Work Text:
“Hey, wait up!”
McKay yells after Dana, jogging a bit to catch up to her before she leaves for the night. Dana stills, straightens her posture as if she’s back at the nurse’s station, ready to hand out orders or take shit from Robby and Abbot or guide a resident towards where they need to be. After a moment, she wraps her arms around herself and keeps walking — whether she doesn’t recognize her voice or just isn’t in the mood to talk, it seems as though McKay has lost her chance.
“Dana!”
This time, she turns around, moonlight washing out her pale skin and bringing her blossoming bruises into full focus. McKay almost runs smack into her, too hopped up on adrenaline and idiocy to properly stop. Both of them try their best to laugh it off, but they’re not in a laughing mood. Not after today.
“You doing okay?” McKay puts her hands on her hips, then clasps them behind her back, then crosses one across her chest, then settles them on her hips again. She’s making a fool of herself, truly and thoroughly, but she’s too tired to care. Only one thing matters right now, and it’s absolutely not her.
Dana’s smile falters for half a second at the question, swaying like she’s been knocked off her center of gravity. Wisps of silver hair fall across her face, picked up by the early spring wind. McKay’s hair, were she not so diligent about dyeing it, would almost match hers by now. From up close, she notices things she’s never seen before; the nicotine stains on Dana’s fingertips, the flecks of her own blood dried under her nose and into her smile lines, the way her dark eyelashes stand out against her blue eyes.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m doin’ okay.” She takes a breath and reaches for her purse strap, avoiding McKay’s gaze as best she can. Okay isn’t anywhere near the truth, and McKay knows it as well as Dana does. Okay can’t begin to cover what they’ve seen, but neither can not okay. That’s how it works at the Pitt — you clock in, it breaks you, and you come back the next day because you’ve got nowhere else to go. “And you, Cassie?”
It’s McKay’s turn for surprise, now; she doesn’t hear her own name much anymore, not outside of Chad’s mocking or court hearings. To everyone else, she’s Mom, Doctor, or McKay when she’s done something right or messed something up. It’s different from Dana. She’s not using it as an accusation, as a cheap jab. She cares, or at least has the good will to pretend that she does.
“Yeah, the same,” she says as she combs a hand through her hair. “About the same.”
Dana nods and smiles too wide and turns to leave, and God, something is wrong with McKay because she reaches out and plants her hand squarely on Dana’s shoulder.
“I never said thank you,” she stutters, palpable exhaustion radiating from Dana, “for giving my patient those pamphlets, and for getting right back up and powering through the PittFest clusterfuck, and making sure Robby didn’t bite all of our heads off.” She tries to steady herself, raking her fingers through her ponytail before she goes on. “So, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Dana replies, and this time, her expression shifts to one of genuine appreciation.
“Can I hug you?” It spills out of McKay’s mouth before she can stop herself. At this rate of embarrassment, she’ll be the one who’ll have to quit. There’s no privacy at all in the parking garage, and the security camera is pointing right at them, enshrining her undeserved boldness to some video recording for the rest of eternity. Much to her relief, Dana nods. McKay reaches up to cup Dana’s face, making sure to keep away from any of the bruised spots — she’s acting on instincts fine-tuned to medicine, not interpersonal relationships. She holds Dana’s face in her hands and tilts the older woman’s head down, planting a kiss on her forehead and wrapping her in a hug. The air leaves Dana’s lungs with a soft whff as McKay holds her. She remembers, faintly, a fact she picked up from a cadaver exhibit at some museum: when two people hug, their hearts rest on top of each other.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she says as she pulls away, hiding her flushed face in her hands. She can’t parse the look on Dana’s face. She’s fucked it all up, demoted herself from Cassie to McKay, and ensured that the hospital will have no charge nurse come the start of the morning shift. “I have no idea what came over me and I just, they don’t appreciate you enough around here, Dana, and I’m gonna miss you on Monday and–”
“Cassie?”
“Yeah?”
“You gotta learn when to shut up.”
McKay doesn’t have time to respond, let alone think, breathe, or blink before Dana kisses her, wrapping her hands around her waist as if contact is the only thing grounding them to the face of the earth. It’s a gentle kiss, nothing like with any of the men she’s kissed before; Dana doesn’t shove her tongue down her throat, doesn’t slip her hands where they shouldn’t go, doesn’t ask for anything else. She just kisses her, plain and simple and sweet.
When they break away, Dana’s eyes are shimmering, and McKay can feel tears pricking in her own.
“See you on Monday?” she says, voice breaking where it needs to stay steady.
Dana laughs, loud and honest. “Absolutely not, honey. There’s nothing left for me here.”
“Oh.” McKay’s fully crying now, breaking her own record for embarrassing herself in front of her coworkers. It's stupid. If what's best for Dana is to leave, then she'll watch her go and tell her broken heart to drop the subject,
“Thanks, though.” With that, Dana walks away, leaving Cassie with only her thoughts and the taste of Dana on her lips.