing. Good. Nourishment is important. Cassie’s own stomach rumbles, quiet enough to go unnoticed. “She had no right to berate you at all, not to mention in front of the staff. This is fully unprofessional. I’ve given her benefit of the doubt, being a mom myself and things, but… I’m sorry I got your hopes up,” McKay says, voice mild and gentle.
Nearly done, Victoria guffaws and runs the risk of transferring the fruit from the oesophagus into her nasal cavity. She has to cough it down first. “You don’t need to apologize for thinking better of other people, Dr McKay.”
Cassie keeps it together despite the idiotic scene. “Was there someone else in your corner, with me absent?”
“Dr Robby,” Victoria remembers, still astonished at the fact of it. “He insisted I work on the triple-A and show her why I belong here. Verbatim, pretty much.”
Cassie grins toothily, every single wrinkle showing itself, and links her hands together over her bent knees. “Goddamn fuckin’ right, Javadi,” she drawls fondly, back of her head hitting the cold wall with a thud. “I’d have said the same, and then some. I’m glad he had your back.”
“I…” Victoria’s voice drops half an octave. She swallows, putting the empty peel away. “So am I, um— But what was all that? Before?”
“Yeah?” One hand disengages from the knee to fiddle with Cassie’s ever-present gold chain.
“You half-apologized, then implied, what? That I shouldn’t have helped you with Roxie’s belongings? Unless—” Victoria freezes. “You don’t have to tell me. Should I back off?”
The chain wraps around the index finger, cutting off circulation. Cassie closes her eyes and prays for the skies to come crashing down, for arrays of trauma to head this way and stifle her fragility, force her to shut down and disassociate again. “I went outside with Ogilvie,” she whispers, voice scratchy and full of tears. Not her eyes, though. Somehow still not. “That’s where I was when Roxie passed on. I was—I wasn’t there for her, or for you. I don’t regret being outside, but I regret not being—there.”
“You can’t be… all things. To all people,” Victoria says carefully, like handling glass. “Can’t be everywhere for everyone.”
“Not everywhere. I’d have liked to have been there. Just there. I apologize that I wasn’t, Victoria.” Cassie angles her head a bit to face the younger, eyes quietly staring into eyes. “The one time you did actually need me—” she finishes shakily, with a coughing laughter, and tugs at her chain worriedly. Victoria traces the tic and decides on a leap, reaching out to cover that hand with her own, darker and softer. Cassie stops, looking down at their point of contact. I was like this once, wasn’t I?
“I need you lots, Dr McKay,” Javadi announces importantly, but it sounds cartoonish. “You’ve been there, for months. Even with me out of ED rotation, you’ve checked in about how I’m doing. That’s not nothing. How about giving yourself the same grace you always extend to your patients?”
Cassie twitches when Victoria’s hand wraps better around hers, with more ferocity and protectiveness. Who else, beside her son, has touched her so? “This self-care TikTok thing really a habit now, is it?”
Javadi gasps, almost shoving her to the floor with the level of shock. “You’ve seen—!?”
“Hey, now—!” McKay laughs shrilly, meaning it a hundred percent and grabbing her by that hand again. “Relax. They’re cool, actually.”
Victoria perks up funnily. “They are?”
“Yeah,” she confirms placatingly, letting her go. They both breathe out at the same time, it seems. “Keep doing you, Javadi. Keep at it.”
“Okay. I will.”
She smiles up at Victoria, who gets up to finally dispose of the banana peel in an especial breakroom bin. With the task done, she sits in a cheap white chair, but first moves it to be opposite Cassie and have an elevated vantage point for her face. “Tell me,” Cassie mouths and looks up, throat suddenly dry. Whatever Victoria notices in that expression, it leaves her profoundly grieving. “If it’s not too much to ask, can you tell me what it was like? What she looked like?”
Victoria hugs the back of the chair, thinking. Reconstructing in her mind the moments Cassie has failed to share with her, to make sacred together. She pulls at the chain again. It whispers cheap metal. “Not peaceful, but—ready,” Javadi decides. Transparent tears appear at the corners of her painfully wide eyes. Cassie observes this with a black sort of envy, smiling brokenly. “Relieved—” Javadi sniffs. They fall, those tears. Those real tears. She wipes them with the sleeve of her stupidly purple shirt. “—like she’d seen an old friend she’d been waiting to meet for a long time.”
“That’s good,” McKay nods, voice scratchy like all hell. “That’s very good.”
They don’t speak after that, not until ED demands them both as a blood sacrifice for the umpteenth time.
***
Girl dies. Her watch. CPR for seven minutes, several epi rounds. Everything per protocol and standard of care, but that doesn’t matter for shit.
Dope was easier. Didn’t have to think, didn’t have to regret. There were numbness and a very simple brand of agony—simple because it was perceived as deserved. She’d done things to herself, to other people, and she’d had to pay up sometime. True payday is now, for clarity of mind is the real torture. The self-awareness.
Her colour hair doesn’t match—blonde against Harrison’s dark brown. Age neither, with her seven against his twelve. She’s a different child—was. Was. Not him. Dozens of little ones die every day in other ED’s, and they’re not him. But then, every single one that dies here is him, after a fashion.
She doesn’t cry. Not even this. There’s merit in provoking it, in calling Harrison out of the blue and listening to his brilliant ramblings in order to sabotage her sanity. Forcing herself to stand beside that girl’s corpse like a useless sentry. Absorbing via skin the parents’ wails as they sit in the family room, sharing space with a world destroyed.
Dope was easier, but she had been other once, in the before time. She hadn’t known the easy switch then, had thought unabashed humanity to be the only feasible option. Enter drugs.
Drugs demolish and bring levity to everything. Nothing matters. Everything does. Does it?
She washes her hands off the tragedy, metaphorically and otherwise. Soap smells clean in the way she never will become. I hate myself. I used to be different. I need to cry. What this place does—what I do. Water caresses her face, chiselling to the bone. She breathes out loudly, spits into the sink like a nasty truck driver, and moves on. Hair braided anew. Glowing set of gloves. Pen for toying around. She’s all set, lacking only in adequacy. But then—never had it.
She goes around like a tornado, picking up a case and another after it, both minor enough as to go without egregious complications. Rings the bell once, but somebody beats her to it for the second time. Javadi rings it instead, apologetically. “Sorry, did I hit your hand?”
“No,” Cassie plasters a smile. “You’re alright. Getting on with analog?”
“Sort of,” she shrugs. Always so modest, Ogilvie’s hilarious influence notwithstanding.
Samira moves close by like a spectre of herself, but livens up a little when her eyes focus on McKay. She makes her way towards, and oh for the love of— “Cassie. I heard of that pediatric Code. How are you?”
Cassie’s eyes begin to sting with just how ungodly dry they are. She ignores Victoria’s hungry stare. “I, uh— tough. Tough, but fine.”
“You did all you could,” Mohan offers with all the conviction she’s got to spare. It is almost none, but it is something.
“You, too,” Cassie responds on reflex, wincing immediately. Suspended eternally in the mindset of a caretaker. When does that turn off, if ever? “With Mr Diaz, Samira.”
Pain seizes Mohan’s usually soft and accommodating features. She curtly nods and goes on her own business. Cassie never rings the fucking bell, just standing there stupidly with a completed discharge sheet in her hands. She swallows achingly sour saliva and looks around, to find both Dana and Victoria as her personal watchers.
“McKay?” Dana calls, to-the-point.
“Mm?”
“Patient seen and heard?”
“Yes.”
Dana rings the bell in her stead. Cassie nearly laughs in hysteria. “Take five. Lookin’ worse than my Benji with a hangover.”
This makes her step outside her own skull and reassess. Mask back on. “Oh, yeah. Of course. I’ll pick up one more in a moment.”
Victoria exchanges glances with the nurse, and meaningful ones at that. They talk, a word or two, as Cassie makes her way to ‘take five’ in the non-existent peace of this ED. It is not so long after that she hears respectful pitter-pattering close behind. Step or two, and she walks by the family room that houses the hospital chaplain and the two bereaved parents. Her feet stutter at the most inconvenient moment, right when the aggrieved mother looks up through the viewing glass of the door, noticing any passerby. Cassie’s eyes become glued shut as the woman leaps from her seat. The door opens with an oppressive click.
“Dr McKay—!” she begins hastily.
“I—” Cassie smiles comfortingly, and with a touch of guilt. “—didn’t mean to disturb you, Ms Peterson, or your husband.”
“I owe you an—apology,” Ms Peterson’s voice trembles, going up and down in pitch. The whites of her eyes have filled with light red. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper, called you names—you—I’m sorry.”
Swallowing down her own tongue, Cassie steps closer to the woman, hand grazing her forearm. “You owe nobody an apology,” she says levelly and slowly, like to a first-grader, squeezing that forearm a little. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Ms Peterson nods a few times, agreeing with nothing in particular. “Did she go—?” she stops, sobbing into her shaking palm. “Did she go peacefully? How did my Lily go?”
“She, uh—” McKay pauses, remembering something. Reconstructing in her mind the moment she has shared with that child, that very moment made sacred. “She went ready. Like a friend called for her. I held her hand for you, Ms Peterson,” she adds unsurely. There’s an underlying numbness to her voice despite the sentiment. A learnt politeness. The woman breaks completely, reaching out to shake Cassie’s free hand with both of her own.
“Thank you, Dr McKay,” she says tearfully. Cassie receives this quietly and sombrely.
The door shuts after Ms Peterson. Cassie turns around to block out the visions that haunt her, only then to stumble upon another haunting. Victoria holds her gaze steadily through every illogical impulse—the embarrassment, the rage, the desire. Her deeply brown eyes are a thimble away from shedding tears. Would Cassie cry if she injected them intravenously, or licked them from Victoria’s face like a glutton for sorrow? Leave her alone, Cass. Leave everyone in peace, as you have done so—
Victoria nods to her left, meaning to talk with McKay somewhere secluded. It almost brings a genuine smile, how the gesture is a mirror from one much earlier in the day. When Roxie was still breathing, at least technically.
Javadi crouches to check the bathroom stalls for unruly interlopers while Cassie, again, washes her face to a red tingle. It must be wonderful being so clean that it could hurt. If only she knew the feeling precisely. When she starts drying her palms with paper towels, Victoria’s already beside her, but never too near, never where Cassie would want her. Just there. She can all but hear the shyness in Victoria’s body language, but the budding conviction as well.
“I hadn’t heard,” she says meekly, “about that—that you lost—”
“That’s okay,” McKay waves her away, staring unblinkingly into the mirror. Bags under eyes the size of a crater. “I didn’t say anything. You couldn’t have known.”
“The mother. She was—rude? To you? What’d she—?”
“That I killed her daughter.” She laughs weakly at that, turning away from her own reflexion and wiping her brow anxiously. The shining white of the sink is truly a sight to behold. “That I killed—yeah. That’s the gist.”
“You didn’t,” Victoria presses immediately, causing warmth to build up in Cassie’s hollow stomach.
“I know. It’s just—Harrison—”
Victoria’s hand lands on Cassie’s rigid back, “I’m sure he’s okay.”
That coaxes a chuckle out of her. “He is, as long as Chad doesn’t pull any of his proto-adolescent bullshit. Probably watchin’ BBC about the animal kingdom.”
“Aha. Sir David Attenborough?”
“Right.” Cassie lifts her knuckles to wipe her forehead of sweat. Is this a fever? “Kid’s a raging fan.”
“You’ve raised him well,” Victoria notes softly, making her look up sharply and then—nothing. Neither of them moves. Still ill at ease, McKay nonetheless deigns a small smile when Victoria stars to meander in place from self-consciousness.
“Thank you, Vic. I appreciate it—all of it.”
“Yeah. No biggie.”
She snorts and finally straightens up to full height. Gen Z answer, if she ever heard one.
That hand leaves her back; its absence is now sharper than its presence was—if this were habitual, as if Victoria always touched her in passing and would be called out for behaving any differently. Leave her alone, Cass. Leave everyone in peace, as you have done so—
“Alright to go?” Javadi chirps hopefully, aiming for Cassie’s dim eyes in the mirror.
Cassie shakes her head, but settles with herself inwardly to delay a mental tug-of-war by a few days. “Sure am. I hear we’re going back online soon.”
“Oh, that’s good!”
“For our patients or for your TikTok?”
Victoria grins lopsidedly and turns for the door without comment. Cassie’s witchlike cackle carries across the halls when they emerge from the bathroom together. Witnessing this from afar, Dana shoots her a knowing look atop the very chic glasses whose lenses shine and burrow into Cassie’s irises, as if saying, ‘Right, wasn’t I? Your girl.’
Fucking damn it.
***
She’s scanning her patients’ records when her lonesomeness is loudly disrupted—not in the sense of sound, but the intensity of presence. The scanner whirs and moans while she stands over it, looming with a bent back. She sighs and rubs her eyes. “What are you still doing here, Javadi? MS4 right out the door—”
Victoria snickers. Cassie side-eyes her. “That rhymed. Was it intentional, or—?”
She tries to suppress a dopey, sleep-deprived half-smile. “My mental faculties aren’t sharp enough for poetry right now. As I was saying—” she opens the scanner’s lid and positions yet another sheet to be processed. The previous one is sacrificed to the hungry Shredder God. “—why aren’t you rushin’ outta here? It’s the Fourth.”
Now Victoria’s the one looming, watching Cassie drunk and concussed at work. “I wanted to thank you.”
“For?”
“Defending me against Robby. That was—meant a lot.”
“Sure.” Cassie grins toothily before thinking better of it, and searches out Victoria’s eyes with her own. “No biggie. Besides, I meant it. You heard what I said, right?”
“I did.”
“Yeah. Meant that.”
Clearly pleased and embarrassed at being pleased, she plops down on a three-wheeled stool that stands unused beside Cassie. Victoria sits all ready for a command, or a sudden quiz to catch her unawares. “You need help? I can scan these while you chart, or something.”
“Sounds like heaven,” McKay concedes, yet winces theatrically with an incredulous edge to it, “but I’m still stuck on why you’re even here. Do I have to drag you out?” Victoria shrugs like no big deal. That bravado is the fakest of all fakes, much easier to spot since Cassie’s seen the real deal on that TikTok whatever-the-fuck. She nods to herself, having arrived at a conclusion. “Huh. I see. You thinkin’ things’ll be rough at home today?”
“They never aren’t,” Javadi points out. It’s not sad; resigned instead. Much worse. Cassie purses her lips in obvious distaste, handling sheet after sheet absentmindedly. “But today—that sigmoid—”
She sighs in the way Victoria will have recognised by this point, one that foretells a labyrinthine speech in Mentor Mode. “You missed this one thing during a major crisis, Vic. I’ve been observing you this rotation, very closely. You don’t let up, you don’t trip. You’re overzealous and eager, but every good physician finetunes their peculiarities as years go by. Today was insane, but you were—” she trails off, zoning out a little.
Victoria doesn’t move, doesn’t blink any extra amount. She stares, and rather stupidly as well. “I was, um?”
“Your first day,” Cassie remembers. “I processed a patient while you were busy with somethin’ else. Treated her for a bladder infection, didn’t bother with a pelvic exam despite the postpartum status. She was brought in later, treated by Heather—Dr Collins, I mean—after a car accident due to the endometritis that I’d missed. I didn’t exactly have this analog bullshit as an excuse. No mitigating circumstances. Just my biases, Vic,” she stresses, prepping the very last sheet. Victoria keeps watching her numbly. “We’re humans, so we have our off days. In this job, that means making critical mistakes, owning up to them, and moving on.”
“How?” The question is a gut-punch. Cassie feeds the Shredder God for the final time, pondering answer while it passionately munches up the paper. Victoria’s eyes widen when she sees no additional records to be scanned. “Wait, you’re done!? I wanted to—”
“—help,” Cassie fills in smilingly. “Your charts all written up?”
“Not… really?”
“Then take care of that first, ‘kay? And about what you’re askin’…” She blows a raspberry and checks the state of her braid, touching it briefly. “I don’t know.”
“Ah. No great wisdom?”
“No, Javadi.” McKay turns her head to study the younger, with her chewed up appearance and the horrific bags under her eyes. Victoria doesn’t fold under the attention, perhaps even preens a little. ‘Take your girl with ya, both be handy.’ “Not this time,” Cassie finishes belatedly.
She accepts the answer humbly, and then asks just as humbly, “Dr McKay?” No. Uncertainly. Sounds wrong.
“Mm. Yeah?”
“Will it be okay with you if I chart close by?”
Cassie breathes in loudly through her nose, brows furrowed. Leave her alone, Cass. Leave everyone in peace, as you have done so— “Sure. No problem.”
That’s a lie.
***
There’s nothing to it at first. Victoria quite suddenly snorts into her purple sleeve and ducks to hide behind her computer. Cassie looks up from notes with leaden eyes, motions a question with a tired tilt of her head. Victoria promptly waves that away and blurts something about a funny meme Trinity has sent her. Cassie watches her walk away for some alone time. Suspicion creeps about her, but the workload doesn’t let her relax even one muscle prematurely.
The sky clears, though. It always does. The bad weather recedes, promising no more torrential charting. She might have even saluted to herself, fist-in-air and the like. Ready to pack up and leave like Sonic the Hedgehog, Cassie opens up her phone. Abysmal time—shift was supposed to be over who the fuck cares how long ago, at this point. Harrison grins at her from the lockscreen; she takes time to admire that candid shot at the zoo before moving on. Does the math in her head, figuring Javadi will catch up to the locker room. If not, well. Next shift. They’ll live in each other’s pockets yet, no matter how hellbent Cassie seems on preventing it. Seems?
She leans against her locker with one shoulder and scrolls to look at notifications. Texts from Fuckface—that’ll be Chad—about Harrison’s pastime and whereabouts. Succinct, perhaps distant, messages from Point of Origin 1 and Point of Origin 2, Mother and Father respectively. Nonsensical emojis from Atten-boy-rough—self-explanatory. Facebook, dead. Twitter—she ain’t fuckin’ calling it X—likewise inactive. TikTok is wasteland, except for the instances where—
@jaydr posted 12 minutes ago.
Disoriented from profound exhaustion, Cassie decides to watch. If that can ever be called an independent decision.
Victoria’s in the breakroom, brightly lit and asylum-like at this hour. She’s holding the phone in front of her, so the footage jitters whenever her own hand does. There’s a highlighted comment on the screen, reading
hey drj! listening 2 u talk about the bad colleges was very helpful. flipside tho! whos a great coworker that you admire? gotta balance those other ones yk
Cassie’s already drowning in laughter before she presses play; anticipating exactly what Javadi will say at the onset—
“Aw! Thank you so much for the question, you’re sort of right! First of all, I never talked about any bad colleges, I wouldn’t know any—BYU, maybe?—but if you wanted to ask me about a colleague I admire, then—”
—and there it is. It’s her luck the lockers aren’t populated at all. It can’t be that funny, but she’s sleep-deprived and starved, in more ways than one, and she tries best to recover from a wheezing sound that ends on a cough, missing the actual beginning of the answer. Some bits and pieces do come through. Her brows very soon reach her famous bangs in something too primal to be deemed simple shock.
…had a terminal patient come in today…
…I was helping with the care, but the senior physician…
…I just couldn’t do it, I don’t know how hospice workers ever…
…she comforted me, though I know she’s not had it easy herself…
…she’s a caretaker beyond the Hippocratic Oath, I can’t describe…
…there was a whoopsie with Man in Charge today as well, and she advocated for…
…such support…
…showing me a different way to practiсe medicine…
…she gives me strength…
…begs the question…
…who
takes
care
of the caretaker?...
Cassie’s vision swims. It’s too hot inside her skull, and her vision swims. Her body catches up fifteen seconds too late, when she’s already sitting on the floor below her locker with knees bent and phone in hand like a relic. Her eyes are dusty camera lenses, and it’s still scorching somewhere inside, but she ventures into the comments to—to see what folks might write. For the hell of it.
@deadmedstudent
lmaooo drj has a fat crush dont she
@thatjdvancepic
DAMNNN DrJ! This doc is a keeper for real!
@real_christina_yang
can this woman adopt me?!!!!!!!!!! child or sugar baby, either fit istg. but srsly, that’s SO true. who takes care of the caretaker? girl, are you drj or drdre.
The subscriber kids unanimously proclaim desperate infatuation, some in jest and others—who knows? This humour is hard to navigate, and especially more so with one’s brain on fucking fire. What’s going—where am—? Cassie wipes her cheeks. Teardrops stay upon the little hairs along her arms. Teardrops. She swipes a finger across the corner of one eye out of due diligence. Wet. Warm and wet. Her world is still out of focus, but a pressure valve has finally released entire months, if not years, of mud that had been smothering her arteries and threatening eventual asphyxiation or hypoxia.
Somebody sits on the floor beside her, thigh flushed with hers, as if having appeared from nothing. Cassie covers her eyes with a trembling hand, phone hanging between her knees in a limp grip. Nobody says anything for a while; there’s scarcely need of it. Those previous words, those previous truths require breathing room to be perceived and accepted. I was like this once, wasn’t I?
“I was never like that—” Cassie says instead, mortified at the sound her vocal cords produce. Hoarse and quiet, come back from a grave. “—not really. You’re a—you’re a real person. Good person. Thank you for lettin’ me—lettin’ me see you grow. Bein’ a part of it. Shit, I’m sorry,” she spirals, wetting her lips nervously. “It’s just been one of those days, Vic, you shouldn’t see me like this—”
The only thing Victoria offers is a timid, “Friend of Bill’s, huh?”
Cassie croaks a dying laugh, “No shit!”
It is when she about calms down that Victoria ventures, “I meant it, Dr McKay. All of it. Today was shitty, but you weren’t.”
Somehow, this is the most romantic line she’s heard all year. How pathetic. She smiles suggestively, too far gone now to care. Remaining tears fall in a cascade, hot and sudden on the thick skin; she sniffles quietly and wipes them away for good. Taking note of this, Victoria gets up first and offers Cassie a helpful hand.
McKay takes a beat, weighing this moment in her mind. Leave her alone, Cass. Leave everyone in peace, as you have done so—
Fuck it. She accepts, grabbing onto Javadi for dear life, who may have possibly sighed in great relief at the contact. They don their so-called civvies in a relatively peaceful silence. Still inebriated, Cassie checks her state in a miniature mirror. Bags under eyes are greyer than today’s grief, and crow’s feet ever-obvious to a passing glance. She closes the thing like a flip phone—a sharp clink—and puts it back inside the rucksack. Victoria gawks all through the process, desperately acting as though that weren’t the case. Cassie lets that go gracefully and walks past her on wooden legs.
Their battered bodies carry them outside, where it’s pitch dark and unbearably hot. Humidity becomes a blanket around them, the night a velvet comforter atop it. She’ll need to pursue another direction now—to go towards the carpark so that the managerial staff there don’t tear her a new one. But she doesn’t. She rubs her face exhaustedly and inhales boiling air. This gives Victoria time to consider, to remember—she bounces in place from a bright realisation.
“…Forgot to ask, Dr McKay,” she slurs sleepily, starting with the bustling road that separates the Pitt from the famous park where Cassie had eloped earlier today. “What were you doing?”
She follows after the younger without conscious intent, crossing the road alongside while her hand hovers protectively over the small of Victoria’s back. Both eyes trained on the road, arms ready to push away or pull close—whichever might be needed a blink between now and next second. Al-Hashimi’s Danger-to-Self Mother comes to mind a tad too vividly. She grinds her teeth. After all, traffic is busiest at any hour of the Fourth.
Safely on the other side, Cassie processes the question. Her hand still shadows Victoria’s movement. “Meaning?”
“You said you went outside,” she elaborates, stepping somewhat awkwardly, “with Ogilvie. To do what?”
Guilt worries Cassie’s stomach, but lying is out of the question. Her eyes close for a moment, bracing in case of a kick to the shins. “Kiki.”
Victoria vibrates with mirth. Looks up at Cassie with those shiny eyes, seemingly always on the verge of weeping, “You’re serious? She finally came in for treatment?”
“Yeah,” Cassie whispers softly, looking down in reciprocation. Shock fizzles out quietly. Instead of resentment, it’s this thing that Javadi exhibits. Something dangerously close to reverence. People go around them, sometimes very rudely through them, but they stay inseparable still. Some smoke; others drink. Some third ones might be high off their minds from any of the substances Cassie would have preferred in the past. Friend of Bill’s, indeed. Most of the city folk, however, are headed into the heart of the park for a good vantage point—ah. Fireworks, of course. “I’m—sorry—” she gets out roughly, hands idly stuck in pockets. “—for not findin’ you. I thought you needed space from me, from… everything. I’d have called you otherwise. I know you’ve taken Kiki to heart.”
“Oh, no, Dr McKay!” Victoria mutters in juvenile panic, gesticulating wildly. Cassie laughs under her breath while they pass populated benches and overflowing rubbish bins. “Not even—no! I’m glad she got help today regardless of who was present. But that—that Ogilvie—was he alright with her?”
“He was excellent,” Cassie stresses, weirdly proud of him. “As were you, today.”
It is only due to her complexion that Javadi doesn’t turn beet-red. But her legs stammer, and she rushes to hide her eyes. Gotta give credit—she’s making it look almost natural. Almost seamless. Almost. “Wasn’t I also overly sensitive, though?” She questions doubtfully, then frowns. “Overreacting?”
Cassie squeezes her shoulder, briefly. Victoria’s gaze chases after the motion. “Not in my books, ‘Vadi.” She beams, contentedly silent now due to the sheer habit of sharing space with McKay.
They keep going, drunk and purposeless. Her phone buzzes suddenly, so she slows down to check the notifications. Three missed calls. One unread message. Shit—!
HR Violation:
Hey, doc. You’re alright? Can’t reach you.
Would love to hear that laugh again tonight.
Don’t be a stranger
She punches the right buttons to call back immediately, lifts one index finger to ask for patience when Victoria’s shrewd eyes find hers. Massages her forehead when intracranial pressure rises palpably. He picks up instantly, which doesn’t help her case at all. “If it isn’t the Witch Herself,” he drawls relaxedly. She stifles a nervous snort—something about Javadi’s presence here. Shame, or. Well. “Fill me in, doc. Roof came down on your hospital?”
“Just about,” she huffs annoyedly. “Look, man—I’m sorry. Shift was insane today. We were slammed to the gills, just—mind-bogglin’. Raincheck?”
“Totally,” he agrees smoothly. She imagines an attractive, self-satisfied grin, but this one backed up by something substantive. Unlike Chad’s. “Unless you’re okay to start our evening late?” He prods. Cassie’s eyes train intensely on Victoria’s, now more perplexed than anything else. “I can wait up for you, doc. Fireworks due to start soon, too. Even better that you stood me up a little, from that angle.”
She breathes in, knowing herself to be at a critical crossroads.
‘Of course. Happy to help.’
‘You are, aren’t you?’
‘You can’t be… all things. To all people.’
‘—like she’d seen an old friend she’d been waiting to meet for a long time.’
‘You’ve raised him well.’
‘Huh. I see. You thinkin’ things’ll be rough at home today?’
‘They never aren’t.’
‘…she
gives
me
strength…’
‘They never aren’t.’
“I’m real sorry,” Cassie swears to him, playing it up. Victoria’s pupils burn up with a flattering revelation. Fucking hell. Cassie will need that raincheck, whether or not she’s ready to dwell on the actual why of it. “I’ve got just enough energy to crawl into a bed and—well, the only activity I envision right now is sleep, to be honest.”
“No hard feelings, doc.” Yup. A definite smile there. Good guy, too. What a shame. “You’ve been busy saving lives, right? You deserve you-time. G’night, and don’t be a stranger.”
“Won’t be, no.”
He hangs up first. Very slowly—nearly in slow motion—she puts her phone away and scratches behind the ear uncomfortably. So much for getting laid ASAP. Victoria regards her in a suspiciously closed off fashion, head titled adorably. Cassie walks up to her, forcing her eyes up and her neck a bit craned for view. The question is unspoked, until it isn’t, “Who—? Dr McKay, did I interrupt something?”
“No, ‘Vadi.” Cassie’s eyes crinkle with a bit of condescending mischief. “Don’t bother with it. I assume you’ve always watched the fireworks with your parents?”
Victoria blinks funny at such a pivot. “…Yes?”
“Let’s break that tradition. What do you say?”
Cassie barrels forwards without Victoria’s response and chuckles into herself when a confused stomping trails after her, not a peep otherwise heard.
They avoid crowded congregations as much as they can, settling on a spot of grass under an unfortunately balding tree. Correction: Cassie settles, whereas Victoria stares uneasily. She snorts, and much louder this time, when things add up; pulls a worn-down jacket out of her rucksack and lays it over the spot next to her like a lavish carpet. Javadi gasps, “Dr McKay, you don’t need to—”
“Relax,” she laughs. “I know you’re not a hothouse plant, but I also know mothers like yours. She’ll have your skin for comin’ home with clothes covered in grass, won’t she?” Victoria nods, appalled on her mother’s behalf. Cassie tsks briefly, approximating when exactly she might cross paths with Eileen Shamsi next. To talk peacefully, of course. Measuredly. Of course. “There you go, then. Sit.”
Javadi shrugs—her own ‘fuck it’ moment—and indeed sits down beside McKay, shoulder-to-shoulder. Some folks had the same idea, also resting on the grass. One of them with a jackpot about him, red and rectangular. Cassie elbows the younger with an air of conspiration. “Uh. Yes?”
“Guy’s got a cooler. You want a beer?”
“…Isn’t it better to buy some? I mean—not that I would ask—I know you’re sober—”
Getting up already, she winks at Victoria, “I’m sure a fine citizen will be generous on our Glorious Nation’s birthday.”
Her shoulders flex automatically, anticipating that her dusty Womanly Charms might be required. Not so much, thankfully. That bald white dude with a septum piercing and The Cure short-sleeve points his beer at Cassie as she approaches, “I know youse! Pitt crew?”
She squints at him, going over memory cartridges somewhere at the back of her skull. “Uh, yeah. Dayshift, actually. I’m sorry if I’m supposed to remember you?”
“Not really, no. But you been ‘round when y’alls dayshift pulled my little sister from the grave months back.”
“Ah,” she smiles, finding it unexpectedly easy. “I’m pleased for your sister, sir.”
“Ain’t no sir!” The dude chortles so loudly it draws a few sideways stares. “Want a beer? Take as many as y’alls need, for you and your—” he briefly moves to the side in order to eyeball an incredibly tired Javadi, and whistles outrageously. “—damn! You a cradle robber? Get ‘em, woman!”
Cassie laughs with her entire upper body while accepting one blessedly freezing can. Her face heats up, and her lungs become two anchors. “Thanks, man,” she salutes him, and right at that moment an explosion of colourful fire roars in the sky above. She flinches and curses quietly. Fucking PittFest thing— “Look. Happy Fourth, yeah?”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“Ain’t no ma’am!”
He shakes his can at her, as if saying, ‘Yoo, good one!’ Still laughing some, she turns around and walks it back. Victoria’s there as she had been, watching Cassie close the distance and sit down gleefully with the loot. The fireworks are clearly reflected in the blackness of her eyes. “Told you,” Cassie announces, glancing up at the exploding tapestry. “Gave us the med worker discount.”
Victoria accepts her beer mechanically. Their fingers brush together a moment. “Huh. Cool.”
It sizzles as she opens it a few inches away from Cassie, careful not to spill anything on her. They watch the magic in tonight’s cloudless sky, Javadi’s shoulder pressed heavily against Cassie’s—like it’s a wall, a support beam. Like she knows herself to be safe, as long as the other is here. Cassie’s gaze travels down from time to time, resting meaningfully on the crown of Victoria’s head. She wilts five or so minutes later, with the fireworks still going and nowhere close to being finished. Cassie gently touches her shoulder for a test. Not limp. Not asleep.
Very slowly—nearly in slow motion—Victoria straightens and meets Cassie’s attentive stare. Eyes wet for miles as well as cheeks. All of it drips down her chin. “Hey,” she whispers—really whispers, only for Victoria to hear. “Hey, ‘Vadi—” no hesitation. Her arm slithers around Javadi’s shoulders, pressing their bodies ever closer together. “What’s wrong?”
“I just—” she sniffles. “I keep thinking about Pranita and Jessie. Perlah. Everybody who bolted today when ICE came in, too. What’s the fucking point of this bullshit if it’s all—well—bullshit?” Cassie buries her nose in Victoria’s silky hair, inhaling the girl’s essence. She leans into the contact, smelling of coffee and aloe vera. “I can’t square that in my head, Dr McKay.”
“Good,” Cassie says against Victoria’s temple. “If someone finds themselves able to square it, they’re part of the problem. Y’know?”
Javadi nods dumbly, “I guess.”
“That’s right. And you’re DrJ, aren’t you?” Cassie grins, her nonchalance a tad too on the nose. Victoria chuckles tearfully, half-aware of the greens and the violets all above them. “You’re here to spread the good message.”
“Yup. Thanks to you.”
McKay wheezes a hoarse laugh, incredulity mixed with genuine pleasure. Javadi shivers next to her. “Sure. Flattery gets you far, huh?”
“I’m serious! You want to be in my TikToks?”
“Absolutely not a fuckin’ chance, girl,” she deadpans, causing a burst in Victoria, loud and careless; her mirth bounces strongly off Cassie’s sternum like a rubber bullet. In a leap of faith—or insanity—she presses a light kiss to the girl’s hairline, lingering for a few unnecessary seconds. Javadi’s breath hitches. Too far, perhaps. Or not. “I’m proud of you, ‘kay? You’re an excellent example. Harrison’s better off watching you than beatin’ me over the head with that ‘six-seven’ crap.”
Victoria recovers with a snail’s pace while her mind whirs loudly, not keeping up with the heart. Cassie swallows a smouldering smile and waits. To have the DrJ spontaneously combust is hardly a charitable goal. “…He does that?”
“Well, he’s no saint. We contain multitudes, yeah?”
Victoria sniffs at this, “I’m too exhausted for Philosophy 101, Dr McKay.”
After all this, still ‘Dr McKay.’ There’s something darkly amusing to it. “Understood.”
Deeming the point moot, she slides her arm across Cassie’s back, inching closer until her chin rests against Cassie’s shoulder. They sit this way naturally, as if they had done it times before. McKay comes back into her living limbs with a lightning zap. It’s much like a car crash, this unplanned corporeality. I was like this once, wasn’t I? Her hands held only syringes, in a life previous. The needle would slurp up heroin from the same rusty spoon, and off she’d go. In the before time, though, she hadn’t known the easy switch, had thought unabashed humanity to be the only feasible option.
It may again be a possibility. Quite real and tangible, for her arms are draped around it under the chemical festivities of Independence Day.
Victoria sleepily blabs on about TikTok trends she considers malicious and exploitative; Cassie massages her scalp with soft fingertips, listening only to half of it, and laughs at the obviously ridiculous parts. Victoria whines rather cunningly, almost breaking McKay’s unshakeable resolve. “…You’re sure you don’t wanna record some with me?”
“I’ll pass,” she maintains, just barely. “Stick to my own, if you don’t mind.”
She can hear the sharp edges of Javadi’s tipsy pouting, and fails to be truly upset. Choosing mercy despite this, Victoria rests her head on Cassie’s knees. It—she—may again be a possibility. Quite real and tangible, for Cassie’s jittery palms touch the very skull of her under the chemical festivities of Independence Day.