Chapter Text
Victoria Javadi was not sick. At least, she was not not well enough to still come in to work. In her decade-and-a-half of grade school, undergrad, and med school, she had never willingly taken a day off. There was, of course, COVID, and the one time in second year of her pre-med where she slipped on ice and was bedridden until she could force herself to hobble along to her classes without feeling every step like a gunshot in her hip. After three days of lying in bed, it was less gunshot and more really really hard kick to the side. And that was good enough -- had to be good enough. She couldn't afford to fall behind. Not then, and not now. Taking days off meant she was like everyone else, and Victoria Javadi was not like everyone else. She was better.
So, Javadi came in to the ER, bright and early, telling herself she would feel better when the sun rose. She donned two medical masks and washed her hands until she was worried they would start bleeding. The first hour was a blur. She saw three patients -- a hairline fracture in the right tibia, intermittent retinal migraines, and a dislocated shoulder. Nothing too serious so far. Javadi, on the other hand, was starting to come undone. It took her three tries to draw blood on a woman with very visible veins because her hands kept shaking, and half an hour later she was so congested that one patient asked her "what's daproxed?" Javadi excused herself from the exam room and sped to her locker. She looked both ways, made sure no one was watching, then clawed her masks off her face and took a deep breath. She shoved the used masks into a plastic bag, took out a tissue, and tried to blow her nose as discreetly as possible before shoving that too into the bag. She squeezed a healthy dollop out of her watermelon-scented glittery hand-sanitizer, rubbed her hands together (making sure to get between her fingers and under her nails). Before she could thread a fresh mask behind her ears, a bright voice rang out to her above the din of the ER.
"Javadi," Dr. McKay stood leaning on the doorway to the locker room. Javadi froze, tensing her shoulders. "Walk with me." McKay turned towards the ER, and Javadi had no choice but to oblige. Heart pounding in her chest, she followed her co-worker and mentor back into the ocean of gurneys and people and alarms and into an empty exam room, South 5. McKay held the door open, gesturing for Javadi to enter. Her mouth was curved into that tight almost-smile she wears when dealing with demanding or nosy patients, and the look sent chills down Javaid's spine. McKay closed the door after her, shutting the curtains and the sights and sounds of the Pitt faded into the background.
"Sit," McKay ordered, crossing her arms over her chest. Javadi pulled out a stool from beside the bed and sat down with more force than she had intended, almost tipping the stool over in the process. McKay tilted her head upward, closing her eyes and sighing before saying, just loud enough to be heard, "For a genius, you're pretty fucking stupid, Javadi."
Javadi's throat burned in shame. She opened her mouth to say something, but McKay locked onto her with piercing eyes and continued, louder.
"Do you have any idea how many people you've put at risk today? Huh? And post-COVID too, truly, how dense are you?" The stress the doctor put on the word "dense" made Javadi flinch inwardly. "This is an emergency room. People here are the most vulnerable they will ever be to infectious disease and you come here with a cold. Or worse, I don't know. You're lucky it was me that caught it and not Robby because he would have fired you on the spot."
"I'm sorry," Javadi whispered, voice breaking. "I didn't think--"
"You're right, you didn't."
With that, all the pressure of the morning mixed with the sudden realization of how sick she actually was came crashing into Javadi, and she stifled a sob, turning away from McKay. The doctor sighed heavily, then walked over to Javadi's stool. She pulled the girl into a hug, stroking her head as Javadi cried. Then, wiping her eyes, Javadi forced herself to pull away. Gingerly, McKay placed her hand on her chin, tilting it up to meet her gaze. Her face was etched in a mix of worry and pity, with only a hint of that fiery anger from just a moment earlier. For a moment, Javadi swore she saw the older woman's eyes flicker to her lips. But then the moment was over, and Javadi consciously decided to file that memory away under "Delusional". McKay would never. Besides the multiple talking elephants in the room screaming "she's too old for you", Javadi knew she was too much of a fuck-up for someone as good as McKay. All the little knowing looks and the shoulder-, or hip-, or hand-touching could just be McKay's way of being a mentor. She was kind, and warm, and possessed the most intoxicating crooked smile and dimpled cheeks, and when she looked at Javadi with her icy blue eyes with a small speck of brown like a robin's egg she could swear she saw just a glimmer, just a modicum of that same yearning that she held for her, but that would never happen, nor could she let herself get distracted by something or someone as good for her as Cassie McKay because she was going to become a doctor. And she didn't have time for that. So when McKay stared into her soul with the wisdom of a mother and the warmth of a childhood friend, Javadi shut out every fibre of her being that was begging, aching to lean in.
"Let's get you checked out and then you can go home, okay hon?" McKay broke the heavy silence, and Javadi nodded, too cry-sick and actually sick to say anything else. "Sit up on the bed for me." A pillowy softness had crept into McKay's voice, and Javadi choked back another sob at the undeserved kindness. She lifted herself onto the edge of the hospital bed, dainty violin fingers pilling at the scrubs on her thighs. Her mother had always said her hands were too warm for a doctor. McKay's hands on the lymph nodes on her neck, on the other hand, were perfect. Javadi shivered at the touch, controlling her breathing the best she could under the circumstances. McKay frowned, a crease forming between her brows.
"Any tenderness here?" She asked. Javadi shook her head. "Okay, open your mouth for me." McKay depressed Javadi's tongue with a stick. She then stared down her open mouth before removing the stick and grabbing a thermometer. "You know the drill," She said, handing the thermometer to Javadi. "Temperature and lungs next. Put this under your tongue." The doctor stood from the stool and manoeuvred behind Javadi. Fingers found Javadi's ponytail and she must have jumped because McKay rested a hand on her shoulder.
"Sorry," Javadi started.
"Everything okay, honey?" Javadi shook her head, trying to rid herself of the childish pang that the term elicited. She then stopped, and nodded. She looked back and up at McKay, whose everchanging expression now read as patient, and kind. The McKay Javadi was used to. The thermometer beeped, and she took it out of her mouth. 100.5. Shit. She put the thermometer down.
"I'm okay. I mean, I'll be okay. Thank you." Javadi worried her front teeth into her bottom lip, and McKay gave her shoulder a squeeze before moving her ponytail over it and out of the way. She smiled almost apologetically at the younger woman. Javadi tore her eyes forward, knowing what was next. McKay lifted the back of her shirt and the cold air made Javadi shiver again before the stethoscope was placed behind her lungs.
"Deep breath," McKay said, which to Javadi seemed like a Herculean task. Somehow through her nerves and the fever that, now that it was known, was making itself well at home, she managed to breathe in and out slowly and purposefully. McKay made a small contemplative noise, then shifted to the other lung and asked for Javadi to breathe deeply again. After repeating the test, and once more with a cough, McKay circled back to the stool and sat down.
"May I?" It took a moment for Javadi to realize that she was asking to check her heartbeat. Javadi nodded again, and failed to not notice the muscles in McKay's jaw twinge as she, gently, very gently, pulled at the corner of her undershirt collar, and (purposely?) brushed her fingertips against her clavicle before making room for the stethoscope. Javadi didn't need that cold little circle to tell her how fast her heart was pounding, she could feel it in her ears. McKay looked up at her, brow furrowed. But there was something else in that worry, something a little scared, but also maybe something--
"You're shaking," McKay whispered, placing a cold hand on Javadi's hot forehead. Javadi closed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to shake off her growing delirium. What she wouldn't give for a Tylenol right now. McKay swept the strands of hair off Javadi's sweat-beaded brow, and when Javadi opened her eyes, McKay's were right there, inches from hers. "Your pupils are blown," McKay breathed, a hint of that something underneath coming through the heavy, heavy look in her eyes.
"Victoria," The name was barely audible, but as soon as they passed McKay's lips, Javadi stopped feeling her toes. Everything was too hot and too loud, the thumping in her ears had crescendoed into a roaring sea of tympanies reverberating in her skull and vibrating against her chattering teeth. In what later she would describe as a moment of pure insanity and weakness, she lunged forward and kissed Dr. McKay.
Immediately, Javadi realized her mistake. McKay's lips were still and hard under hers, and Javadi was overcome with a tsunami of guilt. She didn't think she could have felt any worse, but there she was, at the bottom of the world's deepest and darkest hellhole of shame and misery. Stupid. Javadi jerked herself away and crashed back onto the bed.
"Shit, I- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know why I did that," Javadi let out an involuntary laugh, hysteria creeping on top of delirium. "I don't- I never- I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry." Javadi moved to get up, frantically picking up her things and masterfully avoiding looking at the woman she definitely should not have kissed. She felt hot tears streak down her cheek as she practically bounded to the door.
"Victoria," She heard McKay say over her shoulder. Javadi paused, but didn't look over, hand still on the door. "Not here, okay?"
Javadi finally, tortuously looked behind her. McKay was staring at the wall away from her, hands in fists in her lap. The longest second of her life passed before McKay spoke up again.
"Go home, Javadi."
She nodded, then remembered that McKay couldn't see her. "Okay," she said, and left the exam room.