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In retrospect, Cassie will wonder how it had taken her so long.
She will wonder how she had managed to work alongside Baran Al-Hasimi for so long without really seeing her.
Without noticing how she carried herself with a silent confidence, and, maybe most importantly, how she had somehow failed to notice just how beautiful she was.
It usually only happens in movies, the moment when a light bulb switches on above someone's head, or, in Cassie's case, directly in the middle of her heart.
In the end, its not really single moment at all; rather an evening, or a night, and then the morning that follows.
It starts with an overheard conversation, and Cassie genuinely does not mean to listen.
It is Friday afternoon, and in one of the rare lulls when the ambulance bay is briefly quiet enough to breathe, so Cassie steps outside for a few minutes.
She pops one of her mint gums into her mouth, choosing the extra-spicy kind she keeps for particularly long shifts, and steps into the clear September air, letting the cooler breeze settle against the heat that has built beneath her scrubs.
She has barely started chewing when a voice comes from her right.
"...unbelievable. How is this happening again?!"
Cassie recognizes Dr. Al-Hashimi immediately, and from the tone alone, she knows that something is wrong.
The attending sounds distinctly unimpressed, which is unusual enough that Cassie glances over before remembering herself and looking away again.
In all the time she has known her, she has rarely seen the woman genuinely agitated.
At least not in a way that makes it through the carefully composed exterior she wears just as tight as her Lululemon jackets.
There is a pause, and Cassie wonders if she should go back inside.
It would probably be the polite thing to do, particularly because whatever conversation Al-Hashimi is having is clearly private, but Cassie also really needs this break, and the other woman is making very little effort to keep her voice down.
"Of course." The disdain in her voice is unmistakable. "No, I will find something. Like always."
Cassie looks away more deliberately, like pretending not to hear will somehow make the situation less awkward for both of them.
"Yeah, bye." The call ends there.
Al-Hashimi lowers her hand and slips her phone into her pocket before letting out a long, tired sigh. She closes her eyes for a moment, turns, and then stops when she notices Cassie standing a short distance away.
It's almost scary how quickly the composed mask returns.
One second, Al-Hashimi looks exhausted and genuinely irritated, and the next, her posture straightens and her expression settles into professional calmness.
"Dr. McKay."
Cassie gives her a small nod. "Just taking five after that last case."
Her attending nods. "I wasn't going to reprimand you for taking a break. Physician well-being is a very important factor in maintaining the quality of care."
Her head gives that familiar little tilt, the one Cassie has come to recognize as part of Al-Hashimi's particular way of processing whatever is in front of her.
Cassie nods again.
"Just for your information," she begins, looking away briefly, "I only caught the end of that. I did not hear any private information."
For a fraction of a second, the mask cracks.
Its barely there, just a flicker of acknowledgment that Cassie has noticed what happened, followed by another thoughtful silence while Baran keeps looking at her.
Although Al-Hashimi doesnt simply look at people. She observes them, taking in what is available to her and seemingly sorting through every piece of information before she decides what she actually wants to say.
Like now.
The attending takes a step closer, although she keeps a perfectly professional distance between them.
"You have a son, right, Dr. McKay?"
Cassie nods. "I do. Why?"
Automatically, she holds out her packet of mints, but Al-Hashimi shakes her head with a grateful little smile.
"I find myself spontaneously without childcare for tomorrow," she says, her expression tightening slightly. "I was wondering if you knew some good sitters in the area."
Cassie frowns thoughtfully. "For the full day?"
"Just the afternoon."
Al-Hashimi scrunches her eyebrows and glances down at her smartwatch, probably calculating everything she still needs to get done before the end of her shift.
Cassie considers the question. "I dont think I know anyone who would be available on such short notice."
"Right." The attending nods and shifts to step past her.
Cassie has no idea what comes over her.
"But..."
She reaches toward Baran's shoulder to stop her, then pulls her hand back as if burned.
Al-Hashimi stops anyway and looks over her shoulder. "Yes?"
"I have the day off tomorrow," Cassie says, suddenly aware of how quickly her heart is beating, "and I was planning to spend it just hanging out at home with my son. If..."
She takes a breath, swallows, but decides to barrel through. "If you really don't have anyone, I'm happy to look after him for a few hours."
"Oh." Al-Hashimi turns fully toward her.
Cassie feels the same careful observation from before now working with new information and new parameters.
Santos used to call Baran Robodoc in the beginning, precisely because of this kind of behavior. But Cassie finds it a little endearing.
The world could use more people who think before they speak.
"I..." Baran begins, then stops herself and pulls out her phone. "Can I get back to you before the end of shift?"
Cassie nods. "Of course."
"I really dont mean to impose."
Baran's voice stays calm, but Cassie can hear the thoughtfulness underneath it, the careful consideration if she is crossing some invisible line.
A notification pops up on Baran's phone, and Cassie watches her fight very hard not to curse in front of a coworker.
"I know how hard it can be," Cassie adds carefully. "Co-parenting and all that."
Baran simply nods, but her eyes seem to scream murder as she mutters under her breath, "More like single parenting."
Cassie offers her an empathetic smile without saying anything.
To her surprise, Baran doesnt immediately leave. Instead, she looks at the mint tin in Cassie's hand.
"Could I still have one of those?"
Cassie opens it and tilts the container toward her until one of the small pieces slides into the other woman's waiting palm.
Cassie does not know why she notices it, but Al-Hashimi's fingers seem particularly soft today.
"Thank you." She pops the little dragee into her mouth and starts chewing. Contrary to her usual experience with the extra-spicy mints, the other woman doesnt flinch at all.
Cassie lifts her eyebrows, impressed despite herself.
Al-Hashimi catches the expression and gives her the smallest hint of a smile. "See you inside, Dr. McKay."
She nods once, then turns and disappears behind the double doors.
Cassie waits until the doors swing shut behind her before pulling out her phone to call Harrison.
In all her eagerness to help, she had not actually thought about the fact that Harrison would have to agree to the arrangement too.
Although, Cassie supposes, any son raised by Dr. Al-Hashimi would probably be nothing if not kind and polite.
It turns out Harrison very much likes the idea. He even reminds Cassie that he has met Kaveh before, if only briefly, in the break room on a particularly busy day.
Which is how they find themselves here in her kitchen at noon the next day, preparing one of Harrison’s favourite meals: taco casserole.
It is a culinary abomination, but evidently a popular one among her son and his friends, so Cassie has long since stopped questioning it.
There are tortilla chips spread across the bottom of the dish, seasoned meat, beans, cheese, salsa, and sour cream galore.
Harrison, naturally, is delighted.
Cassie tries not to think too hard about what Kaveh will tell Dr. Al-Hashimi about her cooking skills later.
They dont have long until the agreed-upon drop-off time, and Cassie is halfway through explaining to Harrison that he maybe cant pour an entire packet of cheese over the top when the doorbell rings.
Twenty minutes early.
She glances toward the clock, then at Harrison. “That was fast.”
He shrugs, already reaching for the oven mitts. “Maybe they needed to come early.”
“Apparently.”
Cassie wipes her hands on a tea towel and heads for the front door.
When she opens it, the first thing she notices is that the man standing there is shorter than she expected.
The second is that he looks irritated.
Not hostile, exactly, but there is a tightness around his mouth and an impatience in the way he stands on her porch, one hand already reaching for his phone.
Beside him stands Kaveh with a red and blue backpack hanging from one shoulder.
“Hi,” Cassie says.
The man looks at her.
His gaze travels over her once, quick enough to remain technically polite and lingering enough that Cassie immediately dislikes it.
“You're Dr. McKay?”
“Yes.” He nods, but doesnt offer his own name in return.
“Kaveh.”
The boy steps forward and shakes her hand. Before Cassie can respond Harrison appears behind her. “Hey.”
“Oh, hi.”
The boys exchange a quick smile before Kaveh slips past them into the hallway.
Cassie steps aside to let him through.
The man stays on the porch, so she waits.
He looks past her into the house. “So you're the one.”
Cassie raises an eyebrow. “The one what?”
His mouth pulls into something that is not quite a smile. “The one helping Baran with Kaveh.”
There is something about his tone that makes Cassie straighten. “I suppose I am.”
He doesn't need to know theyre not even on a first name basis.
“That is convenient.”
Again, technically harmless.
Also, somehow not.
His eyes flick briefly toward the hallway, where the boys have already disappeared.
“I imagine it is useful for her,” he says, “having someone available to watch him while she is busy.”
Cassie keeps her expression neutral, although she can feel irritation beginning to settle beneath her ribs. “I have the day off, and my son is here too.”
“Of course.” The way he says it makes her dislike him even more.
Then his gaze returns to her, and there is a faint, knowing edge to his expression. “I suppose Baran has been making good use of her... relationships.”
Cassie feels heat rise beneath her collar, partly from embarrassment and partly from the sudden urge to slap him.
Instead, she gives him a cool smile. “I am sure Baran can explain her arrangements herself.”
For the first time, something in his expression falters. Only slightly.
“Well.” He glances at his phone. “I have to get to work.”
Cassie steps aside. “Right.”
He gives her another brief look, then turns and walks back down the path. She watches him go, then closes the front door.
Cassie stands there for another moment, staring at it.
She hates him. It has taken less than three minutes, which Cassie considers an impressive achievement.
From somewhere down the hallway comes a burst of laughter. She exhales, turns around, and heads back toward the kitchen.
There, the boys are sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the oven now, both of them staring through the glass at the casserole like it is undergoing some kind of highly anticipated scientific experiment.
Harrison is explaining the process. “So when the cheese starts getting brown around the edges, you know it is almost done,” he says, pointing through the oven door. “But you have to wait until it is bubbling in the middle too.”
Kaveh nods seriously. “And then?”
“Then you let my mom take it out because the oven is hot.”
Cassie stops in the doorway, and for a moment, she simply watches them. Then she smiles, crosses her arms and steps in.
"But what are we going to do before we eat?"
Kaveh turns around and raises his hand. Then he realizes he's not at school. "Wash our hands?"
Cassie nods.
"Cmon." Harrsion stands and helps him up. "I'll show you where the bathroom is."
Nine hours later, and about three hours too late, Baran finally pulls into the neighbourhood she has never been to before.
The address Dr. McKay sent her leads to a semi-detached house with the lights mostly off.
A single lamp above the front door that illuminates the number 39 beside it.
Baran pulls into the driveway and stops, but she doesnt undo her seatbelt.
Her hands stay wrapped around the steering wheel, gripping it tightly enough that her knuckles have gone pale.
The feeling has not gone away.
Neither have the screams.
A small life lost on her table, under her care, and then, somehow, the world continuing around her like nothing has changed.
A harmless kitchen burn had followed, then a broken bone, and eventually another case had finally snapped her back into work mode, because there had been things to do and patients who needed her and no room for whatever had been sitting inside her chest.
Then Gloria had made it her business to keep her.
Surprise meetings nobody had warned her about, questions that could apparently not wait until next week.
It comes with the job.
Baran knows that. She simply wishes, tonight, that it did not.
And now it is ten pm, and she desperately needs to breathe.
To cry, maybe, although she has become so practiced at not doing that in public that she is not entirely sure she remembers how to begin.
First, she has to pick up Kaveh.
If Amir learns she has let him stay up this long, he will probably say nothing. But he wilm remember it and bring it up at the moment when he needs another piece of ammunition.
Baran turns off the interior light, unwilling to look at her reflection in the darkened windshield.
Gloria had even done a double take earlier.
She had tried to disguise it, of course, but Baran had seen it.
So, theoretically, she knows she looks terrible. And she feels it.
Her hair is probably a mess. Her face is drawn with exhaustion, and she can still feel the hospital clinging to her skin.
She should have changed again before coming to a colleague's house.
She should have done something to make herself look less like someone who has spent the last hours holding herself together through sheer force of will.
Instead, she cant summon the energy to care.
Getting out of the car already feels like a herculean task.
Eventually, though, Baran manages it.
She closes the door, takes one breath of cool evening air.
She forces herself to push down the image of unmoving fingers, still covered in playground-dirt, far enough back into her mind that she can have a conversation with another human being.
Professional.
And definetly apologetic.
The door opens before she even reaches for the bell, and Baran startles for a moment.
Dr. McKay stands there in comfortable sweats, her hair pulled back into a casual bun, looking considerably more at home in the evening than Baran feels capable of being.
Her eyes move over Baran's face.
There is a double take. Baran's heart sinks.
But McKay's expression doesnt become judgmental, or even particularly concerned.
Instead, warmth settles into her features.
"Dr. Al-Hashimi," Cassie says with a small smile. "Good to see you."
Without another word, she opens the door wider and gestures her inside. Baran steps over the threshold.
The hallway is narrow but warm, with shoes gathered near the wall and a collection of framed photographs running along one side. There are children's drawings tucked between some of them, brightly coloured and slightly crooked, and somewhere deeper in the house there is the faint smell of whatever Cassie has cooked for dinner.
It should feel ordinary.
Instead, through the haze of exhaustion, it feels almost painfully domestic. Baran swallows.
"Listen, Dr. McKay." Her hands close around the seams of her Lululemon jacket. "I'm so very sorry to make you over-"
"I read your texts, and it's fine. Truly, Dr. Al-Hashimi." Cassie says it so easily that Baran stops.
She had prepared an apology during the drive here, rehearsing versions of it while sitting at red lights. Now it seems to have nowhere to go.
McKay gestures toward a doorway. "Come in for a moment?"
Baran wants nothing more than her evening routine and her bed.
She wants a shower, silence, clean sheets, and the ability to close her eyes without seeing the inside of a trauma room.
But if she cannot apologize properly, she can at least be polite. "Of course."
The doorway opens into the kitchen, and the room is softly lit, the counters clean and the last traces of dinner still visible in a few dishes stacked near the sink.
"You look like you could use a cup of tea too."
Cassie is already pulling two mugs from the cupboard before Baran can answer.
There is steam drifts gently from both of them.
Baran blinks. Did she have those prepared?
She accepts the mug when McKay offers it. Only then does she notice how quiet the house is.
There are no voices, no footsteps overhead. Nothing.
The other woman notices her realization and tilts her head slightly.
"I hope you don't mind." She clears her throat. "I put them to bed a little after eight."
Oh. Baran swallows, then automatically reaches for the mug in front of her, just to have something to hold onto.
This should be a disaster.
Kaveh hates sleeping away from home, especially in unfamiliar places, and Baran has spent the drive preparing herself for an exhausted child who will be desperate to go home.
Still, the house remains quiet.
"He doesn't have anything for-"
"I know." Cassie interrupts her for the second time that evening. It is a little irritating. But also strangely reassuring.
"But I have. And Harrison loaned him some of his old pyjamas."
Cassie tilts her head, and there is the faintest hint of amusement in her expression. "They're Spider-Man themed."
For the first time since what feels like forever, Baran chuckles. "Of course they are," she murmurs into her cup.
The warmth of the tea spreads slowly across her tongue, and for a few seconds she lets herself simply hold the mug between both hands.
Then she looks up. "Thank you, Dr. McKay."
"It's Cassie, in my house." The other doctor raises her mug, then hesitates. "If you're fine with that, of course."
Baran finds herself smiling again.
It strains something in her face, but she makes the effort to hold it long enough for Cassie to see.
"I am." She takes another sip before setting the mug down. Then she gestures to herself. "Baran."
"Baran." Cassie repeats it softly, almost with reverence. Almost, anyway. Baran is too exhausted to trust herself to interpret it.
The next half hour passes almost without Baran noticing.
Cassie tells her about the afternoon the boys have had together, and there is something unexpectedly easy about listening to her talk.
She describes the games they played, the argument over which superhero would win in a fight, and the taco casserole with enough self-deprecating commentary that Baran finds herself smiling more than once.
At some point, she realizes her mug is empty, but she doesnt put it down.
Instead, she continues to hold it between both hands, her thumb moving slowly over the smooth porcelain.
Normally, Baran prides herself on being an attentive listener. Tonight, though, her attention still keeps slipping, without her permsson.
For a moment, her body simply remembers before her mind can stop it.
Her shoulders tense and her fingers close tightly around the mug.
The room around her fades, and for one awful second she is back there again, with the bright surgical lights and that small body beneath her hands.
Then, somehow, that memory folds into an older one.
A different room and different bodies. Just the sound of the screams.
The terror in it.
The helplessness.
It is the same no matter where in the world you hear it.
Baran blinks and the kitchen comes back into focus.
Cassie has stopped talking. "Baran?" Baran looks at her. "Are you okay?"
The answer comes automatically. "Yes."
Then she hesitates.
It is a strange thing, that pause, because she almost never hesitates when someone asks her a question she has been trained to answer.
Cassie simply waits.
Baran looks down at the empty mug in her hands. "I had a difficult case today."
Cassie's expression softens. "Someone didn't make it?"
Baran nods. "A young boy."
She doesnt say more. Can't.
Cassie seems to understand that.
"Those stay with you," she says quietly. "Even when you know you've done everything you can."
"Yeah."
Cassie gives her a small, understanding smile. "I still think about some of mine."
Baran looks at her.
There no attempt to tell her that it will get better or that she shouldnt blame herself.
Baran feels seen. It is almost enough to make her cry. Instead, she yawns, so deeply that her jaw hurts.
Baran immediately lifts one hand to cover her mouth.
"Sorry."
Cassie smiles. "You don't have to apologize for being tired."
"Its not usually this bad." To herself, the lie is so obvious Baran hopes the other woman will ignore it.
Cassie's eyes flick briefly toward the clock. Then back to Baran.
"You could stay here too, you know."
Baran blinks. "Sorry?"
"The guest room." Baran needs another second to process what she is offering.
"You have a guest room?"
Cassie nods. "Of course."
Baran glances toward the hallway, then upstairs. "What about Kaveh?"
"He is in Harrison's room."
Baran's eyebrows lift and Cassie smiles. "He's on a fold-out mattress, because he thought Harrsions room was cooler than the guest room with the real bed."
Baran smiles and looks down at her empty mug again.
She considers the offer. Then she considers the drive home.
She can feel the heaviness behind her eyes, in the sluggishness of her thoughts and the slight tremor in her hands when she stops moving for too long.
She knows that when she is this depleted, her seizure threshold drops, and she knows enough about herself to recognize that she is not fit to drive home tonight.
The sensible answer is obvious.
But Baran hates being a bother, and owing people even more.
An offer like this creates a social debt, however small, and some part of her already begins calculating how she will repay it.
Baran closes her eyes for a moment.
When she opens them again, Cassie is still watching her, but there is no pressure in her expression.
"Are you sure?" Baran asks.
Cassie smiles. "Yes."
"You really don't mind?"
"I wouldn't have offered if I did."
Baran lets out a slow breath. The fight inside her is short.
"Then..." She swallows. "Thank you. I think I would rather stay."
Relief moves across Cassie's face so quickly that Baran almost misses it. "Good."
Baran looks down at the empty mug still resting between her hands and realizes, with some surprise, that she has stopped gripping it quite so tightly.
It only takes Cassie a few minutes to gather the things Baran will need before she leads her upstairs, moving quietly through the house.
“Bathroom is this door,” she says, gesturing toward the first door on the left, “and your room is right over here.”
Baran nods, taking in the dimly lit hallway. She finds herself looking for another door.
“Oh.” Cassie tilts her head, following her gaze. “The boys are in here.”
Baran's relief at not having to verbalize the question is almost embarrassing, and she walks toward the door before she can think too much about it.
“I’ll just go brush my teeth,” Cassie says, lowering her voice as though the boys might somehow hear her through the closed door. “Then the bathroom is yours. I’ve put out fresh towels and a set of pyjamas, if that’s okay.”
Baran nods. It is probably not okay.
Wearing someone else’s clothes can be a sensory nightmare she'd normally avoid.
“Thank you so much,” she whispers back.
Her throat tightens unexpectedly at the simplicity of the gestures, at the fact that Cassie has thought about everything, without making her ask for any of it.
“Of course.”
Cassie gives her a small smile before slipping into the bathroom and closing the door behind her.
Baran stands alone in the hallway for a moment. Then she opens the boys’ door.
The room is mostly dark, illuminated only by the faint glow from the hallway and a scatter of tiny stars stuck to the ceiling. For a moment, Baran takes them in.
She understands immediately why Kaveh has chosen this room.
He is curled on his side on the fold-out mattress, one hand tucked beneath his cheek, looking completely at peace.
Baran moves closer.
She crouches beside him, careful not to disturb the mattress, and studies his face for a moment longer than she probably should.
Her son.
Her beautiful, complicated, shy little boy.
Before she can stop it, tears begin to gather in her eyes.
Baran blinks hard. She has spent the entire day holding herself together, keeping her face composed while everything inside her felt more and more fragile.
She leans down and presses the lightest kiss to his forehead.
Kaveh makes a small, contented sound in his sleep and shifts his face slightly toward the warmth.
That is enough to make Baran's vision blur completely.
She stands up quickly, swallowing against the ache in her throat, and quietly closes the door behind her.
When she turns back into the hallway, Cassie is just stepping out of the bathroom.
She stops.
Baran stops too.
Cassie's eyes move over her face, and Baran knows she probably looks exactly as she feels.
Approaching slowly, the other woman nods once. “Hey, I know.”
Something deep in Baran's chest caves.
Cassie opens her arms, carefully and without demand.
Baran doesnt think twice and steps forward and lets herself be pulled gently into them.
For a few seconds, she stays rigid, every muscle still holding on out of habit, but then her shoulders shake.
Cassie's arms tighten around her.
Baran presses closer before she can think better of it, resting her forehead against Cassie's shoulder as the first quiet sob escapes her.
It feels strange and humiliating. It also feels better than she wants to admit.
Cassie doesnt say anything and simply keeps holding her. The steadiness of it gradually works its way through Baran's body, giving her something external to anchor herself to while the exhaustion and grief move through her in uneven waves.
Cassie is warm, so she wraps her arms around her too.
The embrace lasts long enough that Baran loses track of time, long enough for the aching beneath her ribs to begin easing and for her breathing to slow.
Eventually, Baran comes back to herself, and steps away. Probably too quickly.
Cassie lets her.
Baran wipes quickly beneath her eyes with the heel of one hand. “Thank you.”
She takes a few steps backward toward the guest room, because turning away feels easier than standing here beneath Cassie's kind expression.
Cassie simply nods. “Yeah. For sure.” There is a brief pause before she softly adds, “Good night, Baran.”
Baran has to turn before she starts crying again. It has been too long since someone said that to her like this.
"Night."