At Your Pace | Cassie Mckay x Reader
A/N - THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE!!!!!! This is based off a comment left by the lovely @kites-writes on my first fic: https://www.tumblr.com/matadorrick/814247361162395648/a-place-to-land-cassie-mckay-x-reader?source=share
Hope you all enjoy, if anyone has any ideas/requests, I'll do my best to come up with something :)
-Jimmi
WC 1.9k
*****
The first time you really see Cassie, it isn’t because she’s loud.
It’s because she isn’t.
Hospitals are full of noise. Monitors chiming, trolleys rattling, voices overlapping in urgency; but Cassie moves through all of it like she’s learned how to exist just outside the chaos. Efficient. Capable. Gentle when she needs to be, firm when she has to be.
But contained.
Always contained.
You notice it in the way she never lingers in conversation longer than necessary. The way her smiles are small, polite things that don’t quite reach her eyes unless she forgets herself- which isn’t often.
You notice it in the way she never lingers in conversation longer than necessary. The way her smiles are small, polite things that don’t quite reach her eyes unless she forgets herself, which isn’t often.
And the way she *never* lets anyone do anything for her.
“Careful,” Dana says one morning, nudging your arm as you both watch Cassie across the ward. “She’s got walls on top of walls, that one.”
You glance over. Cassie’s tucking a blanket more securely around an elderly patient, her voice low and steady, something reassuring, something kind.
“She seems… nice,” you say, a little uselessly.
Dana snorts.
“Oh, she is. That’s not the problem.”
“What is?”
Dana finally looks at you then, something knowing in her expression.
“She doesn’t believe she gets to keep nice things.”
******
You don’t fall in love with her all at once.
It would be easier if you did.
Instead, it happens slowly. Quietly. In pieces.
In the way she thanks you, always sincere, thought about, never automatic.
In the way she listens when you speak, like what you’re saying matters.
In the way her shoulders drop, just a fraction, when she realises it’s you standing beside her and not someone else.
You start to learn her rhythms.
She drinks her coffee black, but forgets about it half the time.
She double checks everything: charts, notes, dosages - not out of doubt, but out of a kind of carefulness that feels… earned.
And sometimes, when she thinks no one’s looking, she presses her thumb against the inside of her wrist, grounding herself.
You never ask about that.
Not yet.
*****
You build something with her out of small things.
Nothing that could scare her off.
“Grabbed an extra coffee,” you say one morning, setting it down beside her.
She glances at it, then at you.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
She Paused “…Thanks.”
The next time, she’s the one who brings you one.
It’s slightly too strong. Slightly too bitter.
And yet, you drink it anyway.
She notices. and doesn’t say anything.
But the next one is perfect.
*****
It takes weeks before she tells you anything real.
Not because she doesn’t want to.
Because she doesn’t know how.
It happens at the end of a long shift, the kind that leaves everything feeling a little too close to the surface.
You’re both sitting outside in the ambulance bay, backs against the cool brick wall, the evening air carrying that faint, sterile scent that clings to your scrubs.
For a while, you just sit.
Not talking.
Just... existing in each others company.
Cassie exhales slowly, like she’s been holding something in all day.
“There’s something I should probably tell you,” she says.
Her voice is careful. Not distant — just… braced.
You turn your head slightly, giving her your attention without crowding her.
“Okay.”
She doesn’t look at you straight away.
Her gaze stays fixed somewhere ahead, like she’s lining the words up before she lets them out.
“I’ve got a son.”
The words land softly.
No drama. No build-up.
Just truth.
You feel something in your chest shift- not surprise, exactly. More like something settling into place.
“What’s his name?” you ask, just as softly.
That makes her glance at you.
Really look at you, like she’s checking your reaction for cracks.
“Harrison.”
A beat.
“He’s five.”
There’s a flicker of something in her expression then; not quite fear, not quite defensiveness. Something more vulnerable than that.
“I get it if that’s-” she starts, already half pulling back, preparing for the worst.
“It’s not,” you interrupt gently.
She stops.
Studies you again.
You hold her gaze, steady. Giving her room to continue.
Her lips press together for a second, like she’s trying not to feel too much all at once.
“He’s… everything, my whole world” she admits, voice quieter now. “He’s the reason I-”
She cuts herself off.
Swallows.
You don’t push.
Instead, you ask, “What’s he like?”
And that
That’s what does it.
Because suddenly she’s not explaining herself.
She’s talking about him.
And Cassie talking about Harrison is a completely different person.
She softens.
Warms.
Her hands move when she speaks, like she can’t help it.
“He’s… pure chaos,” she says, a small laugh slipping through. “And stubborn. God, he’s stubborn. But he’s-he’s funny, like properly funny, not just... kid funny.”
You smile, watching her more than listening now.
“He sounds brilliant.”
“He is,” she says, without hesitation.
"Just like somebody else i know"
And for the first time since she sat down, she looks… unguarded.
“Harrison’s dad…” she starts, then pauses, like she’s already questioning whether to continue.
You wait.
“He’s not around,” she finishes simply.
You nod, giving her space to leave it there if she wants.
She doesn’t.
“He wasn’t... great,” she adds, understatement wrapped tight around something sharper. “Thought everything was a joke. Or his right. Didn’t take anything seriously unless it was about him.”
You can picture it.
The kind of man who takes and takes and calls it charm.
Cassie huffs out a quiet breath.
“I didn’t exactly make the best choices back then,” she admits. “I was drinking. Using. I-” She stops herself again, jaw tightening slightly. “I stayed longer than I should’ve.”
There’s no self-pity in her voice.
Just honesty.
“That’s not who you are now,” you say.
She looks at you sharply, like she wasn’t expecting you to say anything at all.
“It’s still part of me.”
“Yeah,” you agree. “But it’s not all of you.”
Something in her expression shifts.
Not fully convinced.
But... considering.
*****
When she tells you she’s sober, and has been for a few years now, it’s quieter than everything else.
Almost like she’s afraid saying it out loud might make it less real.
You don’t make it a big moment.
You don’t say anything grand.
You just say, “Thank you for trusting me enough to let me know, I'm proud of you for getting to this point.”
And for Cassie, that means more than anything else could.
*****
By the time you ask her to dinner, it doesn’t feel like a risk.
It feels like the next small step.
“I was thinking of getting something to eat after shift,” you say, keeping your tone light. “You could come. If you want.”
She watches you for a second.
Searching.
There’s still that instinct in her, to look for pressure, expectation, something she might get wrong.
"...Just dinner?” she asks.
“Just dinner.”
A pause.
Then, softer-
“Okay.”
*****
It’s awkward, at first.
Of course it is.
Cassie sits across from you like she’s not entirely sure where to put her hands, what version of herself she’s supposed to be.
You keep it easy.
Familiar.
You talk about work. About Dana’s impossible standards. About the way Doctor Abbott somehow manages to appear exactly when things go sideways.
Cassie relaxes by degrees.
A shoulder dropping.
A laugh coming easier.
By the time the plates are cleared, she’s leaning forward slightly, chin resting in her hand as she listens to you.
“You’re good at this,” she says suddenly.
“At what?”
“This,” she gestures vaguely between you. “Making it not feel... like something I’m going to mess up.”
You smile, softer now.
“You’re not going to mess it up.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
She tilts her head, studying you again.
“Why?”
“Because you care too much not to.”
That lands somewhere deep.
You can see it.
The way her expression falters, just for a second.
...That’s usually the problem,” she admits.
“Not with me,” you say.
And you mean it.
*****
You don’t kiss her that night.
Or the next.
Or the one after that.
Not because you don’t want to.
God knows , you do.
But Cassie is learning how to do this without the blur of alcohol, without the shortcuts she used to take, without the false confidence that used to carry her through moments like this.
So you wait.
And she notices that too.
Notices that you’re not rushing her.
Not expecting anything she hasn’t offered.
And slowly she starts to meet you in the middle.
*****
Dana watches it all unfold like it’s her favourite show.
One afternoon, she leans over to you, arms crossed, a satisfied little smile tugging at her mouth.
“She looks lighter,” she says.
You glance across the ward.
Cassie’s laughing at something Princess said, head tipped back slightly, the sound unguarded.
“Yeah,” you murmur.
Dana nudges you.
“Don’t get cocky. You’ve still got a long way to go.”
You huff a quiet laugh.
“I know.”
“Good,” Dana says. “Because she’s worth doing it right.”
*****
The first time Cassie reaches for you, it’s not planned.
It never is with her.
You’re sitting side by side after a difficult shift, the kind that leaves everything feeling fragile, with your hands are resting on the bench between you.
Close.
But not touching.
And then
She moves.
Her fingers brush yours first, tentative. Like she’s asking without words.
You turn your hand slightly, opening the space.
She takes it.
Fully this time.
Her grip is gentle, but there’s something steady in it too.
Like she’s choosing this.
Choosing you.
She exhales, long and slow.
"...This is okay,” she says, almost to herself.
You glance at her.
She’s looking at your hands, brows slightly drawn, like she’s concentrating on the feeling.
“Yeah,” you reply quietly. “It is.”
She nods, more certain now.
“Okay.”
And this time, it sounds less like a question.
More like a decision.
*****
From there, things don’t suddenly become perfect.
Cassie still hesitates.
Still overthinks.
Still has moments where she pulls back just to make sure she can.
But she always comes back.
And you’re always there when she does.
Steady.
Patient.
Certain.
Until one evening, as you’re walking her to her car, she stops.
Turns to you.
There’s nerves in her eyes, but something else too.
Something softer.
Stronger.
“I think...” she starts, then laughs quietly at herself. “I’m not very good at saying this stuff.”
“You don’t have to get it perfect.”
She takes a breath.
“I think I’m-” she pauses, then shakes her head slightly, starting again. “No. I know I am.”
Now she meets your eyes properly.
“I’m falling in love with you.”
The words are careful.
But they’re real.
And that’s what matters.
You don’t rush to answer.
You just step a little closer, your voice warm and steady when you speak.
“Good,” you say softly. “Because I already am.”
Cassie lets out a breath - half relief, half disbelief.
Then she smiles.
Not small.
Not guarded.
But full.
And when she leans in this time
You meet her there.
Slow.
Certain.
Like something that was always meant to happen, finally being allowed to.
*****
Somewhere behind it all, Dana is probably smug about being right.
But for once, Cassie doesn’t mind being seen.
Because this time, being seen doesn’t feel like something she’s going to lose.
It feels like something she gets to keep.