thinking about depressed victoria javadi. burnt out and aching, can't get out of bed. she's stable, or, she should be. landed a residency in emergency psych. moved out of her parents home. the weight of doing everything scared, doing everything unsure and young and alone, came crashing down all at once.
her limbs are heavy, and her already intense emotions are even worse to get a handle on. she feels like a failure— realistically, she knows why she's here, ruined, crying quietly in bed, but part of her feels that she should be anything but. she's in goddamn psych. physician heal thyself, or whatever. she can't manage it.
thinking about cassie who notices, because she's perceptive, especially to these sorts of things. to crisis. and she can't help but help. victoria is too weak to deny it, wants someone to be there so desperately, lets cassie cook her a warm meal and sit with her. it's crossing lines, boundaries, probably, they're coworkers and maybe-sorta-friends? sometimes? victoria can't make herself care. cassie just wants to make the poor, sweet girl she's grown to be impossibly fond of feel at least a little better.
thinking about a victoria who begs cassie to stay, please, after dinner. who wipes at her chin and wills the tears to stop dripping, ducking her head to hide. how could cassie say no? when the poor thing needs her this bad? how could cassie leave her alone?
and so they curl up on victoria's couch, they watch a movie. and victoria slumps. slowly, so tired, unconciously or maybe purposefully leaning towards cassie's warmth. and cassie can't help her urge to care, the ache in her chest, the way her arms wrap so easily around the younger woman and tug her into the safety of her lap. cradling her like a mother to a child. something softer than victoria ever had from her own mother.
victoria nestles her face in the crook of cassie's neck, and she cries. she cries and she cries, hiccuped sobs and quiet tears, shuddered breaths. she cries and cassie lets her. holds her. stays. murmurs hey, hey, it's okay, you're alright, baby. you're okay. just let it out. let it all out. they both don't mention the intimacy of the pet name on cassie's tongue. they barely think about it. it loosens victoria's shoulders, slows her tears.
victoria who whimpers I just— I just wanna feel good, in cassie's neck, and cassie who sighs out I know. I know, sweetie, I know.
you could help me, victoria mumbles, pressing up closer, breathing shaky. you could make me feel good. please. you— I know you could.
cassie's heart aches when she picks up on victoria's meaning. a sick twist of guilt in her gut, she can't say she's never thought about making victoria feel good in that way. how victoria might sound, lost in pleasure, how her eyes might glaze over. cassie swallows thick, feeling awful, feeling perverted. either way, she'd never give into that temptation, not when victoria's like this.
not tonight, vic, cassie tells her, soft, gentle, letting her down easy. 'not tonight' leaves a little too much room for 'maybe another night,' but cassie can't bring herself to seal it off completely. s'not what you need right now, okay? I know you're hurting, I know it... I know it's so, so heavy. but it doesn't last forever. let's just... cassie sighs. let's go to bed, baby, okay?
victoria sniffles, and she feels in way too much pain for how young she is, a body weighed down by her mental strain. it's hard to feel disappointed at the rejection when cassie says it like that. when cassie says it like... let's? like you'll... victoria swallows, thick, trying not to be too hopeful. like you'll, y'know, come? you won't go? will you hold me?
cassie nods, wonders if she's making a terrible decision. kisses victoria's head before she can think better of it. yeah, baby, I won't go. not leaving you like this. and of course I'll hold you, okay? of course.
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