Chapter Text
The night shift was going to be the death of her.
When Robby switched her over from day shift a few weeks ago, she was certain her body could handle it. After all, if Samira Mohan knew anything, it was that she was built to be a doctor. Her body thrived under ever changing conditions.
But low and behold, her sleep was irrevocably fucked up.
“You good there, Mohan?” Dr. Ellis asked. Mohan covered a hand over her yawn, returning to the unconscious patient in front of her.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized, handing Ellis a pair of scissors. “These nights are catching up to me.”
“Yeah, it takes a while to get used to.”
“I mean, the day shift was rough on my body but nights…” She shook her head and the doctor across from her gave a knowing look. “I still don’t really know why I got moved to begin with.”
Ellis scoffed. “You can thank Abbot for that.”
“What about me?”
As if he’d been summoned, the attending walked in. Dr. Abbot had always had a certain presence about him, but Samira felt it amplify during the night shifts. He maintained a stern but reliable authority, one she found herself thriving under.
Abbot sauntered over to the gurney and crossed his arms, eyebrows raised expectantly.
“Oh you know,” Samira teased. “We were just talking shit about you.”
He chuckled. “In front of a patient? Here I thought you would know better, Dr. Mohan.”
Her and Ellis both laughed at that. When Samira was reassigned to night shifts, she was nervous about working with Abbot. Sure, they’d worked seamlessly before but that was under times of crisis. They’d never been attending and resident before, not in a normal setting. But that worry wore off fast. Abbot ran the ED completely differently from Robby and she liked it that way. He actually listened to her, let her voice her concerns for each patient.
And he didn’t call her Slow Mo, which was a big win.
“By the way,” Abbot continued. “Got someone in triage for you.”
“Thank you, I-” But Samira was cut off by her own yawn. “I’ll be right there.”
“You sure you don’t need to take a coffee break?” he suggested, placing a hand on her back. That was the other thing that was different about Abbot: he touched her. Never in a creepy way, but in a reassuring way. Hand on the lower back when they moved around during an operation, pat on the shoulder after a hard talk with a family. Samira has never been one for physical touch- especially in the hospital- but something about the way Abbot did it wasn’t violating. It was grounding.
“I’m fine,” she promised. “Still adjusting.”
“Have you tried sleeping?” Abbot quipped with a wink.
“Ha ha.” She handed him a scalpel. “Believe me, I try but it doesn’t seem to work.”
He laughed humorlessly. “I understand you there.”
Samira made it through the rest of her shift with minimal yawning and no major screw-ups, making the day a win. Yet, the adrenaline stayed thrumming her veins all the way to the bus stop and through her ride home. By the time she arrived at her apartment, the rush had started to fade from her bones and the exhaustion had set in. But she wasn’t fooled; she doubted she would get more of an hour of sleep.
A loud meow cut through her thoughts.
“Hi, sweetie,” Samira cooed, kneeling down to pet the cat waiting expectantly at the door. “I missed you.”
She stood up, taking the apartment in with a huff. Didi’s cat toys were scattered everywhere, between abandoned magazines and food containers. She tried her best- she really did- to keep her home clean but it always seemed to slip out from under her. But nights left little time for vacuuming or dusting. Hell, she was lucky if she managed to have a dinner that wasn’t cooked in a microwave or bought on GrubHub.
After feeding Didi, Samira collapsed on her couch and attempted to close her eyes. Her brain ran through every patient interaction of the day, cataloging everything from what she could’ve done better to a joke she could’ve made. It was her daily routine, one she’d been doing ever since med school. Go through every mistake, reflect on it, and do better. It’s how she made it this far in both her academics and her career. Even if it was banal, it’s what made her a better doctor. Even if it left her little space to actually rest in between shifts.
Have you tried sleeping? Abbot’s voice teased in her head.
She chuckled to herself. Yeah, no. That wasn’t going to happen.
Samira flipped over on the couch, turning to face the stack of books waiting expectantly on her coffee table. A few weeks ago, her mom had been going through some sort of cleaning kick inspired by this Instagram influencer she found and had insisted on clearing out all of her things from high school.
“It’ll be therapeutic!” she had claimed, practically creaming with excitement over the phone. “Think about it, no more clutter when you come home for Christmas.”
Apparently, “clutter” meant every single book Samira has ever owned. Alongside every outfit, every photo, every memory. She felt like she should be offended, but she was used to it by now. It was just her mom being her mom, destroying all the old memories instead of actually processing them.
But, she digressed.
She sat up and began rifling through the pile, flipping through the pages of a few books. It had been so long since she’d even looked at these titles: The Hunger Games, The Scorpio Races, even a beat-up copy of Twilight. Just by touching the books, it felt like she had been sent back in time. Back on the bus, to the fourteen year old relying on fictional worlds to distract her from the one around her. To help her make the lunch period feel less lonely, to make her seem less pathetic.
But Samira wasn’t that girl anymore. No, she had left that little Jersey town and started a new life. Maybe it was time these books evolved with her.
She glanced at the clock: eight in the morning. Plenty of time before her shift.
Samira smiled softly to herself, and began reading.
***
Her idea- fun and therapeutic while it lasted- only sustained her for a week’s worth of shifts. Between spending her days curled up with Didi and a blanket and sneaking a few chapters in during her (minimal) breaks, Samira found herself finished with the stack in a matter of days. Yet, sleep still wouldn’t come to her.
So, more books it is.
“Can I help you find anything?” the shop employee asked.
Samira smiled politely. “No, I’m good. Thank you.”
Mad House was a quaint independent bookstore in downtown Pittsburgh, situated only a few minutes from the Pitt. The whole interior was decked out in various shades of purple, Dali-esque clocks decorating the stacks. Samira found the shelves and shelves of books the perfect distraction before a stressful shift. Everything was so maximalist and outlandish it let her shrink away from the world outside. If this is how Wonderland felt to Alice, Samira understood why she would never want to leave.
A mountain of books had already made its way into Samira’s arms, all titles she had read before. She sighed. While rereading was fun, it made the book fly by faster which meant more time left silent, reminding her that she should be sleeping. Samira needed a new, strenuous book, one that would keep her alert and away from her thoughts.
She ran her fingers over the spines of the New Fiction section when a figure appeared out of the corner of her eye. His dark brows were furrowed, scanning the blurb on the back of a new hardcover.
Samira laughed in disbelief. “Dr. Abbot?”
His head jerked up. “Dr. Mohan.”
He had traded his scrubs for a simple flannel and jeans, combat boots for a more casual pair of sneakers. His 5 o’clock shadow was fully present- 5 o’clock in the morning, Samira reasoned- and his curls a bit more unruly than usual. Most surprisingly, though, was the glasses.
Dr. Abbot wore glasses.
And it was kind of hot. Like, really hot.
“What are you doing here?” she stammered, swatting the thought away.
Abbot smiled playfully, gesturing to the book in his hand. “Can’t a man enjoy some fine literature?”
She grinned. “I guess so.”
He looked at the shelves around them. “I come here after every shift. I know it’s nerdy, but it helps to clear my mind.”
“Me too,” she agreed. “Must be something about the twenty shades of purple that makes you forget a degloved foot.”
He chuckled and stepped closer, motioning to the book in her hand. “What are you reading?”
“Oh, this?” Samira held up Slow Days, Fast Company. “It’s Eve Babitz.”
“Never read it before.”
“I highly recommend it. She makes me feel more sophisticated than I am,” Samira said with a laugh.
Abbot’s eyes crinkled. “Oh, I doubt that. You’re a very sophisticated person, Samira.”
Her face flushed, senses suddenly alert. He’d never called her by her first name before, only ever using Dr. Mohan. She had appreciated it, taken it as a sign of respect. But she would be lying if she said that the way he murmured her name wasn’t a little…
No. Oh my god no.
She’s just going to blame the lack of sleep for that.
Samira nodded towards Abbot. “What about you?”
He gestured to the book. “It’s a reread. Ever read The Stand?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Highly recommend.” Abbot fiddled with the edge of the book’s sleeve. “I was hoping to find something new, though.”
“Me too,” Samira agreed. “It helps the hours go by faster when I’m reading something I haven’t before.”
Abbot looked over at her, eyes softening. “Still not sleeping?”
Her cheeks reddened again, not even realizing her admission. “Not as much as I should, no.”
“Me, too. It’s hard to shut my brain off after a shift and that’s not including…”
He cut himself off, but Samira knew what he meant. Not including the PTSD, the trauma, the weight of all the things Abbot had lived through. It was easy to forget how impressive of a man he was, of how much he’d endured. Almost instinctively, her eyes glimpsed at his leg.
“Maybe we could swap books,” Samira suggested in an attempt to change the subject. “It could be our little book club.”
“Good idea.” Without a word, Abbot took the copy of Slow Days from her hands and replaced it with The Stand. “I can give you my number, too, so we can discuss.”
The lack of sleep was catching up to her. “Wait, what?”
He stared at her and said matter-of-factly, “For our book club.”
“Wait, are you serious?”
“Deadass.” He pulled a pen out of his pocket. “My therapist says I need a hobby, anyways.”
“Aside from assisting SWAT teams under active fire?”
His cheeks reddened and Samira felt hers do the same, remembering the occasion. Abbot shirtless, paying for the Uber, and Samira cleaning his wound, gently brushing his bare skin. She thought about it more than she could admit, more than she should. Whatever. She blamed it on the lack of romantic contact in the last few years. Not to mention, it didn’t take much staring to know Abbot was a handsome man. Princess had dubbed him the Office Heartthrob once and Samira couldn’t help but agree.
Abbot took the book from her and scribbled something on the inside cover. Instead of giving it back, he walked them both to the register and checked them out.
Samira gave him a knowing look. “I can pay for my own book.”
“Oh, I know.” He handed the copy back to her with a wink. “Welcome to book club, Dr. Mohan.”
***
“Didi, spit it out!”
Samira wrestled with the tabby cat, prying The Stand out of the feline’s teeth. Didi meowed indignantly when the book was finally free and Samira stuck her tongue out. Abbot’s taste in books was actually decent, as she was thoroughly enjoying The Stand. Their little book club hadn’t gone farther than a quick chat in between patients or while getting coffee, comparing each other’s thoughts on certain parts. It was pretty casual and still contained to the Pitt.
Samira flopped on the couch and opened to her bookmark. Right as she started to lock into the chapter, her phone buzzed on the couch cushion.
Unknown number: damn this woman is insane
Unknown number: do you think she actually did any of this shit
Unknown number: this is abbot by the way
Her heart fluttered despite feeling a bit guilty for not texting him first. To be honest, she was scared that Abbot was just being nice to her in Mad House and would ghost her at the first chance. That the book club was a work-only thing. Yet, here he was, texting her during the day. Not about a case or a medical journal he thought she’d find interesting. No, this was different.
Samira: how did you get my number????
Samira: and sorry for not texting you things got busy
A lie. And a bad one too, especially when most of her time was spent working alongside him.
Abbot: and here i was thinking i was your favorite attending
Abbot: kidding
Abbot: :)
She scoffed, shaking her head when another text came in.
Abbot: i got your number from robby if that’s okay
Samira: yeah that’s totally fine!!!
Samira: was worried you got it from some dark web database or something
Abbot: no promises
A strange, warm feeling filled her chest at that, one that she thought was reserved for bumbling school girls. God, Samira thought. Get yourself together.
Samira: i really like the stand so far
Samira: you have good taste
Samira: shockingly
Abbot: rude!!!
Three little dots appeared on the screen before disappearing. Samira’s brows furrowed as they reappeared and vanished several more times. Giving up, she threw the phone aside and started reading again. Several minutes later, the phone buzzed.
Abbot: what do you say we have our first official bookclub meeting?
Abbot: coffee after our shift tomorrow?
Samira: sounds perfect
Samira: though i expect deep, intellectual conversations only
Abbot: yes ma'am
***
Al’s Coffee House was bustling by the time they walked in, faces ragged and dark circles prominent. It had been a rough night for the both of them, a multiple car collision taking up almost every bed and moment. Abbot looked particularly rough and he sighed when they sat down at the booth.
Samira looked up from the menu. “First rule of book club: no talking about work.”
He snorted. “I second that.”
They both ordered black coffees, hers with cream and sugar and his without. The same thing they drank in the break room, but this time without the bloody scrubs.
“What do you think of the book?” Abbot asked.
“I like it a lot,” she answered. “The size intimidated me at first but it’s an easy book to get into. It’s the first time I’ve read a Stephen King novel, too.”
“Really? God, I think I’ve read all his books.” The waiter set down their drinks and they both took long gulps, letting the warm liquid fill their veins. “I used to buy those mass market paperbacks from Goodwill and read them while I was deployed. I remember the first time I finished The Stand, I told everyone I knew. I felt so intellectual I must’ve been insufferable.”
Samira smiled impishly. “More than usual?”
“Ha ha.” He crossed his arms and leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “And for the record, I’m enjoying Eve Babitz. Makes me wonder if I should’ve been more fun in my twenties.”
“There’s still time,” she said.
He scoffed. “Can you imagine an amputee in his forties at the club? Now that sounds like a Stephen King book.”
Samira always knew Abbot was hard on himself; she saw it every shift in the ED. But she had never seen this side of him, where his critical edge bled into his personal left. It felt raw, vulnerable, like something she wasn’t supposed to see.
She smiled warmly. “You’re too hard on yourself, Abbot.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” he teased. “And you can call me by my first name, you know.”
She furrowed her brow. “What do you mean by that, Doctor?”
“Fuck you,” he chuckled. “I’m just saying that I’ve never had a resident be more critical of themselves than I have seen with you. Which, for the record, you have absolutely no reason to be.”
Samira scoffed. “I doubt Robby would agree. I give it two weeks before you start calling me Slow Mo, too.”
“Oh, fuck that.” The indignant tone in his voice took her aback. Not angry, but more impassioned than before. Abbot continued, “I never agreed with that nickname. Look, Robby is one of my best friends. I love that guy. But he doesn’t know the difference between being a good doctor and being efficient.”
She looked down into her coffee, processing his words. Abbot leaned down to meet her gaze.
“You’re a good doctor, Samira,” he said softly. “Probably the best in that whole damn building. Don’t let Robby’s insecurities ever make you doubt that.”
Her chest swelled again, filling up with that terrifying warmth. “I thought we said no talking about work?”
Abbot leaned back and winked. “Oh please. When have I ever followed the rules?”
***
The lunch rush had started filing in by the time they left the coffee house, the sun burning onto their heads through the thick clouds. Winter was a finicky thing in Pittsburgh, even more unpredictable as a shift in the Pitt.
“Apparently there’s supposed to be snow tomorrow,” Samira said in an attempt to fill the silence. “Maybe it’ll finally start to feel like Christmas.”
“As long as the waiting room doesn’t insist on playing the same five carols over and over again.”
They both laughed at that. The holidays were a strange time at the hospital. Administrative staff poured so much money into making sure the hospital looked cheery and decorated, sending cookies to the break rooms or trying to organize hospital-wide events. But tragedy didn’t stop because old Saint Nick was on his way. If anything, the pain was heightened this time of year and it drained everyone more than usual. The exhaustion from tonight had only been the start of a very long holiday season.
“Where are you off to?” Abbot asked, cutting through her thoughts.
“The bus,” she nodded towards the station. “It’s cheaper than driving.”
“I’ll drive you.”
Her heart stopped. “You really don’t have to-”
“My mother would kill me if she knew I made someone take the bus with a snowstorm on the horizon,” he admitted. “And besides, what kind of attendant would I be?”
She bit back a grin. “Thank you, Ab- Jack. Thank you, Jack.”
And so Samira ended up in the passenger seat of his beat-up Jeep, listening to some generic dad rock station as they drove through downtown Pittsburgh.
“You really didn’t have to do this-” she started before being cut off.
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” He glanced over at her with a soft smile. “I don’t mind the company, anyways. Better than staring at my ceiling for seven hours straight.”
Samira laughed darkly. “We surely are master insomniacs, aren’t we?”
“The greatest. Founding members of Jack and Samira’s Book Club for Chronic Insomniacs.”
“We should make matching t-shirts.”
They both laughed a little too hard, the stress of the day rolling off of them as they stopped at the red light. It felt light, fun; something entirely foreign to Samira as they locked eyes. Abbot’s gaze softened and she felt herself leaning closer, drawn to this complex man beside her.
“Samira…” he murmured.
“Move it!”
A horn blared behind him and Jack swore, almost missing the green light entirely. Samira felt her pulse return to normal, skin buzzing with whatever had just happened. They drove the rest of the way with minimal talking, outside from good-byes and thank-yous when they reached her apartment.
And it might’ve been the exhaustion or her own wild imagination, but Samira could’ve sworn she felt Jack’s eyes on her as she closed her apartment door.