Chapter Text
The baby sitting on Jack Abbot’s chest is babbling nonsensically, bubbles of spit foaming at the edge of her mouth. Her tiny, stubby fingers grapple uselessly at his chest and catch his dog tags. She yanks with all the power imbued in sixteen-and-a-half pounds and he stumbles forward.
“Ziya,” he chokes haplessly, catching both of her wrists in his calloused palm.
Five months into parenthood and it still floors him how small she is, how fragile her body is. The soft wisps of dark hair that curl under an oversized purple bow, the miniscule flutter of eyelashes, her nails (a perennial danger) so little they’re almost invisible.
Thinking too long about his responsibility for this semi-autonomous life sends him on such a profound spiral he needs a Sertraline and three fingers of Kentucky bourbon.
He rights himself against the wall just in time to ready for the impending wails he anticipates will erupt in the next five seconds.
Ziya begins to cry.
“Okay,” he bounces her against his chest, “It’s okay. I promise I’ll get you something shiny to hold.” None of the parenting books informed him babies were like crows constantly looking for a bauble to hoard.
The automatic doors that bisect the ER from the ambulance bay open with a distinctive woosh as he continues to soothe placations into Ziya’s cheek by way of kisses.
The tyrant is pleased with his tributaries for her, wails reducing to an occasional fluster of her lips.
Dana spots him first, face alight with excitement as she drops an Ipad to circle around the desk at light-speed.
“God is finally smiling on me today.” She spares Jack only a glance before she's taking Ziya’s hands in her own and making cooing noises. “Hello pretty girl!” She looks back to Jack, “How you made such a cute baby, I’ll never know.”
“All Samira.” He supplies and she nods like that was expected. “Where is she anyways?”
“She’s in Trauma 2 stabilizing a pelvic crush. She might be a minute.” Dana doesn’t sound remotely apologetic for the delay in their plans as she waves a ring of keys in front of Ziya’s face much to the baby’s delight.
With each subsequent arrival to the hub Jack is descended upon by another ebullient face inquiring with too much specificity about the state of Ziya’s health.
Doctors, he thinks, a bunch of nosy motherfuckers.
“My dad insisted,” Cassie says, depositing a plastic bag of tupperware containers onto the desk next to him.
Cassie has perhaps become Samira’s closest friend, neighbors in commiseration to nearly everything-now including motherhood. She’s a frequent guest at family dinner and he’s taken to teaching Harrison how to do basic first aid.
“I actually managed to talk him out of sending an entire casserole so believe me you’re getting the easy end of things here.”
By the time Samira emerges from Trauma 2 depositing her gown and her gloves into the nearby trash bins he’s received a Doordash gift card from Javadi, a shopping bag of frilly baby clothes from Santos, and offers of babysitting from Whitaker.
“Hi honey,” he says as she makes a beeline for him.
“Enough talk. Give me my baby.” Jack relents, never the fool enough to stand in between the way of a mother and her needs.
Samira scoops Ziya into her arms and takes a long, purposeful sniff of the side of her head. He can actually see the dopamine rush in her brain as her pupils dilate. “God,” she sighs, “they should bottle baby smell.”
“A lucrative business venture. I can’t believe they’ve missed out this long.”
Samira deigns to acknowledge him then and places a quick peck on his lips. The most she’ll hazard in front of their coworkers. She told him once that she had earned the right to a miniscule amount of PDA after thirteen hours of labor.
“How was she?” Samira asks shifting to adjust Ziya on her hip.
“Ate all her veggies this morning and took a nap around two. Really into carrots right now, not sure what that’s about.”
“It’s cause she’s a little bunny.” Samira nods solemnly, turning to tickle the baby under her chin. “Are you just a little bunny?”
His heart goes impossibly fond as his daughter giggles rubbing her cheek into Samira’s. The picture at hand still seems like something pulled out of his wildest dreams, a life he’s stumbled into entirely by accident and the good providence of Samira’s interest in him, somehow.
There is a ring burning a hole in his sock drawer that will explain the exact depth of his feelings when he works up the courage to give it to her.
“Oh ho ho,” a jovial exclamation that can only be Robby calls turning around the corner to face them, “is that Ziya Mohan-Abbot in my ER?”
Samira grins and hitches her up to face Robby. Ziya grabs for his stethoscope as he crouches then manages to tweak a handful of his nose leaving a bright red mark. “I deserved that probably.”
“You’re paying for something brother.” Jack laughs, beginning to assemble the collected gifts.
“You know if you guys want more time off…” Robby looks warily between the two of them.
“God.” Samira laughs. “No, thank you. I was going stir crazy. I needed to get back to work and Jack goes where I go apparently.”
“Always honey.” He smiles, catching the way Robby’s expression softens.
“Alright,” Robby throws his palms up, “just tell me.”
“Let me walk you guys out.” Jack says, guiding Samira and Ziya towards the doors.
The parking garage is silent, dark in the early evening dusk as their cars tucked easily alongside each other. Jack moves swiftly, catching her in a kiss far deeper than what they’d allowed themselves inside. Samira laughs into his mouth and something warm and syrupy pools in his chest.
“You better quit before I go get Whitaker and make him babysit.”
“Ooh,” Jack shudders, rubbing his nose along her cheekbone, “Don’t threaten me with a good time Mohan.”
She kisses him once more, and then again for good measure sighing into him. “See you at home?”
Tomorrow is the start of a shared forty-eight hours off together a miracle of scheduling and Robby’s magnanimity.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”