Dawson has been friends with Shay for a long time. They've been colleagues for five years, and friends just as long. Dawson knows her. She knows her better than she knows most of her other friends, and she's seen that look before.
Shay was distant all afternoon after they saw Clarice. Dawson brings up the name over lunch as a kind of light hearted joke, but the moment she sees the tears threatening Shay's eyes as she stammers that Clarice wasn't a bitch all the time, she regrets it.
She apologises when they're alone later on, but Shay shakes it off. She tells her that it's ok, that she's right, but there's something in the way her voice trembles a little that sets her on edge. She doesn't believe her for a minute. It hits her unexpectedly while she's driving home from their shift, and she doesn't know how she missed it; Shay's still in love with Clarice.
It's been years, and Dawson knew how hard the break up was for Shay. She knows, because she was the one left to pick up the pieces of this beautiful, broken woman and put them back together again. She, Dawson, thinks that she did a good job, thought she'd reassembled everything perfectly, but she didn't see the cracks at the time. She sees it now. And she knows one thing; once something's cracked, it breaks twice as easily the second time.
She can't stop thinking about it as the night goes on. It reaches eight thirty, and she finds she can't focus on anything else. By nine thirty, she's decided that she's too worried about Shay for it to be okay, so instead she decides to turn up at her apartment. It's a friend-checking-up-on-a-friend kind of visit, the sort that should last half an hour at the most.
It doesn't.
Shay answers the door, and the first thing that hits Dawson is the smell of alcohol on her breath. She stammers out something along the lines of I came to see if you were ok but Shay doesn't reply, just steps back to allow her inside.
When they reach the kitchen area, Shay speaks, "You don't have to worry about me."
"You're my best friend. What kind of friend would I be if I let you get drunk alone?"
She earns a laugh, and it's enough.
Within an hour they've finished a bottle of wine between them, and somehow ended up cuddled on the couch.
"Seriously though, you are so much better than her. She doesn't know what she's missing out on."
"Yes she does. She had it for three fucking years. She knows well enough."
Dawson doesn't have an answer for that, except to pull Shay closer and plant a kiss to her temple.
"What's wrong with me, Gabby? It's been two years. Why am I still getting drunk over her?"
It pulls in Dawson's chest more than she expects when she hears Shay's voice so small. She's always been powerful and in control of everything. Seeing her this vulnerable is painful.
"It'll be okay." It's pitiful, really, how bad she is at this, at comforting her best friend who is nursing a long term broken heart. The pieces are still forming in her head, when she realises why Shay hasn't been on more than three dates with another woman since Clarice. Her commitment issues make sense. So much sense, and Dawson feels like an idiot for not piecing everything together sooner.
Best friends for 4 freaking years. And she couldn't even figure that out.
Shay's head drops down to her chest, and after a few minutes, Dawson can feel a damp patch starting on her shirt. She's mildly buzzed, and Shay's miles beyond that, clearly, because she doesn't cry. She's not a crier at all, and maybe it's this change that turns the alcohol into blind courage, and finds her pulling Shay's face up and towards hers.
It's what pushes her forwards to press their lips together, to slide a hand over Shay's abs, to take this, which she could easily back out of and laugh off (Shay's beyond wasted, after all) to the next level.
Something shifts in the atmosphere, and suddenly it's not about making Shay feel better, it's what she wants for herself. It becomes a way to forget about Casey, because that's a contributing factor to why she's as drunk as she is. She's not that good a friend.
Still, it's sex between two ladies, only one of whom is gay, and there'll be serious consequences in the morning.
Or maybe there won't be, as Dawson wakes up to find Shay's side of the bed empty. She doesn't remember how they made it to the bedroom last night, especially up those stairs, but she can't feel any new bruises, so they must have been okay.
Dawson makes her way to the kitchen, and finds Shay hunched over the counter, yogurt in hand. Maybe they should talk about it, but then again, maybe not. She figures it's up to Shay and sits down wordlessly beside her.
"Last night was fun." It's the last thing she expects to hear. "I haven't been that drunk in a long time. I feel like I've just had sex."
"You don't remember what happened, do you?"
Shay looks confused, and it's apparent that she doesn't. It should be a good thing, just casual sex between friends, where one party can't remember it. No strings. A lot easier to let her down with the "I'm straight, I'm into Casey," card.
That's all it was, for both women.
"We had sex."
"Oh. Did I start it? Because I can come on quite strongly when I'm drunk."
"No, uh, it was me." There's a sparkle in Shay's eye and before Dawson has time to think, Shay's lips are against her's once more. It's over in seconds. "I'm straight."
She expects Shay's smile to droop, for her to undo the patching up that she did last night, but it doesn't happen.
"I know. But I also know that you voluntarily had sex with me, apparently, and I'm assuming it's to get over Casey, and I need to get over Clarice. It was a thank you."
Dawson's stunned into silence.
"We don't have to do it again, if you don't want to, but I figure there's nothing wrong with a little bit of no-strings-attached lady loving between friends. Best friends."
Words can't express Dawson's gratitude for a friend like Shay, but a hand around the back of the neck and lips colliding can try.
"We can do it some more."