Chapter Text
Robby leaves for his sabbatical, and predictably, the ED keeps spinning.
Robby walks out of the Pitt, Jack following after him with a twisted-up frown and quiet footsteps, and comes back inside a few minutes later, his eyes red and his head down. Samira lets him go, lets him have his moment alone, sure they would be no good to each other right now. Jack is worried about Robby being gone and alone, and Samira is shamefully relieved for him to finally be gone.
Samira breathes a little easier when she hears the rumble of Robby’s motorcycle fade into nothing as he leaves the parking area. She looks around the floor, as if something might have changed in the fifteen seconds Robby’s been gone, as if the cosmic balance of this place has irrevocably shifted now that Robby’s left it behind, but everything’s the same. Maybe it’s just her that’s off-balance, something inside of her that’s irrevocably shifted with the knowledge that she’ll be able to work without Robby breathing down her neck for three months, longer if she takes Jack up on his offer to work nights after Robby comes back.
Samira does feel guilty about it, and she’ll keep this part from Jack later, but she has to suppress a smile as she looks down at her patients chart, pulling her lips in tight as she realizes that she’ll get to work without being questioned, berated, humiliated by her attending, that she’ll be able to treat patients her way and under an attending that trusts her and her methods, under an attending that has an actual interest in being her mentor and not a bully. That she can work in a space where she is trusted and respected by her attending and never have to worry that the sentiment toward her will change without reason.
“What’s got you looking so happy?”
Samira lets the apparent happiness fall off her face at Dana’s question. Shit, she didn’t realize she was being so obvious about it, thought she had her smile and inappropriate glee under control. “Um, nothing.” Samira fumbles, losing her edge as Dana looks at her under her glasses. This isn’t something she could tell Dana either. “Just— after work plans.”
“Uh huh.” Dana stares at her like she doesn’t believe her, and Samira doesn’t blame her. Samira should have picked a better lie, should have picked something that would draw less attention to herself, because she notoriously never has plans after work, is never excited to go anywhere but home after work. Dana taps the screen of her iPad and tells Samira, “Go check on your patient.”, and Samira has never been so happy to be dismissed.
___
“I hear you’ve got a hot date after work.”
“What?” Samira startles, badging out of her charting to gape at Princess, who had silently pulled up a chair next to her and was smirking at her like she knew something Samira didn’t. Perhaps she did, if she was over here asking Samira if she had a date. “No, I don’t. Who told you that?”
“I have my sources.” Princess slides closer to Samira, leaning her arms in the same small space Samira was occupying at the computer stand. Samira eyes this movement warily, not liking the message this was sending about the length of this conversation. “Is it that hottie resident from psych? I saw you talking to him earlier this week.”
Princess waggles her eyebrows at her, and Samira finally cracks, a real laugh bursting out of her at the idea. Samira remembers that conversation with psych to be entirely professional, Samira and Dr. Stowe speaking in the hallway after an initial intake conversation, and Samira marvels at Princess’ dedication to fueling the gossip machine once again. “No, it’s not him. I was talking to him because it’s my job to consult psych as needed.”
Samira gives Princess a little, awkward smile, thinking that was the end of it, rumor dead and buried regardless of who started it, when Princess makes a high-pitched squeak much too close to Samira’s ear. Samira flinches and stares at Princess, mouth open and eyes wide, as she practically bounces in her chair and looks at Samira like she just made her entire year. “So, it is someone? Please tell me, I promise to keep it a secret!”
Samira hopes her sideways glance conveys how much she doesn’t believe that to be true. “There is no date.” Samira repeats slowly. Princess pouts at her, eyes big and blinking, and Samira finds herself almost disappointed that she couldn’t give Princess the answer she wanted before she snaps herself out of it. “No guy, no date. I promise.”
“Alright.” Princess sighs playfully, pushing back from Samira and letting her chair slide backwards with her legs extended straight in front of her. Samira smiles at the sight, badging back into the computer to continue her charting. “I’m still gonna keep my ear to the ground, though. You could just be trying to throw me off the scent of your mystery man.”
“Princess, if anyone’s gonna find out the truth about my date with a mystery man tonight—” Samira says with a laugh, looking back over at Princess to continue the joke about her snooping skills being strong enough to find a nonexistent man, but stops short at what she sees instead. Jack Abbot, standing across from her on the other side of the hub, staring her down as she jokes with Princess about her mystery man and her date tonight.
Princess looks between her and Jack when she suddenly stops talking and locks eyes with him, lets out a quiet oof, presumably on Samira’s behalf, and whispers to Samira as she quickly removes herself from the situation, “Girl, what’d you do to piss him off?”
Because of course Princess would think Jack was mad. Of course she would think that, as Jack’s stare burns a hole through her skull, as he slowly stalks toward her across the hub, as he stops just in front of her and crosses his arms over his chest as he tips his chin up, staring at her from under his eyelashes and down his nose. To anyone else, he might look mad, it might be a reasonable assumption to make, but Samira knows better.
Samira can easily tell that he’s so very fucking amused at what he overheard her and Princess talking about. Samira can see the laughter in his eyes, the barely there quirk to his lips, the relaxed posture in spite of the crossed arms and death stare. Samira doesn’t embarrass herself by bringing up their conversation, just stands up too quickly from her chair and fails to stop it from skidding backwards as she reaches for it, just embarrasses herself in other infuriating ways as she tries to think of something to say to Jack that isn’t you know there’s no mystery man, right?
“Are you going home now?” Samira manages to ask, finding her voice even if it cracks in the middle of her question. Samira is very brave through her humiliation, hoping that her burning face isn’t red enough to be visible to Jack through her skin, forcing herself to keep their eye contact even if it only stokes the flames in her body further. She forgot, somehow, how crazy he made her feel when they talked at work, how easily he could fluster her at work when she wasn’t with a patient or dealing with something important. Samira watches as Jack’s mouth twitches in further amusement, as he takes a tiny step closer to her, as much as he can get away with while they’re at work, as much as he knows Samira will tolerate while they’re at work.
“Yeah. Lena says I get grumpy if I don’t get at least four hours, so…” Jack shrugs, his arms moving across his chest with the gesture, and Samira has to blink a few times before she can remember what they’re talking about.
“Don’t I know it.” It’s weak, as far as jokes go, but Jack huffs out a little laugh for her anyways. Samira is far more pleased with that reaction than she has any logical right to be. Jack only came in to say goodbye to Robby, to see him off and give him one last warning to come back in one piece, and then he’ll be back for his shift tonight. Samira wishes they could talk in private, wishes she could drag him to an on-call room for even ten minutes to check in with him, to reassure him that Robby will come back in one piece, to hold him until he truly settled and came back to himself, but she can’t. She has a job to do, and she can’t be running off with Jack whenever he’s feeling particularly emotionally vulnerable, whenever his sad eyes trigger some primal need inside of her to take care of him and make him feel better.
Jack looks around them inconspicuously, far more subtle than Samira would have been, even on her best day, and looks her up and down before asking, voice rough and quiet, “You feeling better today?”
“Oh.” Samira looks around then too, for no other reason than to avoid his eye for a second. She never considered that they could talk on the floor, that they would bridge what happened yesterday while at work, even if no one was around and Jack wasn’t calling unnecessary attention to her. Samira takes a short but steadying breath, forcing herself to meet Jack’s eyes again. She chose this, she reminds herself, she wanted this and chose this and roped Jack into this again yesterday on the roof, so she can’t shy away from what that means.
She can be an adult about this. She can be honest with Jack, because she cares about him, because she doesn’t want him to worry about her, because she wants to do things differently this time. She wants to get it right this time, as much as she’s able. “I’m feeling better. I’m— I’m sorry if I scared you yesterday, and for being so stubborn about…everything you said, I guess. I was just having an unbelievably bad day.”
“I like you scary and stubborn.” Jack tells her, and while she does find that charming, and while she does have to push her smile into the corner of her mouth and duck her head to hide her amusement from him, she had been expecting a response that at least somewhat matched her tone and candor. Jack must sense this from her somehow, because of course he does, and bumps the toe of his boot against her sneaker to get her to look at him again. “We’re good. We’ll talk later.” He tells her, voice steady, no room for argument, even if Samira had one.
Samira suddenly feels lighter with his promise, a weird sense of mixed anxiety and anticipation bubbling through her veins at the thought of having another serious conversation with him later. Probably next week, when Samira plans to keep him hostage in her apartment for three days straight. Samira presses back against Jack’s boot before she takes her foot away, tucks it behind her opposite ankle so she isn’t tempted again. “Are you doing okay too?”
She doesn’t have to specify why she’s asking. Jack sighs and uncrosses his arms from his chest, putting his hands in his pockets and weakly shrugging his shoulders. Samira’s heart breaks for him all over again, and she’s hit with a desperate urge to touch him, a barely there pass of her fingers over his, a quick squeeze of his hand, a reckless hug where he can collapse into her and she can remind him that she’s here and willing, that he’s not alone in this anymore.
But she can’t do any of that while they’re at work.
“He said he’d call me when he stops tonight, so.” Jack shrugs again, as if to say we’ll see. Samira can only nod at him, hoping her expression is sympathetic enough for him to understand everything she’s feeling, hoping whatever tiny glimpse she allows to break through at work is enough for him, right now.
It’s not enough for her, and it never is. This was part of the problem, last time, part of the reason Samira pushed him away and closed herself off from him for as long as she could manage. She wants him close whenever he’s around, and he happens to be around all the time at work, but she can’t be anyone but Dr. Mohan while she’s at work. She can’t be acting like Jack’s…whatever she is while she’s working, she can’t demand things from Jack that a coworker wouldn’t, she can’t touch him in a way that would raise eyebrows and trigger harassment trainings. She can’t touch him or look at him or talk to him like she wants to while they’re at work, she can’t tell anyone about the two of them because he’s somewhat her boss, and nothing has changed since the last time, and why did Samira think simply wanting would be enough—
“Hey.” Jack whispers, bringing her out of her spiral. Samira latches onto his eye contact, clings to his focus and care like she’s been adrift for months, forces herself to relax as she stares into his eyes and remembers why she wants this. Jack tilts his head at her, eyes bouncing around her head in a question he doesn’t need to ask, and Samira gives him an answer easily.
“I care about this conversation very much.” Samira tells him awkwardly, speaking low so no one else overhears them. Jack nods, like he expected as much. “But I’m catastrophizing this in my head already, so maybe you should leave and end it here and we’ll pick it back up when we’re not at work.”
Samira can see the laugh Jack suppresses at her admission. The amusement he’s sourcing from her right now isn’t cruel or belittling, he’s just— he likes her, he likes her quirks and neuroses, he likes when she tells him to get lost while they’re at work, he likes when she’s honest with him about what she’s thinking and what she needs from him. She makes him happy, if she can believe it, by just being herself.
“I look forward to when we’re not at work, Dr. Mohan.” Jack tells her with a barely there smirk, taking a step back from her and composing himself to leave her side. Samira regrets telling him to leave almost immediately, but she knows that’s not her professional mind speaking, it’s her needy and reckless mind grabbing at the wheel for control before Samira forces it into submission again. There will be plenty of time for them to talk later, she knows, for them to talk to each other without the strict confines of the ED suffocating them and their needs. Or, suffocating her, at least.
“You don’t have to talk to me like an email.” She scoffs, a smile tugging at the edges of her mouth against her will. How he manages to undo her with just a few words, she’ll never figure out. She hopes she can never make sense of it. “Just, you know—"
“I know.” Jack reassures her, nodding. She knows there’s no hard feelings, but she still feels bad as he moves to walk past her, as he steps just close enough to her for their shoulders to brush as he whispers next to her ear, “I’ll go, save you from further catastrophizing about how much you want me—"
Samira no longer feels bad about making him leave her alone. “Get outta here already.” She laughs, pushing on his shoulder to force him further toward the exit, the pressure and warmth of his body lighting up her palm in a dangerous way. Jack glances back at her as he walks away, a barely there and gone motion of his neck turning, and Samira exhales deeply as she’s afforded one last look at his bitten-off grin, just for her.
___
What had started out as a relatively standard shift turned into an almost disaster when a MVC was directed exclusively to PTMC. It wasn’t severe enough to call in reinforcements, but what was brought to them kept all the residents and attendings more than occupied, kept everyone frazzled and on-edge and overworked as they bounced between patients and stepped in on traumas where necessary. Samira felt like she had been pulled in a thousand different directions all day, everyone calling out her name at the worst moment possible, her patients coding when she had just stepped away to deal with another incoming case, barely enough time to get a sip of water before she was being asked to present or bring an intern along with her to teach them something.
Now that her shifts over— more than over, since she had to stay an extra ninety minutes helping Santos with a mother and son involved in the MVC, the son needing a CT after not being fitted for his booster seat appropriately and submarining under the seatbelt, the mother near inconsolable about inadvertently hurting her son and causing irreparable damage. In the end, to the relief and surprise of everyone, the son only walked away with a broken femur and bruised face after smacking and crumbling into the seat in front of him, the mother crying in relief as she clutched her son and tried to hug Samira at the same time.
After Samira had shown the mother pamphlets and websites detailing when it was appropriate to transition a toddler to a booster seat, and stupidly offered to look inside the woman’s car at the booster seat when she had only gazed blankly at Samira, overwhelmed with information and residual fear for her son, Samira had been ready to lay down on the dirty floor of the ED and never look back. Samira told Santos that her patients could be discharged after providing aftercare instructions, and kept her feedback mild when Santos thanked her for “taking that hysterical bullet”, reminding her that they needed to be comfortable dealing with anyone who came through the door, even distraught mothers who were understandably emotional and overwrought.
Now, as she grabs her things from her locker and tries to wake herself up enough to drive home safely, Samira wants nothing more than to take a shower and sleep right through the next ten hours before she has to come back to work. Samira closes her locker harder than necessary, leaning her forehead against the locker as she closes her eyes with a heavy sigh, debating the merits of crashing in an on-call room for a few hours before going home. She really doesn’t like to do that, would much rather prefer to take a shower and sleep in her own bed, but she’s exhausted—
“Finally heading out for your hot date with your mystery man?”
Samira doesn’t react to Jack’s presence or words other than letting a deep, laughing groan escape her chest. Of course, he remembers that from earlier, of course he pokes fun at her when she’s dead on her feet, of course he’s been waiting all day for them to be alone to tease her about that rumor. Samira stays leaning against her locker, but she smiles to herself, closed mouth and pushing at her cheeks, and waits for him to approach her. She knows he will, and she’s too tired to make her brain communicate with her legs, or blink her eyes open and keep them open yet.
“Was he so disappointed that you had to work late?” Jack continues, his slightly uneven gait getting closer to her, the sound of his body leaning against the lockers next to her giving her enough strength to crack one eye open, and then the other when she wants to see him more fully. Jack’s leaning against the wall of lockers, shoulder pressing into the metal and hip sticking out slightly, ridiculously overpacked tactical backpack hanging off one of his shoulders as he smiles at Samira, tilting his head at her like she’s such a sight for sore eyes, as if they didn’t see each other this morning. He’s standing close to her, leaning closer into her personal space, and it’s all too close to be safe, for her to be trusted with, but she’s exhausted enough to not care for a second, tired enough to throw caution to the wind and embrace the fact that she wants Jack close to her, needs him close after her grueling shift.
Samira lets her eyes linger on him, travel up and down his body, sticking on his shoulders and arms and hips for long enough to be noticeable. She refuses to feel ashamed about that, at least for now, refuses to feel anything negative about being so obvious about checking Jack out and enjoying the sight of him. She’s allowed to indulge, every once in a while, and Jesus, he looks good today. He’s wearing a plain back t-shirt and black cargo pants, his t-shirt tight on his biceps and stretching across his pectoral muscles, his thighs thick and strong even through his stupid pants, his neck thick and corded and his stubble the perfect length to frame his jaw and his curls perfectly messy in a way Samira is deeply envious of—
“I hate you.” Samira mumbles, bravely shoving herself off her locker and mirroring Jack’s position, lazily leaning her shoulder against her locker and supporting herself with one of her feet looped behind her other ankle, toes pointed. Their knees are almost touching, standing like this, and it would take nothing for Samira to reach out and run a hand across his shoulders, through his hair, down his arm and to his hand. Samira imagines doing so, imagines touching him right now, and pretends it’s as good as the real thing.
Her words startle a low laugh out of Jack and Samira basks in the pleasure of the sound, of being the one to rip that sound out of his throat, of being someone he’s comfortable letting go in front of. “I have it on good authority that you don’t.” Jack gloats, bumping their knees against one another, like he could read Samira’s mind, like he could read the desire on her face plain as day, like he knows Samira well enough to know she would enjoy the brief contact right now.
“Yeah, well, your good authority can go screw itself.” Samira says lightly, even if her tone is a little grumpy.
Another laugh, another low rumble building from his chest, another barely concealed smile. Samira aches for him. “Bad shift?” Jack asks, ignoring her tone, dropping his bag on the floor and starting to unlock his own locker. His locker is at his eye level, so he doesn’t have to bend down and struggle with the ones on the floor, and Samira watches his fingers press in his combination and pretends to be a good person in her silence. She wonders if he would let anyone else see him put in his locker combination, if she’s the only one who he wouldn’t hide the number from with his other hand. She wonders if there is a way for her to remain normal and sane in Jack’s eyes if she were to ask him to squeeze his fingers around the back of her neck, just for a second. Probably not.
“Do I really look that bad?” Samira asks, already dreading his answer, ruffling her fingers through her hair in self-consciousness. Her hair had been in a claw clip all day, so it’s surely flat and formed in an odd-shape by now, and she can feel her exhaustion, so she’s sure she has horrific eye bags and slumped shoulders, and she’s been here all day so her skin is probably oily and her lips probably chapped and she could definitely use a shower—
“No, I just know you.” Jack says simply, glancing at her briefly as he shoves his bag in his locker, acting as if he isn’t unraveling Samira with a few words, as if he isn’t pulling at the fraying threads of her heart one by one until the fragile muscle collapses in on itself. Until Samira is nothing more than a pile of her love and affection for him, left to stare at him longingly all day until someone finally sweeps her away.
She really does hate him. She never wants him to leave her alone. “It was the MVC, just really busy and chaotic.” Samira sighs, pressing her palms into her eyes, going until she starts to see white spots dot across her vision. When she takes her hands off her face, she’s greeted with the sight of Jack putting on his scrub top over his black t-shirt, his chest muscles stretched wide in front of her and his arms on full display above his head, every muscle flexed and taut and strong, a very nice sight for her tired eyes to drink in. She wants to touch him, she wants to bite him, wants to grab him and squeeze him and have him to her hearts content, wants to watch Jack take pleasure in her greediness and plain desire for him, wants to give Jack everything he needs from her too and then some. Samira wants a lot now.
Samira bites her lower lip as she watches him straighten out his scrub top and adjust the hem around his stomach. Their three days alone can’t come soon enough.
“What?” Jack asks her, scrunching his brows at her in confusion, the little crease in between his eyebrows and his focus on her putting her heart rate in SVT, at least.
Jesus. Something is definitely wrong with her. Samira needs to get out of here before Jack realizes that too. “Nothing. I think my brain is finally giving up.”
Jack just nods at her, like that makes perfect sense, and maybe it does, with the kind of job they have. Lucky them.
Jack slowly sidles up close to her, leaning as much into her as he was the lockers, giving her a severe look down the slope of his nose, checking if it was okay for him to be so close to her at work, for him to be so obvious with his body when anyone could walk into the locker room and see them. Samira luxuriates in his closeness, in the body heat she tricks herself into thinking she can feel, the smell of his fresh cologne and feel of his cargo pants brushing against her scrub bottoms, the way the green of his eyes is so clear to her when he’s this close to her, how she can identify every wrinkle and freckle on his face and neck and never get bored.
She suddenly doesn’t care about anything else except being close to Jack, leeching off him until she feels ready to leave him, until she feels ready to separate from him and not see him for another ten hours, and only then see him for no more than a few minutes. She nods up at him, waiting for his next step, waiting for him to ask for more or accept their closeness as is. “Would you turn to catastrophizing my presence in your life again if I gave you a hug right now?”
“No, I’m too tired to think.” Samira says immediately, before his words hit her fully, before she can quickly absolve herself and her guilt with, “Also, don’t say it like that.”
“You had no problem saying it like that this morning.” Jack reminds her as he pulls her into a hug, as he tucks her face into the space between his chest and neck, wraps one arm around her waist and the other up her back, sliding his hand into her hair and applying a delicious amount of pressure. Samira, shamefully, is slightly surprised by the hug, even though he just asked about it, because she was too focused on his other words, too focused on what else he was asking her and how he remembered their conversation ending this morning.
A hug. He asked to hug her and she said yes, and here she is, standing in his arms like dead weight. Samira blinks into his chest for a second too long before she sinks into him, before she pulls herself off the lockers and wraps her arms around him in return, linking her hands tight around his lower back and digging her forehead into his chest, thankful for his muscle definition for a number of reasons.
“Did you not hear me say I’m too tired to think?” Samira mumbles into Jack’s shirt, letting her eyes flutter closed while she’s safe and warm in his arms, while Jack supports most of her body weight as she practically slumps against him, too tired to support herself anymore and knowing Jack would do it without thinking. Samira doesn’t hear any complaints from him about it, as predicted, and she presses a little kiss into his shirt and hopes he can feel it.
“Sorry. No more thinking, I promise.” Jack tells her, tucking his head into her scalp and applying more pressure to Samira’s skull as he continues to massage at the back of her head, releasing all the little points of pain her skull adopted from her claw clip pressing into it all day. Samira feels him press a smile into her scalp as they remain in each other’s arms, as they hug and hold each other for an irresponsible amount of time, feels him smile for a long time as she accepts his touch and comfort and relaxes into him, as she breathes him in and squeezes him around his lower back and presses embarrassing kisses wherever she can reach on his chest.
She misses him. She’s talked to him and touched him and had fun with him more in the last twenty-four hours than she has in the past four months, and she still misses him. He’s currently hugging her and trying to stuff his face into her hair, and she still misses him. She wonders when she’ll stop missing him, when they’ll catch up on all the time she made them lose and the ache will leave her chest every time they have to separate, when the pit inside her chest will be warm with new memories instead of burning for the lost ones.
It feels slightly strange to do this with him at work again, like stretching an underused muscle, popping a joint after it’s been locked into one uncomfortable place for too long. She wants it to feel normal again, she wants it to feel like second nature to touch and tease and talk to him at work like only Samira can, but she figures it’ll take some time to get back to where she was, where they were four months ago. She has to believe that there will be a day where allowing herself to want Jack Abbot won’t leave her with any lingering, sharp feelings, won’t leave her feeling confused and guilty and small for allowing herself to give into what makes her happy, and Samira cannot wait for that day to come.
One day hugging Jack at work will just be something that she does, and Samira cannot wait for that fucking day to come knocking on her door.
“Did Robby ever call you?” Samira asks gently, eventually remembering she wanted to ask about that and check in with him.
Samira feels terrible for asking as soon as Jack tenses against her body. “No, not yet.”
“It’s not that late.” Samira starts quickly, forcing her brain to snap back online to reassure him, for correcting her stupid mistake and asking after Robby right now. She should have waited until Jack pulled back from her, at least. “The sun like, just fully set, so he might not have been settled for very long.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Jack sighs, clearly not believing her. Samira nods against him, letting it go. She separates her hand from each other on his lower back and instead places one flat on his spine, rubbing up and down his back in comfort, giving him a fraction of the support she wants to right now. He’s so solid underneath her hands, firm and unyielding just something that he is now, that when he’s vulnerable around her, when he allows her to see a crack in the façade and smooth it over, it eases something inside of her, soothes something ugly and selfish that lives inside of her whenever he lets her see that part of himself and accepts her comfort. Jack sighs deeply into her hair, clutching at her hair tighter for a second, before Samira feels him decompress against her, in her hands. It’s the best thing she’s felt all day.
“I need to go home.” Samira eventually whispers into Jack’s chest, making no effort to move.
“Got your mystery man waiting for you there?”
“Fuck off.” Samira groans, even if there is a smile playing at the edges of her mouth. She pushes at Jack’s chest, hands wide against his ribs, but Jack only lets her get so far, slides his hands down and around her body until they grip at her waist, keeping their bodies close. Samira puts some distance between their torsos, her hands still on Jack’s chest, not for want to be far from him, just so she can tell him off some more while she looks him in the eye. “Just for that, I’m gonna leave here and find a man and—"
“You wouldn’t last five minutes with some kid your age you picked up at a bar.” Jack grumbles, narrowing his eyes at her as his lips point down in a frown, tightening his hold on her immediately, fingers twitching and clenching against her hips. Samira watches as Jack’s body does something complicated and uncoordinated, something so out of character for him she can’t help but notice how he seems to want to step closer to her but doesn’t, how he starts to box her in with his body but decides against it. “Bored out of your fucking mind— and he wouldn’t know what a gift he had, how lucky he was that you were even talking to him. He could never treat you right.”
Treat you like I can, is all that Samira hears at the end, is all that’s echoing inside her mind as she grins at Jack, smug beyond belief. He was spinning out over a man that didn’t even exist, that would never exist, a fake man that Samira was pretending to threaten him with as part of an ongoing joke, a joke that he brought up first. He was jealous over a fake man. Samira was never going to let him live this down, when she was more awake and able to tease him back at her full caliber. If this is how Jack feels every time Samira embarrasses herself in front of him, betrays how much she wants him and how deeply she feels about him without meaning to, it’s no wonder that he gets so amused in those moments.
“Down, boy.” Samira whispers with a smile, patting Jack’s chest over his heart as she pulls away from their hug fully. Jack lets his hands slide off her hips slowly, glancing away from Samira as she picks up her stuff again and prepares to leave. Despite his best efforts, Samira still sees his skin flush red, sees his blush spread from his cheeks down to his neck, knows from experience that his chest is probably red too. This might be the best night of her entire life. “Thank you, though, that was very fun for me.”
“Always at your service, Samira.” Jack tells her with a little smile, tone clearly joking at his own expense, but Samira does not interpret his words as joking. She bites her lower lip as she stares at him silently, glancing up at him from under her eyelashes, thinking of him being at her service, thinking of all the times it’s already happened. Something is definitely wrong with her, but she embraces it this time, embraces the smile edging through her teeth when she notices Jack’s chest briefly stutter at whatever look she’s giving him, embraces the warmth that spreads across her skin when she thinks about how unprofessional she’s being and potentially crossing a boundary, even embraces the stupid idea to touch Jack again before she leaves.
“What are you doing?” Jack asks her, staying perfectly still as she runs her fingertips down his arm, against the bare skin revealed by his short-sleeved scrub top. Samira marvels at the freckles she grazes over, the farmers tan she makes a mental note to bug him about later, the wiry arm hair her finger pads occasionally get stuck on, the fragile skin of his wrist that bookends his watch. She stares at the face of his watch for a beat, watches the secondhand tick by, and considers how much time left she and Jack have like this, how much time they can continue to get away with. Samira’s fingers travel past Jack’s watch, down to his hand and his fingers, lets her own fingers trace Jack’s, more so playing with his fingers than holding his hand, feeling the warmth and heft of his fingers in her gentle touch, staring at how his fingers easily dwarf the size of her own, a renewed appreciation for their size and thickness and dexterity rushing through her mind—
“I’m going home.” Samira’s voice is nothing more than a hoarse whisper, mouth suddenly very dry. Somehow, Jack has made restraint very difficult for her. She never thought the day would come.
“So you’ve said.” Jack tells her with a little smirk, something Samira only notices when she manages to drag her eyes off his body and back to his face.
“Goodbye.” Samira tells him, Jack’s huff of raspy laughter echoing in her mind as she takes her hand back and steps away from him and toward the exit, then spins around to face him again when something else strikes her. Jack blinks at her sudden movement and while she says, “I, um, I feel like it goes without saying that there’s no—"
“Yes, Samira, it very much goes without saying.” Jack tells her, the smile on his face twitching, as if he can’t decide between his pleased grin or his teasing smirk. Samira wants to kiss either one off his face. “Text me when you get home, please.”
“Okay.” Samira says, bounces on the balls of her feet for a second while she considers it. It’s stupid and reckless, but that’s kind of been their whole thing from the very beginning, and it’s not like they were being subtle or safe with their entire conversation in the locker room anyways, and in the grand scheme of things it wouldn’t even make a top ten list of the worst things she’s done to him at work. And she wants to do it. And it would make Jack happy. Samira looks around the empty locker room, through the open door and into the hallway, making sure no one is around or approaching them, and suppresses her smile when Jack raises a dry eyebrow at her, probably wondering if she’s going to feel him up some more. Samira isn’t so sure she won’t.
She closes the distance between her and Jack one more time and presses a kiss to his lips, there and gone before he can probably realize what’s happening, chaste and dry and not nearly enough to quench Samira’s want, but it’s what she’s willing to offer to herself right now. Just as Samira is about to pull back again, just when she thinks she’s actually going to go home now, Jack exhales heavily against her mouth and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her back into his body, kissing her again, this time far less chaste, Jack opening her mouth underneath his as soon as he’s able, his free hand sliding against her face to keep her mouth parted with his thumb hinging her temporal bone, biting at Samira’s bottom lip when she gasps into his mouth, muffling a little moan into their kiss so no one can hear them and flexing his arm that’s placed on her lower back, so close and so good—
Then it’s done. Then Jack is pulling back, as quick as he pulled her into the kiss, and letting Samira go, their lips separating with a quiet smacking sound that makes Samira’s heart jump. Samira’s breathing is far too heavy for what little they did, her heart rate dangerously elevated from a kiss that was probably perfectly tame in reality, her face warm with the realization that they just kissed, at work. They kissed at work, and the world kept spinning. They kissed at work, and Samira still has a job, and Jack still respects her, and nothing bad happened to either one of them. They kissed at work, and they didn’t talk about it, and Samira feels fine— more than fine about it. They kissed at work, and Samira will still come into work tomorrow and do her job well, like it never even happen.
She wants more. She wants to cling to him and give him a genuine kiss, wants to kiss him just as desperate and messy as she feels inside right now, wants to kiss him until they’re both out of breath and struggling to let go and only thinking about each other. She wants to drag him home with her and take care of him, kiss him until they both fall asleep, make out with him sloppy and slow in her bed until one or both of them crashes, shirk all of their responsibilities until they are both satisfied and satiated and happy. She wants him in her bed, in his shower, in her kitchen, at work, anywhere they could scrape out a second of privacy and peace from their opposite schedules.
She wants too much, so all she allows herself is a single swipe of her thumb over Jack’s lower lip and a whispered, “I’ll see you” as she untangles herself from Jack once more and leaves the locker room with a glance over her shoulder, smiling sheepishly at Jack. Jack stares at her the entire time, like he’s never seen anything as wonderful as her, a spectacular specimen who amazes him every day, and Samira thinks that one day, she could believe him.
As soon as she walks through her front door and locks it behind her, she pulls out her phone to text Jack that she made it home, knowing he wouldn’t be able to fully relax until she texted him, and is surprised to find two messages from Jack already waiting for her.
Robby called me after you left.
Thank you for asking about him, I know it’s weird for you.
I made it home
And I’m glad Robby called you
It’s not weird for me
Robby is important to you and I care about you
And I don’t want anything bad to happen to Robby
Even if we do have a strained professional relationship
👍
Sorry, I didn’t mean to send that.
Thank you.
Have a good night Samira.
Thank you ☺️
I don’t think your presence in my life is a catastrophe btw
I’m happy we’re talking again
Really happy
You’ve always made me happy
Ok goodnight please pretend none of this happened next time we talk
Not a chance.
You make me really happy too.
___
Samira left Jack’s letter of recommendation for her sitting in her inbox, unattended, since she first saw it. He emailed it to her right after his shift on the fourth, as promised, and Samira hastily and clumsily opened the email as soon as she saw the notification. She got as far as the second sentence before she had to close the email, overheated and overwhelmed, heart pounding as she slipped her phone back in her pocket and ignored it for the rest of the day.
Dr. Samira Mohan is the most extraordinary physician I have ever had the privilege of working alongside. Unparalleled in her dedication, thoroughness, and empathy, Dr. Mohan excels where even the most distinguished physicians experience obstacles—
Jack was gracious enough to not bring up the email or ask what she thought about the recommendation either time they spoke to each other that day. When he chatted her up at the hub, when he lovingly cornered her in the locker room, when they texted a little but after she got home after work, he never brought it up. He didn’t even hint at it, and Samira is self-aware enough to know that she would not have been so generous if the situations were reversed, if she sent Jack a vulnerable email of some kind and he didn’t say a word about it or give any hint that he read it.
She grows more conflicted about using the letter every day. She’s sure it’s a wonderful letter, beautifully written and singing her praises and talents, but it would be coming from Jack. Jack, who is her…something now, who was definitely her boyfriend at one point, is sometimes her boss and definitely her superior at work, and using a recommendation letter from someone with that many qualifications in Samira’s life could make her professional life very, very complicated.
If word ever got out about her and Jack’s relationship, it would already be a nightmare for her at work, but if she used his letter for any future opportunity or job and got accepted based on it, it would call her credibility, Jack’s credibility, into question, would make everyone involved in the decision wonder if the recommendation was honest, if she actually deserved to be where she was, or if she was just lucky enough to sleep with her boss enough times to gain his favor. Even if she and Jack…if they can make this thing work this time, if they wait a responsible amount of time after her residency ends to reveal that they are in a relationship, even if Samira no longer works at the hospital with him, it would still be a mess, still throw her credibility into the deep end to submit her applications with a recommendation letter from her superior who then grew into her boyfriend.
Jack was already settled into his professional career, and that was not lost on Samira. It was not lost on Jack either, she knew that, but Samira surely thought about it more than him, surely thought about the professional ramifications that would be tenfold for her compared to him, because she was a woman, because she was a woman of color, because she was younger and her job prospects were tenuous at best and she was just starting out in her career, where Jack was a white man with decades of experience, who would be far harder to replace than an R4 who was stupid enough to sleep with her superior.
So, the recommendation letter— Samira was grateful for it, would probably work up the courage to read it in full one day, would love to use it in her applications, but she can never make herself attach it to the application portal, can never make herself save her application progress with his letter attached. She has other people she can ask for recommendation letters, she knows Dr. Al-Hashimi would write her a glowing recommendation and she has professional contacts in Jersey that would be happy to hear from her, so she isn’t hurting for references, it’s just…she asked Jack to send her the letter so she could use it. She wants to use it, was so happy to hear he had already written her a recommendation for her to use, but she had asked him without thinking, without considering all the consequences and potential paths this action could take, asked him in the cloud of grief and relief her head was swimming in on the fourth, her horrific shift mixing heady in her head with Jack’s touch, his kiss.
She knows she can’t use Jack’s recommendation for her. She knows she can’t use it in her applications, would never be able to settle over the next year if she used the letter, if she constantly had the dark cloud of her professional demise hanging over her head, if she was constantly worrying that today would be the day that she and Jack would be discovered and all her applications would be quickly discarded and rejected with Jack’s reference attached. She can’t use the letter, and now she has to tell Jack, has to tell Jack that she can’t use the letter or even bring herself to read it, and Jack will understand and let it go easily, but it eats at her anyways, gnaws at her heart and her lungs until she’s hunching in on herself at the computer she’s charting with.
Things would be so much easier if she hadn’t kissed Jack on the roof. She could use the letter, because she and Jack wouldn’t be doing whatever the hell they were doing, no one would have anything to discover between her and Jack because she had locked it all away, locked all of her feelings for him in a dark corner of her mind, and enough time would have passed between when she had broken them up and when she submitted her applications, when she would hopefully be accepting a position, to remove all suspicion and fear of discovery from her mind. She would have separated herself so far from her feelings and Jack himself to absolve herself of any guilt in using his recommendation letter, to close off the yawning pit of anxiety that liked to make itself at home in her stomach, that when she used his recommendation in her applications, she wouldn’t have worried about any professional ramifications, because everything would have been passably professional between the two of them.
Samira sighs and puts her head in her hands, elbows resting against the table and head heavy against her palms. This would all be so much easier if Samira could just go back to pretending that the only thing she wanted was professional success and recognition, that she could live the rest of her life without Jack Abbot and be perfectly content, as long as she had her career to focus on and advance. This would all be so much easier of Jack didn’t turn her into someone who was so comfortable wanting things other than work.
“What’re you working on?” Jack’s voice suddenly rumbles in her ear, and it takes everything inside Samira to not violently jerk in surprise and elbow him in the face when she rips her hands off her face and straightens up in her chair, instantly facing Jack, who was leaning into her space with a hand on the back of her chair and another on the desk next to her.
“Jesus.” Samira gasps, heart pounding against her chest, putting her hands back on her face as she calms herself down. “Don’t you ever go home?” She asks, words muffled into her hands, and she feels Jack’s heavy exhale against her skin as he laughs, feels him breathe with how close he’s standing to her, how severely he’s boxing her in with his body and arms. Maybe she’ll stay hidden in her hands for the rest of her shift, pass of all her patients to Jack since he’s so eager to talk to her.
“Not when you’re here.” Jack answers, and she can picture his proud, boyish grin at his words, at how he imagines Samira would react to him if she weren’t still hiding her face from him.
Samira takes her hands off her face with an eye roll, but its dampened by the little smile that’s growing on her face. “That’s nice, I guess.”
“I’m a nice guy.” Jack tells her, and this time she does elbow him, jabs one of her elbows into the general space of his torso, and surely she would have missed, but Jack steps back from her anyways, takes his hands off the back of her chair and off the desk she’s sitting at. Samira misses him instantly, misses knowing that Jack was right behind her, boxing her in with his body and arms, close enough that if she leaned back, she could rest against his chest. It’s probably for the best, then, that Jack stops hovering over her.
Jack falls into an open chair next to her, letting it slide backwards for a second before he stops the chair with his foot, before he scoots himself closer to Samira so he can pretend to read her charting notes with her. Samira watches him move around fondly, feels the affection that floods her chest transform her face as Jack settles in next to her and messes with the chair. “Seriously, what are you doing here? Your shift doesn’t start for another three hours.”
Jack glances around for a second, suddenly vulnerable under her question, and Samira sobers quickly, the little smile dropping off her face as she leans into Jack’s space, trying to catch his eye again. She looks around her, confirming that no one is paying attention to them or standing too close to them at the hub, and links her foot around Jack’s ankle, gently rubbing at his ankle in a poor man’s version of comfort until Jack looks at her again. She wants to hold his hand, wants to give him a hug and let him cling to her, wants to hold him until he buries his face in her hair again, but instead she’s forced to play footsie with him under the hub, forced to have two barriers between his skin and hers when she’s trying to make him feel better. It fucking sucks.
Samira gives him what she hopes is an encouraging smile and nod, tugging at his ankle with her foot when he’s silent for too long, and Jack sighs and looks around once before answering her. “I couldn’t sleep.” Jack admits, shrugging and pursing his lips to the side. “Felt myself going a little crazy, just lying there, so…” So here I am. So I came into work to be distracted. So I came into work so I could talk to you instead of going crazy in my house.
“Oh.” Samira says stupidly, failing in a measure she didn’t even know existed, but knowing she failed it all the same when Jack drops her gaze again. “No, sorry—” Samira rushes to say, shaking her head at herself as she brings her chair closer to Jack’s, the wheels of their chairs clinking against each other’s as she desperately tries to figure out a way to touch him that wouldn’t immediately give them away as something more than coworkers. "Thank you for telling me. I—I want to know about stuff like that.”
Jack nods, clearly not upset with her, just…vulnerable. Tired, now that Samira knows to look for it, the circles under his eyes a little darker and his posture more slumped over than usual betraying his exhaustion. Samira’s hands ache with the need to touch him again, to pull him close or run her hands up and down his arms, smooth his rough edges with her hands until he remembered that she cared about him more than anything else. “I don’t think Marc even wants to hear about it, and I pay him to listen to me complain.”
Samira doesn’t even know where to start with that one, so she lets most of it lie. She knows he’s having a bad day, knows he’s probably spiraling deeper than she can reach while they’re at work, knows he just needs some time to pull himself out of the pit his mind has shoved him in to today, and Samira would be kidding herself if she thought that she could fix it with a five-minute conversation and a hug. She likes to think she could delay any further spiraling though, likes to believe herself special and important enough in Jack’s life to be able to pull him back from the edge, when he gets a little too close for her comfort.
“I think Marc would be proud of you for coming here instead staying isolated in your house when you were struggling.” Samira tells him gently. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the first course of action recommended by Marc, who Samira knows has been trying to get Jack to break his workaholic tendencies for a decade, but it’s something. Jack tilts his head side to side, a concession if Samira ever saw one, and she’s happy enough with that result to let that topic go. Jack can rehash everything with Marc at their next session, with someone far more qualified than Samira to knock some sense into Jack.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Samira keeps her voice quiet and soft, for their privacy, but specifically for Jack’s privacy, knowing more than anything that he wouldn’t want this information making its way to their coworkers. Samira is already prepared for Jack to shake his head at her, prepared for him to not want to talk about it right now or ever, and doesn’t feel anything but understanding and compassion when Jack does shake his head, telling her no. Samira nods her understanding easily, watching as Jack leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, offering her a barely there smile in appreciation for letting it go so easily.
He’s here, seeking her out, and that’s more than enough for her.
Samira pulls back from him, unlinks her foot from Jack’s ankle and puts her focus back on her charting, getting back to work. She eyes Jack for a beat, taking in his sad eyes and twisted up frown and hardened posture against the chair back, and impulsively, stupidly, reaches out a hand to squeeze Jack’s knee as she slides her chair back to the computer, her fingers trailing off his kneecap as she goes. She hopes her touch meant something to him, meant as much to him as it did to her, to touch him while she’s at work, to take that risk and still desperately want more.
She keeps her eyes locked on the computer after that, fully aware of Jack’s eyes on her as she types in her notes, as he scooches his chair closer and closer to her with each second that goes by, as he stares her down as she completes the most tedious and boring portion of her job. She can’t possibly begin to imagine what enjoyment he’s getting from watching her type at a computer, but if that’s what he wants to do, if that’s what he needs from her, far be it from Samira to stop him. His gaze burns on her skin, heavy and demanding, starting a frustrating flush to her cheeks, but Samira holds firm and doesn’t glance over at him, remains focused even when he moves his chair to close those final inches between the two of them again, chairs aligned as if they were working at the computer together.
“I miss reading your charts.” Jack tells her after a few minutes of silence. He doesn’t say it in a teasing tone, isn’t trying to joke with her in a way she doesn’t understand yet, he means it. He misses reading her charts, when they were on the same shifts, when Samira would ask him for his opinion and he would skim her notes first, when Jack would somehow orchestrate hand-offs to get most of Samira’s patients.
The admission surprises a laugh out of Samira, as she quickly glances at Jack over her shoulder as she laughs. “Really? Why?”
Jack just nods at her, arms still crossed over his chest, but the rest of his posture and body language very much eased, rested. Samira considers the possibility that that’s due to her presence, her proximity, because Jack was able to sit quietly with her and just watch her work. The idea pleases her, even if she doesn’t allow it to grow beyond a seed of an idea. It would be irresponsible of her to consider the truth in that statement with Jack sitting right next to her. “You’re very thorough. I like how you arrange your diagnoses from most to least likely, and how specific you are about how you came to those diagnoses. It’s very easy to prioritize diagnostics after that.”
“Thank you.” Samira whispers, not expecting a genuine compliment for some reason. It’s nice, to have her hard work noticed and appreciated, nice to have her thoroughness appreciated by Jack once more.
“Now I’m stuck reading Shen’s caffeine-induced nonsense.” Jack grumbles.
Samira stifles her snort behind her closed mouth, but she knows Jack sees her smile, sees her body jerk with a repressed laugh. Samira makes sure he sees her. “He gets an iced latte. It doesn’t actually have that much caffeine in it.”
“He’s started getting it with this cocoa mocha flavor added.” Jack tells her, waving his hand in the air between the two of them. Samira will never understand Jack’s vendetta against Shen’s coffee habits and she has long stopped trying. There are just some things that are not meant for her to understand, as difficult as it is for her to accept that. “It’s been detrimental to his typing skills.”
“That probably doesn’t have that much caffeine in it either.” Samira mutters, cutting some of her focus from her conversation with Jack to concentrate on her notes, making sure she was as clear as possible in describing her proposed treatment plan for her fifty-year-old woman with asymptomatic aortic stenosis. Samira was relieved to see that the stenosis was not severe, but she still had a ways to go with the patient until she understood how important it was for her to find a cardiologist she was comfortable with and stay consistent with her echocardiograms for proper monitoring and care. At least she had three more hours to work with, three more hours to stress the importance of proper surveillance of this disease and what could happen if her patient misses even one appointment with a cardiologist.
“I liked to read your writing too.” Jack tells her when she’s done typing her thought, and it takes Samira a second to remember what they were talking about before, that Jack is continuing their conversation about reading her charts. Samira feels her breath catch at the sincerity in Jack’s words, in his eyes, at the way he’s piercing her heart and bleeding her dry without even realizing it. “I liked seeing your thought pattern in the charts and hearing your voice in your writing. I liked seeing your work and seeing you advocate for your patients, even if we couldn’t be on the same shifts. I liked knowing what your day was like from your notes—as much as I could figure out, anyways. It all made me feel…closer to you.”
He’s unbelievable. He’s fraying at the edges and he still manages to lovingly tear into her heart, still manages to knock her on her ass with how much he cares about her and isn’t shy about telling her. Samira would bet that he had those thoughts most frequently when they weren’t really talking, after Samira broke up with him, when Samira was pretending that keeping her distance from him wasn’t making her miserable.
She knows that Jack wasn’t happy during that time either, but she didn’t know the extent of it. She didn’t know that he was surrounding himself in her charting notes, or any of her notes that he could get his hands on, didn’t know that he was piecing her voice and her actions together from her purposefully detached charting documents. She didn’t know that Jack was collecting scraps of her so he could feel closer to her when she was purposefully keeping them apart.
Samira clears her throat, her throat tightening around a knot that she forcefully swallows down, blinks away her emotions until she doesn’t seem affected by Jack’s stupid earnestness and sincerity. “You’re very sweet, you know that?” Samira whispers, turning in her chair to look at Jack more fully, smiling softly at him and knocking their knees together, keeping them pressed together when it becomes difficult for her to move her leg back each time she tries.
“Don’t let it get around.” Jack tells her, staring at their knees pressed together. Samira notices his ears turn a little pink around the edges and smiles to herself again. “I have a reputation to maintain.”
“Your reputation is that you’re a not-so-secret softie who could benefit from a vacation. Or a nap.” Samira tells him, finally pulling her leg back, putting her knees in line underneath the desk again. She can’t wait for them to be alone.
“People think I’m moderately unstable but a good enough doctor to be worth keeping around.” Jack tells her, voice gruff, betraying his emotion toward how he thinks people perceive him.
“No one thinks that about you.” Samira says instantly, voice getting hard and defensive without her notice. “Who said that to you?”
“Mohan!” Dana calls across the hub, Samira instantly snapping toward her at the sound of her name, at the urgency in Dana’s voice. “Thirty-one-year-old man fell off a ladder at a job site, three minutes out.”
“Got it.” Samira calls back, badging out of the computer and standing up from her chair and starting to walk toward Dana. “Did they give any other information?”
“You know what I know, hun.” Dana tells her, already off and dealing with something else.
Samira gets three more steps toward the ambulance bay before she stops in her tracks, sneakers skidding against the floor. Samira closes her eyes with a heavy sigh and spins on her heel toward Jack, who she left in the middle of their conversation and sitting in his chair like it was nothing. Shit.
“Go. Don’t worry about it.” Jack tells her, pushing himself up from his chair and closing the distance between the two of them. She can tell he means his words, isn’t offended or hurt that she left him behind, because of course he wouldn’t be. Samira—she doesn’t feel bad, doesn’t feel sorry for prioritizing an incoming trauma patient over a conversation while she was at work, but she does wish she had handled the moment better.
Samira really doesn’t have the time she’s wasting here, staring at Jack and struggling for words to explain her feelings, so she’s grateful for Jack when he speaks again. She’s less grateful for how he locks her in an intense stare, pointed and unquestionable, unyielding where Samira is concerned right now. She thinks if they weren’t at work, he would have grabbed her on either side of her shoulders to really send his point home. “You didn’t care that I was treating myself for a bullet graze until you knew your patient was taken care of. You didn’t even care that I wasn’t wearing a shirt. I know you, and I like that you put your patients before me, I like that you blow me off for work when you need to.”
“Okay.” Samira agrees, because she liked what he was saying, but largely because she didn’t have time to discuss this with him right now. “You want in on this one with me?” Samira asks him before she could overthink it, starting to walk backwards toward the ambulance bay and hoping that Jack would follow her.
Jack didn’t want to be alone. He came here so he could talk to her, so he could be near her right now. He wants something to distract him from his thoughts right now. He came here for her help, in that confusing way that he asks for her help, sometimes. They could work this trauma together, work a case together for the first time in a very long time, and Jack could keep close to her, could watch her work and care for a patient and take control of a trauma again.
“Lead the way, Dr. Mohan.” Jack tells her, and Samira’s grin overtakes her face as the sounds of the ambulance sirens grow closer and closer.
___
“I did notice you weren’t wearing a shirt, you know.” Samira tells Jack when she finds him in the ambulance bay, sitting on the small rock wall that lines the shitty flower bed next to the sliding entrance doors. “On the Fourth.” Samira adds, in case he couldn’t place where she was picking up their conversation from.
Jack looks up at her where she’s standing in front of him, hands in her pockets and hair spilling out of her claw clip, and smiles at her. “You did make a funny noise when you saw me.”
Samira scoffs at him, suppressing a smile of her own, and speaks without thinking. “Imagine if you opened up a curtain and saw me half naked at work—you’d make a funny noise too!”
Jack slowly runs his teeth over his bottom lip and looks her up and down, eyes lingering on her chest, and Samira feels her breath catch in her chest as if his stare was a physical touch. Samira watches his Adam’s apple shift in his throat with his heavy swallow, watches as his eyes turn dark and hooded as he continues to stare at her, watches as the line of his shoulders tenses and his fingers flex where they hang in his lap.
“Stop looking at me like that.” Samira whispers, wanting the exact opposite.
“Sorry.” Jack says, running a hand down his face, pressing his palm against his mouth and around his chin before he drops his hand back to his lap. “Sorry.” He repeats, when he still can’t drag his gaze away from her body, when he can’t stop looking at her like he wants to devour her.
It’s nice to be wanted. It’s nice to know that Samira isn’t the only one whose control is disintegrating with their want, isn’t the only one being driven by her want instead of her good sense, isn’t the only one wanting and doing a bad job of hiding it. It’s nice to know that Jack wants her just as much as she wants him.
“You were incredible in that trauma earlier.” Jack tells her, likely to try and divert their attention toward a safer topic, but it does the exact opposite. For her, at least. Jack’s voice is still low and rumbly, his eyes still hungry and greedy on her face, and the praise—Samira knows he probably didn’t mean it like that, but it lights up her body all the same, tightens the pit in her stomach and makes her shift on her feet when she blushes and has to look away from him.
“Oh.” Jack breathes. Samira burns with the knowledge that he, in fact, didn’t mean for it to be sexual, that she was just fucked up and needy enough to interpret any praise from him that way, shame coursing through her almost strong enough to tamp down her desire. Almost. “Do you want me to stop?” Jack asks her.
“I don’t know.” Samira answers honestly, unhelpfully. She shifts her gaze down to the pavement, kicking the little pieces of gravel around with the toe of her sneaker. She feels like an idiot. “Sorry I made it weird.”
“Don’t apologize.” Jack tells her instantly, bolstering Samira’s confidence just enough to peek up at him from the ground, eyeing him where he’s still sitting on the rock wall. He’s leaning toward her, gaze aflame and eager, hands gripping the stacked rocks so tightly his knuckles have whited out, and Samira swallows hard enough she feels it stick in her throat. “Don’t ever apologize for that.”
Samira just nods, unsure of what she’s supposed to say to that, unsure of how she’s supposed to continue this conversation when Jack now knows that she’s turned on from a simple compliment of her professional skills. This is not news to him in general, she knows, she knows he remembers this from the last time they were together, but it never…she wasn’t on such a hair trigger last time, is all. He usually had to lay it on pretty thick at work to get her to this point last time.
“I couldn’t take my eyes off you in there, Samira.” Jack continues, apparently deciding Samira’s silence was permission to continue. She doesn’t know if it was permission or not, but she lets him talk, lets him compliment her, admire her, revere in her skills until the compliment warps into something he can’t take back. Her breathing picks up as he continues, her palms going sweaty and her belly tightening with want, that awful, demanding creature growing inside of her, making root inside of her for miles when she only allows it an inch. “You—you were so good, so in control of yourself and the room—”
“Stop talking.” Samira demands, clenching her hands into fists in her pockets and taking a deep breath. Jack shuts his mouth so fast Samira can hear his teeth click together.
“I’m sorry.” Jack suddenly sounds so confused, so guilty, and Samira rushes to explain herself.
“No, I—I liked it, you know I like it when you—” Samira cuts herself off with a sharp inhale, starting over. Not the time or the place. She watches Jack’s nostrils flare and digs her thumb nail into her palm as she clenches her fists harder. “I can’t talk to you how I want to, right now. I can’t…my self-control is practically non-existent right now.” Samira finishes weakly, shamefully, pulling her lower lip under her teeth when Jack looks physically pained from hearing her say that.
“I understand. Okay.” Jack reassures her, letting go of the rock wall and running both hands over his face with his declaration, stopping when his hands reach his neck. He keeps them there for a beat, staring Samira down, and she wishes he would look anywhere else for even a second. “Do you want me to go inside?”
“No, I came out here to talk to you.” Samira admits with a sigh, and when Jack looks at her expectantly, an eyebrow raised, Samira shakes her head. “Oh, no, I meant, like…I just wanted to talk to you. Not about anything specific.”
Jack smiles up at her like he’s never seen anything so precious. Samira aches for him desperately. “You’re very sweet, you know that?” Jack tells her, copying her own words from earlier in the afternoon, and Samira must have something wrong with her soul at this point, because the words are out of her mouth before she can consider their merit for even a second.
“So you’ve said.” Samira says with a grin, tone just suggestive enough to betray her meaning, rocking on her heels once before she lets herself fall flat on her feet in shock. Samira closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see Jack’s reaction, so she can pretend that that didn’t just happen and she didn’t just ruin their conversation again. “I’m just gonna go inside, please don’t follow me for at least two minutes—” Samira throws a thumb behind herself, gesturing back into the pitt, and starts to retreat toward the sliding doors like a coward, when Jack speaks again.
“Hey, hey, um—” Jack stops her with his voice, at the sound of his feet stepping across the pavement of the ambulance bay. Samira turns toward him tentatively, unfairly cautious, since he didn’t do anything wrong, neither of them did, it’s just—circumstance. Timing. “Before you go inside, can I ask you something?”
“Is it appropriate?” Samira asks hesitantly.
“Yes, very.” Jack reassures her, and when Samira nods at him to continue, he asks his question quickly. “Have I been too forward with you? With the—the touching and talking to you in there?”
She knows what he means immediately. Last time, toward the end, Samira got very self-conscious and uncomfortable with even the suggestion of familiarity between the two of them in the pitt, would panic and run away if he so much as brushed her shoulder or held her eye for a beat too long as he walked past her. She could barely talk to him for more than five minutes without worrying that someone would catch on to them, that someone would figure out their secret and ruin her career in the process. Last time, she wouldn’t let him talk to her about anything outside of patient care while they were on the floor together, and this time…
This time, Samira is openly flirting with him at the hub. This time, Samira is racking her brain for ways to discreetly touch him at work, is touching him discreetly at work and kissing him not-so-discreetly, is letting Jack hug her in the locker room with the door open, is letting their conversations turn very personal for anyone to overhear if they just listened to them for a second. This time, Samira is breaking all her self-imposed rules with Jack, and while she has been trying to be better about letting herself want, be better about not being so worried about the risk and just letting herself enjoy her time with Jack, is trying to be better about the fact that a conversation with Jack wouldn’t tip everyone off to their relationship, it’s not perfect.
She still worries, she still thinks about the risks, she still thinks wanting could be insufficient at a certain point. She still has her doubts, her anxieties, her fears, still worries that wanting will not be enough this time, she still agonizes over the possibility that her relationship with Jack could be the very thing that ruins her, struggles to balance the happiness that Jack brings her with the anxiety that their relationship also brings her. She’s trying, but it’s still there. She can’t turn it off overnight, no matter how much she wishes she could sometimes, no matter how much easier it would make her life.
But Samira has decided to try this time. Samira has decided to try, despite her fears, despite her anxiety, despite the difficult road ahead of them if they stick this out. Samira decided to embrace her wanting a little further, push her own boundaries to a safe point and not a scared hideout, embrace the fact that she could be around Jack at work and not sound off alarm bells in everyone else’s heads, that she was capable of being discreet with Jack, that she should try for things that make her happy and stop denying herself anything that wasn’t work related.
Samira has decided to try, and she forgot to tell Jack about any of it.
“Oh.” Samira breathes out, blinking at her realization. The last thing she said to him was that she couldn’t make any promises, but she could promise that she wants to try. She could promise that she’s trying.
“It’s fine.” Samira rushes to say, putting Jack out of his misery, realizing she’s also been silent for a very long time, too long after a question like that. Jack relaxes instantly, shoulders dropping and face smoothing out, and Samira hurries to explain herself, desperate to put him at ease. How long has he been worrying about this? “It’s—we might have to rein it in in the future, but for now, for the past two days, it’s been fine. I mean, I’ve been the one initiating most of the touching, so you—you haven’t been too forward with me.”
“I noticed.” Jack tells her dryly, smirking when Samira scoffs at him. He looks unreasonably happy, though, eyes shining, and Samira can’t figure out why.
I kissed you in the locker room and it still wasn’t enough for me, I want to touch you even more than I have been and it’s been hell controlling myself doesn’t seem like productive conversation right now, so he refrains from sharing that. For now, at least.
Samira does decide to be honest with him in other areas, give him a little piece of her brain that she isn’t very proud of. “I have been thinking that we’ve been a little reckless about it, so reining it in again, but it’s…it hasn’t reached a point yet, in my mind, where I’m actively and uncontrollably freaking out about it, so.” Samira shrugs, ending her sentence a little early. He gets the idea. He remembers.
“The catastrophizing.” Jack hums, eyeing her a little too closely now. Samira straightens her shoulders, suddenly unsure.
Samira is saved from further scrutinizing by the blaring of sirens and the screech of an ambulance braking behind her, and suddenly her conversation with Jack is pushed to the back burner as they both run to help the paramedics bring the patient inside.
___
It’s Monday night and she’s just about ready to call it a day. It’s Monday night, and once her shift is over, she is walking out of here to enjoy her three consecutive days off. It’s Monday night, and once she’s done with her shift, it’ll only be twelve hours until Jack joins her for her three days off, the three days off they agreed to spend together.
It has been a long three days since Jack found her on the roof during her existential crisis. She hopes her time off with Jack drags out as long as her three working days have, but she knows she won’t get so lucky, she knows her time with Jack will be over in the blink of an eye and she’ll go back to asking for his days off so they could schedule time together, go back to stealing seconds together before and after shift changes, go back to flirting over monitors and across the hub when no one is looking.
But they’ll have three days together, and Samira is choosing to focus on that right now.
She corners Jack in the hallway by the lockers, just before he’s about to put his things away for shift change and she’s heading out. He looks good, if not like he always does, black cargo pants and black t-shirt, a little flushed from the humidity when he walked from his car, and Samira wants. But she knows they’re on limited time, graciously borrowing private seconds before someone else comes barreling down the hallway to get to their locker, so she gets straight to the point. “We never talked about it, but I want to be at your house for the next few days. Not my apartment.”
“Okay.” Jack agrees easily, adjusting the straps of his backpack on his shoulder. Samira watches the movement greedily, watches his fingers grip the camo strap and his bicep flex with the weight, and swallows it all back down. There will be time for all that, later. Three days’ worth of time, she reminds herself. “Do you still have my house key?” Jack asks, tilting his head at her.
“Yeah.” Samira says, the word paired with a heavy exhale, as if she would ever get rid of Jack’s house key, as if she hadn’t held onto it desperately when they weren’t really speaking, as if it didn’t bring tears to her eyes when he gently slipped it onto her keyring. She doesn’t care if it’s too revealing, too vulnerable, something she shouldn’t have kept when she broke up with him, something she shouldn’t be so sure about keeping forever.
There is no such thing as Samira being too revealing, too vulnerable, when it comes to Jack.
“Good.” Jack tells her, and Samira can’t tell if his smile is more pleased or self-satisfied, as if he’s warring with himself to be simply happy that Samira kept his house key or also smug that she held onto it for this entire time. Samira rolls her eyes at him, but she’s biting back an embarrassed, shy smile of her own, so the effect is greatly diminished. Good, he said, like he expected her to hang onto his key, like he wanted his house key looped next to her key to her apartment for as long as she wanted. Good, he said, like he would have been disappointed if she got rid of it.
“So, I’ll, um, see you in the morning?” Samira confirms, even though she doesn’t need to. She sincerely doubts that anything would keep Jack from her right now, would delay Jack when he knew that Samira was in his home, in his bed, waiting for him. She doubts Jack would linger at work when the promise of Samira was at his fingertips for the first time in four months, when she’s been throwing herself at him for three days and just waiting for him to catch her.
“Yeah.” Jack answers, voice gruff. His hands grip the straps of his backpack again, knuckles whiting out for a second, and she blinks at him, mouth dropping open in slight surprise. Samira knew she didn’t have to worry about Jack being delayed in the morning, but it’s one thing to know something and another to see it laid out for her without question, to know Jack wants to be home with her already and see the physical ramifications of his need, his restraint at the same time.
“Okay, good.” Samira sighs, fortifying herself to leave Jack with a deep breath. She can do this. She can manage another twelve hours when she’s already lasted three days, four months, ten months of waiting, denying herself time with Jack. “Then, um, I will see you there, in your bed.” Samira adds on, just to watch Jack turn red, just to watch his eyes widen in surprise and his body twitch next to hers, just to say it because she wanted to.
“Jesus, Samira.” Jack breathes out as she brushes past him, knocking their shoulders against each other’s as she walks past him, and Samira dips her head down as she walks down the hallway, tells herself that she can picture Jack’s face well enough, so she didn’t need to turn around and look at him one last time.
She fails before she makes it halfway down the hallway. Thankfully, Jack is still there, waiting for her, looking at her too.