Archive of Our Own

Jack Abbot is used to being lonely. Even before his wife had died, Jack was used to the persistent ache of loneliness that sat right behind his heart. When she had been alive, he'd been an Army medic stationed 7,000 miles away for prolonged periods of time. When he was home on leave, she was sometimes away on business trips. But they had somehow made it work. When she died, that persistent ache of loneliness had metamorphosed to engulf his heart completely, and over time it had hardened. 

When his wife had been away but still alive, Jack liked to cook and learn new cuisines whenever he was home before being stationed somewhere else far away. He'd throw a dart at the world map they had on the living room wall. It was usually for sticking a pin where he was currently stationed, or approximately where his wife was allowed to know the general area of his station. Sometimes she wasn't allowed to know more than the country, or general geographical area. For his tour right after they got married, she'd been allowed to know the exact city. For his last tour, she'd only been allowed to know that he was somewhere in the Hindu Kush mountains. That's where he had been when she had died, too. 

But when his wife was alive and Jack was home, he would take the pin out of the map and place it directly over the black dot labeled “Pittsburgh.” Then he'd take a dart out of his dart board in the basement den, spin around the room once with his eyes closed, and then release the dart into the map’s vicinity. Occasionally he'd hear the dart make contact with something that was most certainly not the map on the wall. He'd broken a few vases over the years. Scared their aquarium of fish at least twice, having nearly speared the glass tank only for the hand of the universe to spike the dart and have it hit the bookshelf below. The worst damage he'd ever caused was when he let the dart fly and it hit a framed portrait of him and his wife on their wedding day, causing the frame to fall to the floor with a sickening crunch. The portrait had a small pin prick right in Jack’s knee, and had been slightly torn at the top by the shards of frame. He'd fixed it, though, a few days later and after he'd made a feast of Peruvian food (that's where the dart had landed when he'd tried again) and his wife never found out. Except she had noticed, when she'd gotten home; the frame had chipped the floorboard on its way down, and Jack had unknowingly gotten a new frame that was a slightly darker brown. She had just never told him. She'd just smiled at the fact he'd tried to fix it, like everything else he came into contact with. That was the last of his leaves they'd had together. A month passed and Jack’s wife had taken the pin out of Pittsburgh’s black dot and moved it to the middle of Afghanistan’s largest mountain range, hoping she'd be only a few miles off. 

It had been a sweltering August afternoon and Jack had laid in a hospital bed in Kabul, recovering from his below the knee amputation. He and his fellow medics had been transporting critical patients when their convoy was hit by a nearby “friendly” platoon’s rocket mortar. The platoon had realized who'd they'd aimed at too late. Half of the medical convoy had been obliterated. The truck Jack had been in had rolled a few times, and he'd gotten stuck under the steering wheel. Someone had pulled him out before he lost consciousness. He would come to find out later, though, that the Army had covered up the incident and honorably discharged the survivors. The critical patients hadn't survived. 

While Jack lay in his hospital bed, he wished he hadn't survived either. He could still feel his leg even after the amputation. And he could feel that persistent ache of loneliness slowly creeping from behind his heart and drifting up his spine like wisps of campfire smoke. When his doctor came to him with a satellite phone and a sunken look in her eyes, he tried to sit up. He hadn't gotten very far up the headboard when the doctor put the phone to her shoulder to block the speaker and spoke. 

Jack felt the campfire catch and become a forest fire. His vision went black and his ears began to ring. His entire body was sweating. His heart atrophied and his breath came in short gasps, not getting enough oxygen into his lungs. But it didn't really matter to him. He didn't care anymore if he was buried in Pittsburgh or if he was buried with the other unidentifiable bodies behind the hospital. His fish had died too, right before he left, so there was nothing and no one to go back to. Jack began to lose consciousness again, but before his vision blacked out completely he saw his doctor fitting an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. 

~~

Jack Abbot moved from the house he and his wife had bought together and into a two-bedroom condo close to his new job at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. The portrait from their wedding day remained in a box in the spare bedroom for two years until his new friend and fellow attending, Michael, came over to help him clear things out. Jack had insisted he no longer wanted to look at the portrait, but Michael had gently hung it next to the small dining table, right above the police scanner. 

Two years hadn't done much in terms of loosening the persistent ache of loneliness that was around Jack’s heart like a vice and swirled in his brain, clouding his judgement. More often than not Michael would find Jack on the roof of the hospital instead of by the nurses’ station for their shift handoffs. Jack never had the wherewithal to stand behind the railing. But he never jumped. His psychiatrist had diagnosed him as passively suicidal. Intrigued by the option but never taking it. He'd been prescribed a mid-dosage of Wellbutrin. It did little to clear the ache of loneliness from his brain so he'd tried Prozac. A week into that medication schedule Michael had had to put him on an involuntary psych hold. Jack had tried ketamine, even, for his “treatment-resistant” depression. Then he tried a combination of Lexapro and duloxetine. Nothing really seemed to work. He went off medication and went to therapy twice a week. He learned how to live and function with his new reality of having only one leg and got fitted for a prosthetic. He and Michael set up his apartment to be more accessible: a shower chair and handlebar in the bathroom, crutches that hooked to his forearms by his bedside in case he needed to use the bathroom faster than he could put his prosthesis on in the middle of the night. He'd gotten bloodwork done and gone on a combination of vitamin supplements and a mid-dosage of Zoloft. The fog of loneliness in his brain cleared, for the most part. But it still clutched to his heart in a way Jack insisted was protection. Michael was skeptical but learned not to press about this one. Jack’s life went on. He tried cooking again, but with a more methodical planning process. He enjoyed yoga and meditation and his morning visits to the roof became ways for him to decompress and process the night's shift. 

Another two years later, and a bridge that connects the city collapses. Jack hears it over the police scanner as he's cleaning his kitchen. He quickly turns the sink off, throws the food he'd just finished cooking into the fridge in its still-hot pot with no lid, shoves his feet into his shoes, grabs his go bag, and rushes to his car. He double backs when he remembers he's forgotten to lock the front door. Then he's off to the hospital 4 hours before he'd usually start. 

Jack bursts into the locker room and changes as quickly as possible. He peels off his sweater and realizes he’s forgotten an undershirt for his scrubs. With steady hands but quick feet he crosses the room, still shirtless, and lets himself into Robby’s locker where he knows there’d be a spare. When he turns around to get back to his locker, his chest smacks into someone else’s.

~~

Samira Mohan is used to being lonely. After her father died when she was freshly thirteen, her mother seemed to retreat even further away from her emotionally. Her mother had never been that present for her in the way Samira needed, but her dad had done his very best. The Mohan household never really recovered after he died. Samira got through high school by sheer force of will, applied to colleges and financial aid by herself, and when it was finally time to move, she moved herself three states away. Her mother had said goodbye, of course. She'd given a terse hug, wished her daughter well, and waved as Samira pulled out of the garage and drove away. 

At college, Samira had tried to make friends and start study groups with her pre-med classmates. No one ever seemed to stick around. And especially not after graduation. So Samira packed her campus apartment by herself and drove to medical school two states away from her mother this time. Somehow, she survived. She taught herself how to be an adult. How to cook, how to clean. She didn't like to cook that much, but sometimes she would figure out a recipe from her childhood and it would make her feel closer to her father. 

On rainy Sundays when she'd finished her homework for the weekend, Samira would flit around her kitchen and make a week’s worth of sambhar. She'd get dosa batter from the grocery store, and she'd get up extra early every day to prepare herself the breakfast her dad would always make for her during Christmas break when they both had off. She'd pirate Tamil movies to keep up with her proficiency in the language, too. Occasionally she'd call her mother and try to tell her about her life lately, and ask what the older woman had been up to. The conversations never lasted that long— her mother always had somewhere else to be about five minutes in. The line would hang up before Samira got to tell her mother anything exciting. She'd sit there, phone still in her hand held up to her ear, and stare into space. It hurt every time, but she still tried. 

When Samira finished medical school, she packed up her apartment and drove another state away to start her residency. She had been excited to move to Pittsburgh. She was excited to match into emergency medicine and hoped to change the system from the inside. And despite her loneliness throughout high school, college, and med school, she never stopped trying to make friends. Samira walked into her very first day as an intern with her head held high, shoulders back in perfect posture. She introduced herself to her new attending, Dr. Michael Robinavitch, who told her to call him Robby. When the clock struck 7am, he called the day shift into a huddle at the central desk to introduce the newcomers. Samira was one of three fresh interns, and there was a second year resident who'd just transferred from Oregon. Robby dismissed them before introducing the returning residents, but Samira didn't mind. She was vibrating with excitement as the charge nurse, who she'd overheard was named Dana, called over the intercom that there was a pileup from I-579. 

Robby called out to Samira. He assigned her to follow him and another, taller but much younger male doctor. Samira noticed that he was very handsome, with short dark brown hair that was pushed back but a few bangs fell onto his forehead when he leaned over to treat a patient. His chin was dimpled, and he smiled easily. Samira secretly hoped they'd become friends. He made quick work of his patient cases, rarely stopping to take a breath until he was out of the room. Working with him— Samira would eventually learn that his name was Dr. Frank Langdon— and Robby made the day go by in a blur. She went home completely exhausted but exhilarated. Once she was back in her new apartment, boxes still to be unpacked, Samira reached for her phone to call her childhood landline, excited to tell her dad all about her first day as a doctor. She dialed the number by heart but her thumb stopped and hovered over the green “call” button. A wave of grief nearly knocked her off her feet. Samira spent the next two hours sitting against the wall in her entryway, scrubs and shoes still on, staring at nothing in particular. She only got up when her head nodded forward and jerked her awake. 

Her intern year was, overall, satisfying. She couldn't match Langdon’s pace, but most people couldn't. Even Robby barely could. Samira heard tell of the night shift attending and how he was the only person in the entire emergency department who matched Langdon’s speed but beat him in skill gained from experience. This attending sounded more like a legend, though. A tale the residents were told to keep them from trying to be the fastest and best. 

Samira’s second year of residency was better at times than her first. She finally settled into her apartment, and had hung a few framed pictures of her and her father around the place. There was only one of her entire family, though. It sat tucked into the corner of the bookshelf Samira had bought off Facebook during college. She settled into her work, too. She got more used to her colleagues. She got closer to Langdon, whose fiancée tried to set up Samira with a few of her own friends but they never got further than a second date. Samira got closer to Heather, the R2 who’d transferred from Oregon, as well. She adjusted to Robby’s teaching style, but never fully got used to his mercurial mood swings. And no matter how hard she tried, there was always something that seemed to hold her back from getting as close to anyone as she craved. She thought and hoped and sometimes even prayed to whoever was possibly listening that she'd make a best friend now that she was more settled in her career. Someone who wouldn't leave. Someone who would always find her. Someone who could see her at her worst, most broken and still help her pick up the pieces. 

Samira was never sure if she was just predisposed to loneliness, or if she had some kind of red flag she wasn't aware of that others could clearly see. She was given a nickname by someone, she didn't know who, that really hurt her feelings and definitely didn't help her professional relationships. No matter how fast she worked, it never seemed fast enough or good enough. She had the highest patient satisfaction scores the department had ever seen for a second year, but it didn't stop the namecalling and the lectures from Robby. But Samira knew that when she worked as quickly as he wanted her to, she made careless mistakes. She worked at the pace she was comfortable with and it always paid off. 

Towards the end of her second year of residency, a bridge that connects the two halves of Pittsburgh collapses. Dana announces it right after Samira has spilled almost an entire bottle of Mylanta down the front of her scrub top because she forgot to make sure the lid was tight before shaking. She knows she has just enough time to give her patient the remaining medicine and then to run to the scrub exchange and change. As she walks into the locker room after getting a new top, she notices an unfamiliar person with his back to her, rummaging through Robby’s locker. Samira isn't quite sure if she should say anything, though, as the lockers are password protected and she assumes the new man didn't just break into it. She decides to pass behind the man quietly to get to her locker for a new undershirt. Samira must have been too quiet because the man turns without noticing her and their chests smack into each other. Samira lets out a quiet squeak in surprise. She realizes too late that the man is shirtless. He also squeaks, but his is much deeper. Samira realizes she's looking at him with too-wide eyes so she tries to look anywhere else besides his surprised face. She lands on his bare chest. His chest is broad, peppered by gray and dark brown hair, and looks soft but strong and muscled somehow. He has very nice proportions, she notes, slowly nodding her head without realizing it. Then she realizes she's lingered for too long on his chest now, and the air in the locker room starts to feel weirdly heavy. Samira clears her throat and looks at the ground entirely.

“Sorry about that,” the man says. “I didn't hear you come in.” 

Samira shakes her head, eyes still firmly locked on the linoleum at their feet. 

“It's okay,” she says. “I won't tell Robby, by the way. About your stealing,” she adds. The man lets out a huff that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. Samira looks up and into his eyes, noticing how strikingly hazel they are. 

“Phew,” he says in mock sincerity. The right side of his mouth tips up in an almost-smirk.

“I'm Jack Abbot,” he introduces himself and extends his right hand to Samira. She takes it in hers and shakes firmly. His hands are the steadiest she's ever come into contact with. They're strong, but there's a gentleness to them as well. Samira suddenly has the urge to hold his hand and never let it go.

“You're real?” She gasps, awestruck. She didn't mean to say it out loud. He gives her another huff-chuckle, but nods.

“That's what my therapist tells me,” he replies. Samira isn't sure how to respond to that but she smiles slightly, feeling her cheeks heat. She then realizes she's still holding his hand. She clears her throat, pumps his hand once, and drops it.

“Samira Mohan,” she says. He nods knowingly but doesn't say anything further. Suddenly, Dana’s voice sounds over the intercom. She repeats her earlier announcement about the bridge collapse but updates the ETA of the first ambulance.

“We'd better get out there,” Dr. Abbot says. He puts the stolen undershirt on and then his scrub shirt over it, then adds his stethoscope around his neck. Samira has changed, too, in the time it took him and she's right on his heels as he exits the locker room. Jack adjusts his pace so they arrive at central together. 

“Mohan, you're with me and Collins,” Robby calls. Abbot clears his throat.

“Actually, I want her with me,” he says confidently. Even though he's speaking loudly, his voice is low and a little gravely. Robby gives him a look Samira doesn't quite understand but then her day shift attending shrugs. 

“Mohan, you'll be with Abbot until we get this thing under control and then you handover to his nightshift residents,” Robby amends. Something clicks into place for Samira and she turns to Abbot slowly.

“Let's go, Dr. Mohan. I want to see what you're made of,” Abbot says, leading her to the ambulance bay. 

Samira is a little taken off guard at how easily and efficiently they work together. Abbot is fast and steady like the rumors say he is, but he's almost deferential to her. He lets her lead in a way Robby never does. He listens intently when she speaks. He asks questions that force her to stop and think before recommending treatment. He nods silently when he agrees. When he doesn't, he poses it like a question. Makes her consider and defend her reasoning. Changes his mind occasionally based on what she's said. She doesn't understand why he does it, but she likes it. She feels more in control and like the way she works isn't a defect but an asset. Abbot treats her like an equal even though he's a senior attending and she's an R2. Samira briefly wonders what it would be like to work the night shift with him. Then her patient starts to code and she's brought back into the moment. Once they've stabilized, Abbot calls Samira out of the room and directs Nurse Perlah to keep an eye on the patient.

“Let’s wait out in the ambulance bay so you can watch MCI triage,” Abbot tells her. He holds a hand out, indicating for Samira to lead the way. Drs. Robby, Langdon, and Collins run from ambulance to ambulance assessing victims of the bridge collapse. They slap differently colored bracelets onto patients’ wrists signaling where the nurses and medical assistants should direct their gurneys. 

“Red means they’ll pass within an hour if they go untreated. Pink means they need immediate care. Black and white signifies they’ve already died. Yellow is stable for now but needs monitoring,” Dr. Abbot explains. Samira nods as she watches the organized chaos. 

“And green?” she asks. The pocket of Langdon’s utility belt has the most green left out of all the colored bracelets. 

“We probably won’t get many of those,” Abbot replies. “But if we do, that means they just need a second opinion and then they can be discharged.” Right then, another ambulance skids to a stop in front of them. Abbot puts his left arm out protectively in front of Samira and backs them up closer to the curb. The paramedics jump out of the driver and passenger seats and open the back door. Abbot waits a beat for Samira to approach first. She does quickly.

“What do we got?” Samira asks the medics. Collins runs over with her slap bracelets at the ready. The medics don’t respond, though, they just move the gurneys out of the ambulance and get back in to drive back to the disaster. 

“We’ve got what looks like a family of five,” Collins calls out to no one specifically, but more to everyone in the vicinity who can help. Langdon runs over to assess with her. 

“Watch how they work,” Abbot says quietly to Samira. Collins and Langdon make a very good team, Samira notices. They move almost as one, flitting from body part to body part, looking for where the most damage has been done to the people on the gurneys. 

“I’ve got a black and white,” Langdon says and slaps the corresponding bracelet to the unmoving wrist. He moves to the next gurney. “Green!” he yells to Abbot. “Second opinion please, Dr. Abbot.” Langdon barely slows.

Abbot moves forward and scans the patient’s body. 

“What’s today’s date?” he asks them. The person answers accurately and Abbot asks a few more questions about where they are, if they can tell him what happened, and where they were going when the bridge collapsed. He takes another green bracelet from Langdon’s belt and slaps it onto their opposite wrist. 

“Mateo, green means go,” Abbot calls to the new grad nurse who appears at Samira’s side. 

“You got it boss,” Mateo says, and wheels the gurney inside. 

Collins and Langdon finish their assessments and Samira sees that there’s two black and whites, one red and one yellow. She looks to Dr. Abbot as the older residents run to another ambulance. 

“Let’s take the red,” he tells her. “McKay, take the yellow,” he calls to an R3 Samira hasn’t worked a lot with yet. Dr. McKay runs to them as Samira springs into action, pushing the red patient’s gurney back into the department as Abbot runs ahead to ask Dana for a trauma room. 

“Dana, what’s open?” he shouts. 

“Trauma three,” she yells back without looking at them. Abbot guides Samira and the gurney to the room and holds the door open for her. Nurse Jesse has joined them, helps them transfer the patient from the gurney to the trauma bed and then attaches nodes for the EKG before preparing an IV line.

“Dr. Mohan,” Abbot starts. “Why did Dr. Langdon mark this patient as red?” 

He moves a few steps back so she can get in front of him to make her own assessment. She shines her pen light into the patient’s eyes, noting how their pupils react to the stimulus. She gently presses on their abdomen, noticing when the heart monitor speeds up, and then puts her stethoscope into her ears and listens to the patient’s chest and belly. Samira makes a fist and rubs her knuckles firmly into their sternum. They scream. Samira jumps as well, not expecting that response. 

“Patient presents with injuries consistent with a seatbelt protecting them from being propelled forward after their driver slammed on the brakes,” she says to everyone in the room. “Pupils are reactive, but we should get them a head and chest CT since their nose is broken and they’re missing a few teeth, indicating they hit their head on something in front of them. Tenderness and breathing sounds indicate at least three broken ribs,” she finishes. 

“Is their throat open for intubation?” Abbot questions. Samira stops for a second. Then she re-evaluates the patient. Abbot waits for her to think. Samira backs away from the patient and shakes her head. She looks at Abbot with wide eyes. 

“Have you ever done a crike before?” Abbot asks Samira. She shakes her head again, eyes going even wider. Jesse moves to set up the necessary equipment. 

“Then you’re about to do your first,” Abbot says confidently. Samira feels her hands start to shake and she balls them into fists and squeezes, trying to quell her nerves. Abbot motions for Samira to take her place across from him, with the patient in between them. 

“Jesse, please give Dr. Mohan an eleven blade,” he requests. The nurse hands Samira the scalpel and she takes it hesitantly, looking back at Abbot. Their eyes meet, and he can tell that hers are full of fear and trepidation. She can’t find anything but confidence and reassurance in his, though. He nods firmly. 

“You got this, Dr. Mohan, just trust yourself,” he says softly. “I’ll walk you through it.”

Samira nods back and squares her shoulders. She’s not sure if she’s imagining it, but she thinks she sees Dr. Abbot smiling out of the corner of her eye as she looks down at the patient’s throat. 

“Vertical incision from here to here,” Dr. Abbot instructs. Samira does as he says and then moves her hands, waiting for his next instruction. 

“Horizontal incision across the crico membrane,” he continues. She makes the cut. 

“Jesse, trach tube to Dr. Mohan, please,” Abbot requests. Jesse hands Samira the tracheostomy tube. 

“Insert the tube into the throat, slow and steady,” Abbot cranes his neck to watch Samira work as he gives her the next steps. He knows she can do slow and steady. It’s what makes her such a good doctor already, he believes at his core. He doesn’t agree with her department-wide nickname that implies she moves in slow motion like it’s a bad thing. She moves at the exact right pace she needs to in order to do her job to the best of her ability. And ‘the best of her ability’ is the absolute best that Jack has seen in a very long time. If asked, he wouldn’t have even been able to name someone who worked better than Dr. Mohan does, even with all his years as a doctor. He’d only heard tell of her abilities until the bridge MCI, which is why he wanted to work with her as soon as he had the chance. She hadn’t needed to prove herself to him, but she had unknowingly done so many times over in the span of an evening. 

Samira performs the procedure perfectly. Jesse confirms the placement of the tube, and then Samira connects it to a ventilator. Abbot nods his approval when he double checks her work. 

“Let’s get them to CT now,” Abbot says. “Great work, Dr. Mohan. That was beautiful,” he adds. Jesse nods in agreement and gives Samira a thumbs up.

~~

Five hours after Samira’s shift was supposed to end, they finally catch up with all the victims of the bridge collapse. There had been more black and whites than expected, and Samira isn't quite sure how to handle the adrenaline crash. She hands off her boarding patients to Dr. Ellis, Abbot’s night shift R3, and then goes to sit in the break room. Samira had heard of Dr. Ellis from the rumor mill just like she'd heard of Abbot. But when she met the older resident, Samira thought that maybe the mill had gotten this one wrong. Ellis was incredibly kind to Samira, more so than anyone else apart from Abbot had been. She made eye contact when Samira spoke, nodded when she understood but asked leading questions when she wanted to know Samira’s thought process. When Samira had started to walk away after handoff, Ellis had stopped her with a gentle hand on Samira’s forearm. 

“Hey, I heard you did really well today for your first MCI,” Dr. Ellis said. Samira blinked up at her, not quite sure how Ellis could have heard so quickly. She'd just gotten to the department about twenty minutes ago. Dr. Ellis gave Samira’s forearm a firm but encouraging squeeze.

“Thank you,” Samira replied, her voice barely above a whisper. 

The interaction replays in Samira’s head as she stares into space in the break room. Dr. Ellis’s kind words echo along with screams from various patients, almost drowned out by heart monitors going flat. Samira doesn't want to go home, she realizes. Her apartment will be too quiet. Too lonely. 

A feeling she's usually able to outrun suddenly crashes down over her like a tsunami. It hollows her out. Leaves her gasping for breath. Her brain has forgotten all of the sounds it was just replaying but has gone terrifyingly blank. Is this what it feels like to die? Samira wonders. She tries to take a deep breath but her lungs won't fill. She chokes on air instead and dry heaves, shoulders moving forward of their own volition and elbows meeting her thighs as she doubles over, still gasping for breath. She needs to get up. She knows she needs to get a nurse or a doctor. Someone who can push epi, albuterol, something, anything. She is a doctor, a voice screams inside her head. She should know what to do in this situation! But Samira doesn't know how to treat herself. She doesn't know how to deal with this emptiness, with the darkness that is slowly consuming her. Samira doesn't feel the hand that settles firmly on her left shoulder. She doesn't realize anyone has come in until a voice speaks in her ear.

“You're having a panic attack, Dr. Mohan,” the voice says. It's deep and a little gravely and she thinks she might recognize it. But she's not sure and she doesn't turn to look just yet. The hand stays on her shoulder. Her brain zeroes in on the feeling, on the weight of it. She thinks maybe the pressure is increasing. The hand squeezes her shoulder, tightly but not painfully. Somehow this makes Samira's brain and lungs speak to each other again and she's able to inhale deeply, like she just surfaced out of the Jersey Shore. 

“There we go,” the voice says. The hand gives her a final squeeze and then moves away. Samira takes a few more deep breaths before looking up to see the hand and voice belong to Dr. Abbot. His hazel eyes are peering down at her, filled with worry but also recognition. He seems to know exactly why she had the panic attack and knew exactly what she needed. Her brain tries to tell her that obviously he knew what she'd need, he's a doctor too. But that's not all, another part of Samira thinks. There's another layer to the recognition.

“Thank you,” she says. “I don't know why that happened.” 

Dr. Abbot responds with a thoughtful hum. He gestures to the seat across from Samira and she nods so he sits. He folds his hands over the table between them, still looking intently at her. 

“It's a natural response to what we saw today,” he says. Samira nods but looks down at her own hands clasped in front of herself. She should be better than that. How is she going to be an emergency medicine doctor if she has a panic attack any time there's a mass casualty event? She suddenly hopes that Dr. Abbot won't tell anyone. She doesn't want to get a new, perhaps even meaner nickname. What would it be this time? Dr. Abbot clears his throat, pulling her out of her spiral.

“It's a natural response, Dr. Mohan,” he repeats. “You just have to figure out how to respond to it, or try to prevent it. Shifts don't always end right after an MCI. Sometimes you just have to keep going.” Dr. Abbot leans forward slightly into the table. 

“It's okay to not be perfect on your first try. It's okay to not know what to do,” he continues. His voice is so gentle when he speaks to her. Even when he walked her through the crike earlier. He's such a stark contrast from Robby, Samira wonders how they're friends and have worked together for so many years. 

“Will you text me when you get home?” Dr. Abbot suddenly asks. Samira’s head snaps to look at him. No one has ever asked her that before. No one has ever taught her like he has, either. She's beginning to think that Dr. Abbot is a very rare kind of person. Samira nods once, tentatively. Dr. Abbot pulls out his phone, opening a new contact page and then hands the phone over to her. Samira does the same, and then puts her phone back into her pocket when he's finished. 

“I have to get back out there. Get home safely,” he says as he stands. He gives her shoulder one last pat and then leaves the room. 

Only once she hears the door close softly does Samira realize tears have been falling, staining her cheeks. She wipes her eyes quickly and hopes it's not too obvious as she gets up and walks back to the locker room to change.

~~

Samira turns the key into the lock of her front door, pushes it open, drops her bag and kicks off her shoes. She should shower and eat and go to bed. She walks into her small kitchen to wash her hands first, then suddenly remembers what Dr. Abbot asked her to do. Samira dries her hands on a kitchen towel and pulls out her phone. She scrolls to the “D” section of her contacts, expecting him to have added himself as “Dr. Abbot.” She'd added herself as “Samira Mohan,” in his phone, though, so when he doesn't show up in D she scrolls down to J. At the very top of the section is his contact; he's added himself as “Jack (r)Abbot 🐰”. The rumor mill never said just how silly Dr. Abbot could be, she thinks. It makes her smile. She wonders what else there is to him. Maybe she'll get to find out soon. 

Samira chooses his contact and then taps the message bubble, starting a text thread. She starts typing and somehow doesn't second guess herself.

“Hi Dr. Abbot. I just got home, safe and sound. Thank you for today.” 

Then she closes the app, locks her phone, and puts it on the counter before opening her refrigerator. She has some leftover idlis and vada from two days ago, but not much else. It'll have to do. She takes out the Tupperware and puts the idli in the microwave and the vada in the air fryer. While both reheat, she goes to take a quick shower. Once she's clean, moisturized, and in her pajamas, Samira re-re-heats her food just a touch and then takes it to the couch to eat while watching the newest season of With Love, Meghan on Netflix. Her phone buzzes as Meghan Markle is explaining how to make apple butter. The message is from Dr. Abbot, but there's no text. Only two emojis:

👍😊

Samira finds herself smiling at the message, nearly matching the face the second emoji is making. She wonders vaguely if Robby would allow her to rotate to the night shift at some point. For the experience, of course. But also for the enigmatic attending. But mostly for the experience (that's what Samira tells herself to sleep at night). 

~~

A few weeks go by without a peep from Dr. Abbot. Samira hands her cases to Drs. Ellis and Shen, the night shift residents, but she always seems to miss their attending. Samira’s pretty sure it would be a little weird to text him. 

A few months, now, have passed since her first MCI and work-related panic attack. Samira finally gets the courage to ask Robby about shadowing the night shift one summer afternoon. He's at the central nurses’ station looking at the patient board.

“Dr. Robby?” Samira approaches and stands next to him. He hums in response, not taking his eyes off the board.

“Dana, can we discharge the kid with the flu in South 7?” He asks the charge nurse. 

“If you want him to come back worse,” she answers. Robby scoffs. Samira clears her throat.

“Yeah, yeah, what's up?” Robby finally turns to face her. 

“I was wondering if it would be possible to maybe shadow the night shift for a week or so? See what it's like compared to day shift.” Robby snorts.

“You don't want to do that,” he says. Samira furrows her brow and asks, “why not?”

“Because, Slo-Mo, the night shift doesn't have what day shift has. And you'd get even slower with the lull that happens at night.” He’s back to looking at the board when he finishes speaking. Samira bristles at the nickname. She forces herself to stand up at her full height, but she’s still much shorter than her boss. 

“Maybe it would be more my speed,” she responds. She tries her best to sound confident and like she isn't bothered by what he's just said. Robby scoffs again and this time even rolls his eyes. Samira can feel tears forming at the back of her eyes. 

“Ask me again when your third year starts,” he says and walks away. Dejected, Samira checks the board. The next patient in need of a doctor is a constipated seven year old. She notes the room number, then turns and walks the opposite direction that Robby had. 

Samira didn't need to ask Robby about shadowing the night shift when her third year of residency started, because by the grace of whoever or whatever was out there looking out for her, Samira was scheduled to do her first three months on night shift. She’s excited but nervous. Excited to get to work with Dr. Abbot. And Shen and Ellis. Nervous because working nights will disrupt her carefully crafted routine. Samira is never caught unprepared, though. For two weeks leading up to her shift switch she’s read as many articles as she can find on how to adjust and still stay somewhat sane. She has a gameplan, too. 

Her first night shift starts out uneventful. The meanest part of her brain echoes Robby: the night shift might be making her slower. But she does feel a sense of peace she's never felt before. The most optimistic part of her brain says, “maybe this really is more my speed. It's certainly nicer without Robby and the name calling.” 

Around 1am, Samira heads to the break room for a cup of coffee. As soon as she opens the door, a wave of smells hits her and her mouth immediately starts watering. There are aluminum pans covered in foil lined up on the table in the middle of the room. Samira wonders what it's all for. As she pours the stale drip coffee into her mug, Ellis and Shen enter the break room and race each other to the pans. Ellis rubs her hands together conspiratorially. Shen lifts the foil from one pan and breathes deeply. He goes to make himself a plate but Ellis smacks his hand away. 

“Ow!” Shen mutters. Ellis rolls her eyes.

“Man you know I barely touched you,” she says. Then she notices Samira, carefully watching them as she drinks the terrible coffee. 

“What's this for?” Samira asks. She doesn't mean for her voice to come out so shyly. 

“Abbot’s monthly feast,” Shen says with a grin. 

“Once a month Dr. Abbot has us choose a cuisine, and then he brings in a feast of said cuisine for us to eat in the middle of our shift,” Ellis further explains. Samira is thankful for her, as Shen’s answer was not entirely helpful. 

“Oh, that's fun,” Samira replies. Ellis and Shen smile at her.

“I'll go do rounds while you guys have your feast,” Samira says. She figures they’d appreciate it if she keeps an eye on their boarders while they take a break. So she's not sure why Shen cocks his head like a confused puppy and Ellis frowns at her.

“You're not gonna join us?” She says. Samira freezes, hand hovering over the mug she's just put in the sink.

“I'm invited?” She asks without thinking. Ellis and Shen exchange a look. 

“Of course? You're part of the night shift?” Shen says. Just then Dr. Abbot enters the room, unknowingly rescuing Samira from answering. 

“Let's eat,” he says, as he peels back the foil on the pans to reveal a real and genuine feast. Samira guesses tonight’s cuisine is Italian-American: one pan is filled with chicken Parmesan, another with eggplant Parmesan, and there's spaghetti noodles with pesto as well as marinara sauce in the last two pans. 

Ellis passes a plate to Samira. 

“Chicken or eggplant?” The older resident asks. 

“Chicken, please,” Samira responds. She wasn't expecting to be allowed to join, much less served by colleagues who are technically her superiors. 

“Green or red?” Shen asks, waving his pair of tongs at the noodles.

“Pesto, please,” Samira says. Shen takes her plate from her and heaps a pile of pesto pasta next to her chicken Parmesan. Samira takes her plate back and thanks both residents as she gets a fork, knife, and napkin from the pile next to Dr. Abbot. She makes sure to thank him as well.

“Did you make the noodles yourself this time, boss?” Shen asks. Abbot nods proudly. 

“Let me guess,” Ellis starts to say, her mouth full of eggplant. She swallows before continuing.

“Pesto is from your basil forest?” Abbot nods again. He hasn't started eating yet; he's waiting for Shen to finish plating before fixing his own. 

“It grows so fast I don't know what to do with it all most of the time,” Abbot chuckles. 

“I'm sure your lady neighbors would love to receive a bushel,” Ellis quips. Samira nearly chokes on her bite of pasta. 

“Please don't choke. None of us know the Heimlich,” Shen deadpans. That makes Abbot laugh louder than a chuckle, and Ellis cackles. Samira’s cheeks turn red but no one teases her further. 

“Do I smell chicken Parmesan?” Mateo says as he walks into the break room, rubbing his palms together. Abbot nods and points to the pan Mateo is looking for. 

“Boy do I love me some night shift feasts,” Mateo says happily. “Thanks, Dr. Abbot.” Abbot finally makes a plate once Mateo sits down across from Samira with his food. 

“First feast?” Mateo asks as he cuts his chicken into bite-sized pieces. Samira nods as her mouth is full of spaghetti. Mateo nods understandingly. 

“The day shift doesn't know what they're missing,” he says. Samira nods again. Mateo takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, and then keeps talking. Samira isn't used to all of this interaction, but she thinks it's nice. And finds it oddly comforting. She looks around the room as Mateo babbles: Shen and Ellis and Abbot share the table in front of Samira and Mateo. A few other nurses have come in and made plates, sitting at their own table at the back. Everyone thanks Dr. Abbot as they serve themselves. He smiles at everyone, cataloging what they choose for their plates. Samira wonders if he's making note of who chooses the vegetarian options, which pasta sauce is preferred. 

“Has a cuisine ever been repeated?” She asks Mateo. He shakes his head, mouth full again.

“Nope, and he's been doing this since before I started. I think since Shen and Ellis were interns,” he responds once he's swallowed.

“Since I was an R2 and Parker was an intern,” Shen corrects. Mateo nods toward the other man. 

“Which has been your favorite?” Samira hears herself ask. She’s not the best at friendly conversation, she's begun to think. Why else would she be so lonely when everyone else has such good rapport with each other on the day shift? She had been getting closer to Langdon on the day shift, but he'd disappeared two months ago. The rumor mill said all sorts of things about him. Ahmad had refused to start a betting board, though, so Samira had a sinking feeling that it wasn't because he was taking a long vacation. 

“I think it’d have to be the time Abbot made Ethiopian food. When was that, Shen? Four months ago?” Mateo’s answer brings Samira back into the moment. Shen nods and grunts affirmatively from behind Mateo. 

“He even learned how to make injera,” Ellis pipes up. 

And so Samira’s tenure on the night shift went roughly the same way. She made friends with Mateo, Ellis, and Shen. Dr. Abbot taught her a new procedure at least once a week. And during her three months she got to enjoy three feasts. The second feast was Mexican food, the third Japanese. Abbot learned how to roll sushi and make his own tortillas. Samira often wondered when he had the time and energy. She was coming to know, though, that he was usually up at all hours of the day. He slept, of course, but Samira could never really tell when. She'd sometimes wake up in the evening to a text or two with a link to a research article and Abbot’s thoughts on it. He always ended his messages about those articles with a question: “what do you think?” So Samira would read the articles as she ate dinner/breakfast, and send him her response before driving into work. Then, if their paths crossed long enough during their shift, she and Abbot would talk more in depth. Samira began to thrive. She began looking forward to waking up in the early evening to read whatever he had sent her during the day. She looked forward to being near him for twelve straight hours. She enjoyed her coworkers, too. They didn't call her mean nicknames. In fact, the only time they called her anything other than “Samira” or “Dr. Mohan,” was when Mateo was feeling particularly flirty and addressed her as “Mo-Mo.” She didn't mind that one. Dr. Abbot never strayed from calling her “Dr. Mohan,” though. Not even when he texted her. Samira wouldn't be surprised if he had changed her contact name in his phone. He was still the same as he had input all those months ago. The rabbit emoji made her smile.

But eventually the three months came to an end and Samira went back to day shift. The transition was worse than she thought it would be, and at the end of her fourth day back, she found herself on the roof. Not too close to the edge, though; Samira was still afraid of heights. She just needed a quiet place to think, feel the wind in her hair. It was a particularly blustery late-Fall evening so she didn't hear the door to the roof open and close. 

“Come here often?” Jack says from a few feet behind Samira. His voice is carried away by the wind. Jack takes a few steps forward, then lightly taps Samira on the shoulder. She jumps. Then she turns around. Jack is taken off guard by the emotions written across her face and the despair so clear in her eyes. He frowns. He doesn't like seeing her upset. She blinks rapidly a few times and Jack gets the suspicion she's trying very hard not to cry in front of him again. Though he didn't mind the first time. He's relieved to know that she can still cry. But that doesn't soothe the part of Jack that wants to fight and then fix whatever is bothering her now, did back then, and whatever will in the future. 

“Hi,” she says. She must have yelled it, but her voice is soft beneath the howl of the wind. 

“Hi,” he repeats. He gives her a tender smile. Samira has noticed he has a few smiles he only gives her and no one else. This is the one she likes the best. It crinkles his eyes ever so slightly, and his hazel irises twinkle. But not in the way his conspiratorial smile makes his eyes twinkle mischievously. This smile, the tender one only for Samira, makes his eyes look like he's seeing right into her core. Not necessarily through her. But into her. Like he can see how her brain is working through a problem and he knows exactly what the problem is. He can see her heart and its ventricles pumping blood and oxygen throughout her circulatory system. When he looks at her like this, Samira wouldn't be surprised if he could guess her blood pressure, her heart rate, her blood oxygen levels, and only be off by 2, if he was off at all. 

Jack has often thought the same about Samira. She has an uncanny ability to know exactly what he means and what he's thinking. He's never worked with such a competent, thoughtful doctor before. And he's never met such a wonderful person like her before. Jack often catches himself thinking that Samira is truly one of a kind. And how she ended up at the Pitt is beyond him. But he knows how lucky he is. How lucky they all are. 

“You okay?” Jack asks her. She looks at him like she knows he already knows the answer. He gives her a nod. 

“I'll ask, but I'm not sure Robby will agree,” he says. Samira smiles sadly and looks at their shoes. She watches as Jack’s sneakers move closer to her clogs. 

“Text me when you get home?” He says into her ear. She nods and the hair that's fallen out of her claw clip tickles Jack’s cheek. He pats her bicep and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Then Jack turns to go back downstairs. Samira keeps standing on the roof for a few more minutes. She doesn't feel much better, but she doesn't feel worse, either. 

When she gets home she opens the thread of messages with Abbot, now much longer than the first time she texted him, and sends three emojis:

🏡👍😴

A few hours later, when she's fast asleep, he replies with three of his own:

😊🌚✅

~~

Samira arrives for the day shift with an extra pep in her step, greeting everyone as she sees them. Most people reply politely, but Robby is even colder than usual. He pointedly ignores her at the end of the morning huddle even though her hand is raised and she has a question about continuity of care since Dr. McKay is out with food poisoning. Later in the day when Samira and Robby are both at the board looking for new patients, she tries to thank him for approving her transition to the night shift full-time. 

“Dr. Robby-” is all she gets out before he turns and walks away. He doesn't even ask Dana if anyone can be discharged. Samira looks to the charge nurse for solidarity, but Dana just shrugs. So Samira does what she knows best: she picks the next patient in line on the board and goes to see what kind of help they need. 

Besides his silent treatment, Robby demanded that Samira pull a double instead of having a transition day before she joins the night shift permanently. So she's there at handoff, but doesn't necessarily need to hand any of her patients off to anyone else. Shen, Ellis, and Mateo greet her excitedly when they see her already waiting for them. Dr. Abbot, however, is nowhere to be seen. The older residents and younger nurse shrug when Samira asks where their attending is. It's not quite 7pm, though, so he has a little while before he's actually late. 

At 6:59pm, the four young medical professionals waiting by central turn in unison to the second behavioral health room. They can hear yelling; finally they know where their attending has been this entire time. Dana and the night shift charge nurse, Lena, pause their debrief to look over as well, and then give each other an identical look over their glasses. They turn back to their discussion. 

Shen nods his head toward the room Abbot is in and Ellis follows him, trying but failing to be subtle as they both move closer to BH2. Samira looks to Mateo. The nurse shrugs again. Without discussing it, he and Samira quickly join their friends. 

“You're sabotaging her, you know that right?” Abbot says loud enough for them to hear him clearly. Samira’s head cocks to the side and her brow furrows. She wonders who he's speaking to like that. She's never heard him raise his voice unless it's during an MCI and he needs someone's attention from across the room. The four friends gasp as Robby comes into view through the room’s window. His face is bright red and if it was physically possible, Samira thinks steam would be coming out of his ears. She's seen him angry. But she's never seen Abbot angry. She wasn't even sure it was possible until she hears him yelling at Robby.

“She's slowing down even more, being on the night shift, Jack!” Robby yells back. Samira’s eyes go wide. She makes eye contact with Ellis and the older resident’s eyes are just as big. Shen clears his throat. 

“Hey, Mira, you wanna go with me to get a cup of coffee before shift actually starts?” He asks. He's trying to protect her, Samira knows. 

John gave her that nickname, too, during her second month on the night shift. He'd tried multiple nicknames one night: some were outright silly, like Mohan Solo, and Samirawise Gamgee. Samira had giggled but shaken her head at both. Shen thought for some time. 

“Just ‘Sam’?” He'd asked. Samira had cringed. Shen shook his own head as soon as he'd heard the name come out of his mouth. 

“What about ‘Mira’?” He proposed. Samira perked up at that. She'd never had a nickname before, besides the various endearments her father had called her in Tamil before he'd passed. She smiled and nodded at her new friend.

“I like it,” she'd said. He grinned in response. 

“Can I call you Johnny?” She'd teased. 

“Absolutely not,” Shen replied firmly, which had made Samira double over with laughter. 

More yelling brings Samira out of her memory. She shakes her head. 

“No thank you, I'd like to hear what they say.” Shen nods understandingly and turns back to listen as well. 

“You know as well as I do that she's the best of us. You're just convinced that no one can ever be as good as you or Adamson, so you burn your residents out before they even have a chance to realize their own potential,” Abbot is saying. He and Robby are now so close that they could easily push each other with enough force to do severe damage. Samira worries if Robby is stronger than he looks. 

“Don't you dare bring Adamson into this,” Robby growls. Samira didn't know a growl could be so loud. She's learning a lot this evening. 

“I'll bring him up if I want. I'll bring Langdon into this, too, if you really push me,” Abbot replies. That spurs Samira and her friends to turn away and find something to distract themselves. None of them paid much attention to the rumor mill, and they don't want to know why Dr. Langdon had taken a leave of absence until he’s back and ready to tell them. Just then, the door to BH2 slams open and Robby storms out of the room. The door slams shut and everyone around the hub jumps. Samira turns to look at Abbot, but he's standing still as a statue, the only part of him that moves is his broad chest. He gets his breathing under control and she watches as he shakes his hands out, rolls his shoulders back, and takes another deep breath. Then he opens the door as a properly regulated person should and makes his way over to his night shift crew. On his short walk over, Abbot catches Samira looking at him. Their eyes meet and she cocks her head in question. 

Abbot’s steps falter as Samira looks at him. He tries to think of something friendly, just in case she really can read his mind. 

“I love you,” his brain says. Too friendly, he thinks. “Friendly isn't the word you’d use to describe your feelings toward her,” his brain responds. Shut up. Not you, Samira. You should never stop talking. 

He holds her eye contact until he absolutely has to look away before he runs into the hub’s counter. 

“Alright, Night Crawlers,” he claps his hands together to get their attention. Samira and her friends make a small huddle with him. “Repeat after me,” he says. Samira glances at Mateo who wears a small smile.

“We get the weirdest and wildest,” Abbot starts. Samira glances from Mateo to Ellis, then to Shen beside her. The three veteran “Night Crawlers” repeat Abbot’s words. 

“Again for Dr. Mohan,” Abbot says. When she looks at him, confused, he just winks. Samira’s heart stutters. 

“We get the weirdest and wildest,” Abbot says, holding eye contact with Samira. Everyone else is acting like he's being completely normal. Samira vaguely wonders if this is a hazing ritual now that she too is permanently on the night shift. 

“We get the weirdest and wildest,” she says with everyone else this time. 

“Because we are the weirdest and wildest of them all,” Abbot calls out. His Night Crawlers echo him, adding in their own whoops and hollers. Mateo lets out a wolf whistle. Samira is still holding eye contact with Abbot, until Ellis speaks up.

“We thought he was having a midlife crisis when you went back to day shift and he started doing this nonsense,” she says, “but surprisingly it really does hype us up.”

“And we all missed you so we needed the hyping,” Shen confesses. 

“We were this close to starting a petition to get you back,” Mateo holds up his right hand, pinching together his thumb and index fingers. 

“Welcome back, Dr. Mohan,” Abbot says. He's giving her one of his Samira Smiles; this one is a wide grin that exposes his teeth and almost makes his eyes disappear. 

“Thank you, guys,” she tells them genuinely. “I missed you all too.” Abbot nods.

“Do you have any patients who need emergent care, or will in the next few hours?” Abbot asks her. Samira stops to think. 

“Just two. One in central 10 who isn't responding to mag citrate. The second one is in South 9, and needs more fluids and their temperature taken. Both charts are updated,” she responds. 

“Shen and Ellis will take those over while you take a nap for at least an hour,” Abbot directs.

“You get patient poopy,” Ellis tells Shen as she jogs away to the south end of the department. Shen groans but turns and walks in the direction of central 10. Mateo has meandered over to Lena for his assignment, leaving just Samira and Abbot. 

“A nap?” Samira asks him. Abbot nods with a hum. 

“Can I ask why?” She presses. His eyes meet hers again.

“You can always ask me why,” he responds. She raises her eyebrows, silently telling him to continue. 

“Robby is trying to punish you for leaving day shift, and I'm not gonna let him treat you like that,” Abbot says with a shrug. Samira’s breath catches in her chest. How does he think this is something to act so casually about? He'd looked out for her before, but Samira doesn't think it's ever been so forthright. 

“My locker code is 1217,” Abbot says. 

“What?” Samira responds in confusion.

“My locker code. I keep a pillow and a blanket in there for when I come in early and then need a nap,” he's still speaking like this is the most normal thing in the world. Maybe it is to him, Samira thinks. Maybe he'd do this for any one of the Night Crawlers. 

“Lena, is there a room free right now?” Abbot asks his charge nurse. She responds without looking up from what she's doing on an iPad, “north 4.” 

“Keep it open, please.” She gives Abbot a thumbs up. 

“My locker, my pillow and blanket. North 4 for two hours,” Abbot instructs Samira. He gently pushes her away from him and in the direction of the locker room. 

It doesn't take Samira long to fall asleep. Abbot’s blanket and pillow smell exactly like him: warm, slightly spicy frankincense and cypress, like a lush, silent forest after a summer storm. The scent engulfs Samira’s senses and she burrows down into the trauma bed. She’s not sure she's ever felt so safe. 

Two hours pass quickly and Samira is awoken by a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Mira, you're needed in the ambulance bay,” Shen says softly. Samira sits up, swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands to stretch. She cracks her neck, finger knuckles, and shoulders. Shen looks at her horrified.

“What?” She asks. 

“Didn't know you could do that to your shoulders,” he says with a shiver. Samira cracks her shoulders again.

“Jesus Christ,” Shen shivers again. “Don't ever do that in front of me again.” Samira laughs at him and folds Abbot’s blanket, taking it in her arms with the pillow on top. 

“I'll be out once I put these back,” she tells her senior resident. Shen nods and leaves the room.

“You know, he doesn't share his nap accoutrements with just anyone,” Ellis says as she wiggles her eyebrows at Samira. Ellis has baby barf down the front of her scrubs and is trying to get a new set from the exchange machine. 

“No?” Samira asks. Ellis shakes her head.

“You're special to him, kid,” Ellis says. Samira rolls her eyes. Ellis is only two years older than her. 

“I assumed he was this nice to everyone,” she mumbles, suddenly self conscious. Ellis shakes her head again. Then Lena’s voice comes on over the PA system. 

“Incoming MVA, two minutes out.” Samira quickly unlocks Abbot’s locker, replaces his blanket and pillow, shuts the door, and turns to go to the ambulance bay. When she gets outside, Samira shakes her head and her hands, rolling her shoulders back and poised to jump back into action as soon as she's needed. She catches herself as soon as her posture straightens. That was Abbot’s move to regulate himself after his argument with Robby. How did she pick it up so quickly? Samira shakes her head again. This isn't the place to analyze their relationship. She'd do that once she was in the privacy of her own home. 

A few hours into her actively working, Samira and Abbot are working together on a critical patient. They work silently, predicting what the other will do and adapting their own part of the procedure to accommodate. Before she can say anything, Abbot hands her the eleven blade she was about to ask for. Abbot moves to stabilize the patient’s neck, and Samira moves the foam blocks into place without his direction. The patient is stable enough to be taken up to surgery, so Samira goes to hold the trauma room door open as Abbot adjusts the railings of the gurney and pushes it through. He nods at Samira wordlessly. Mateo, who's been the nurse on the case the entire time, stands still next to the heart monitor. Samira had barely noticed him the entire time. 

“Hey, so, what just happened?” He says in disbelief.

“What?” Samira asks as she swipes stray hairs back behind her ear. 

“You guys just brought a coding patient back from the brink without saying a single word.” Now it's Samira's turn to be in disbelief. 

“No, we for sure talked about it the entire time,” she replies. Right? They had to have spoken about the case. How would they have taken care of the patient otherwise?

“I'm pretty sure the last time I heard Dr. Abbot talk to you was when he insisted you take a nap,” Mateo insists. Samira shakes her head.

“You don't have to believe me. But that was fucking wicked,” Mateo tells her. “Just, maybe next time give me something to do, huh?” He nudges her with his elbow playfully. Samira watches him walk out of the trauma room. 

~~

Toward the end of the shift, Jack is dead on his feet. He needs to take his prosthetic off as soon as possible. But he still has to hand his patients off to Robby. For perhaps the first time in their relationship, Jack isn't excited to see his fellow attending. Jack considers leaving early but knows that wouldn't be very mentorlike of him. Samira is gone before Robby gets there, and Jack realizes he didn't ask her to text him when she got home. He likes knowing she's safe. Having her text him she’s gotten home okay was the one bit of intimacy that he took from her. He is hesitant to take anything else. But he does see the way she looks at him. And he knows the way he looks at her. He's not sure she knows, though. He decided a few months ago that he wasn't going to be the one to tell her. 

Jack’s phone buzzes, bringing him back to the moment. He smiles at the notification; turns out he didn't need to ask her at all.

Text from Dr. Mohan:

Home safe :) thank you for the blanket and pillow. They really helped. I hope you sleep well today.

That's more than she usually says when she tells him she's home. Jack can't stop himself from analyzing their text conversations. The last time they'd texted was the day he'd told her, through emoji, that she'd been approved to transfer to the night shift. He’d had to fight for her to Robby, really lobby her case. It had been so worth it, though. He'd fight for her to get anything. Whatever she wanted. Night shift? Done. A little extra sleep when she needed it most? Check. The moon? He has a buddy at NASA he could contact. 

Jack scrolls through the conversation. It's mostly her telling him she's home safe and them discussing research articles one had sent to the other. At first it was just Jack sending them because he wanted to have an excuse to talk to her. He'd started searching various journals for updates on procedures they'd done together, looking for something specific to send to her. Then she'd started, slowly but surely, sending articles back. Jack smiles at his phone again. Before he can stop himself, he's texted her back.

Text to Dr. Mohan:

Glad to have you back where you belong, Dr. Mohan. Night Crawlers missed you. 

Someone nearby clears their throat. Jack looks up from his phone and his smile immediately falls away.

“Michael,” he greets his fellow attending.

“Jack,” Robby bites back. Jack hasn't called Robby by his first name in years. 

Jack walks Robby through the handoff quickly. He doesn't even say goodbye once they're done. Jack just finishes his sentence and turns to leave. Robby doesn't say anything either. 

As soon as Jack gets home he drops his bag by the door, takes his shoes off, and then heads to the bathroom. He undresses and turns on the shower. Once the water is hot enough, Jack lowers himself carefully down onto his transfer chair, unhooks his prosthesis, and leans it up against the wall next to his crutches. Slowly still he turns his body on the chair, picks up his leg and residual limb, and readjusts so he can properly shower. Once he’s done and dry and dressed he makes his way to the kitchen on his crutches. Jack takes out some Chinese takeout leftovers, reheats them, eats as quickly as possible, and then falls into bed. He completely forgets to brush his teeth. 

When Jack wakes, he notices something. Something is slightly off. He can't figure out what it is, at first, but he knows something's wrong. Then his phone rings.

Incoming call from: Dr. Mohan

Jack has never answered the phone so quickly. 

“Dr. Mohan? Is everything okay?” He says in lieu of 'hi,’ or ‘hello.’ She's never called him before. 

“Dr. Abbot?” She replies. She sounds worried. Maybe even scared, if he had to bet. 

“I'm here. What's wrong?” 

“A pipe burst in my kitchen while I was sleeping. My landlord says it's done irreparable damage to the floors and even some of my furniture.”

Jack sucks in a breath and tries not to swear. 

“I called Ellis and Shen and Mateo, but Ellis didn't pick up and Shen has a family thing and Mateo’s girlfriend's parents are visiting,” Samira has started to cry. Jack has seen her cry before. But only ever at work. About work. Never over the phone. Never about something in her personal life. 

“I'm sorry if I woke you up, I wasn't sure who else to call,” she hiccups. Jack scrambles off his bed, putting his phone between his ear and his shoulder so he can use his crutches to get to his leg in the bathroom. 

“Hey, hey it's okay. I'm glad you called me,” he tries to comfort her as he hooks the prosthesis into place. He’ll deal with the feeling fluttering near his heart later. 

“Do you need me to come help with anything?” He asks. Samira is hiccuping and crying at the same time now. He changes tactic.

“Samira,” he says. Addressing her by her first name for the very first time gets her attention. 

“Yeah?” She chokes out.

“Would you like to stay in my spare bedroom until your apartment is fixed?” 

He can hear her gasp. 

“Are you sure?” She asks through sniffs. “That's not why I called you, I can figure it out on my own, I have some savings and renter’s insurance I can use for a hotel—”

“How long did your landlord say it would take?” Abbot interjects. Samira hiccups.

“He couldn't say,” she whispers. Abbot hums, as if to say, “that's what I thought.”

Jack looks at his bedside clock. 2:30pm. They'd been off shift for nearly 8 hours by now. 

“Want me to come help you pack?” He asks again. He’d rather give her his entire apartment and find a hotel himself before he let her go into so much debt over a problem she didn't cause. Even if she had exploded the pipe herself, somehow. He would've told her it was fine. The pipe would have probably deserved it. 

“No, I'll need my car at some point anyway, I'll pack and then drive over,” Samira responds, still quietly and through sniffs.

“I'll text you my address. But call again if you need anything, okay?” It's her turn to hum in response.

“Thank you, Dr. Abbot,” she says a little louder this time.

“Always happy to help,” he replies genuinely. He doesn't add “you,” to the end of his sentence even though that's what he really means. He knows he wouldn't do this for just anyone, but he isn't ready to admit that. The feeling around his heart wiggles again. 

“See you soon,” she says and hangs up the call. Jack continues sitting on his bed for a moment. There's something next to the loneliness that wraps itself around his heart so territorially. It's wedging in between, forcing him to notice it. He knows what it is, but there are multiple things now that Jack Abbot doesn't want to admit to himself. 

Jack moves off his bed and goes to make sure the guest bedroom is ready for Samira. He thinks he should probably go to the grocery store, too, but then decides to wait to ask her if there's anything specific that she'd want. He’s suddenly very glad that his cleaner had come just the day before. All he needs to do is put sheets on the guest bed and get extra towels out for Samira. And text her his address. He’s already forgotten the most important task. Jack goes back to his bedroom and picks his phone up from its charging station on his nightstand. 

Text to Dr. Mohan:

867 Crawford Street unit 3

She doesn't respond, but he figures she's busy and will see it when she needs to.

An hour passes and there's a knock on his front door. Jack has been sitting on the couch, not doing anything, just waiting. He couldn't figure out what he should do after he prepared for her stay so he just sat down and stared into space. He had shifted a few times, putting his good leg over his residual limb’s thigh. Then putting his prosthesis over his other thigh. Then both feet flat on the floor, posture rod straight like he'd been trained in the army all those years ago. Then he'd tried to relax. Then he remembered who he was waiting for and everything in him pulled taut. 

Jack lunges off his couch and nearly trips over the coffee table. He swears but keeps walking, smoothing down his shirt (he'd changed from pajamas to something that definitely teetered into business casual at some point between positions on the couch) and taking a deep breath. Then he unlocks and opens the front door. 

“Hi,” Samira gives him a small wave. Her hair is pulled back like usual but there are more flyaways than he’s ever seen. She looks tired and overwhelmed, maybe even beaten down. Jack doesn't miss the look in her eyes when she fully registers that he's standing in front of her, though. Her shoulders seem to relax of their own volition. 

She has three bags with her: a backpack he's seen her bring to work, a duffel bag, and a mid-size roller suitcase. 

“Hi, Dr. Mohan,” he replies. “Did you find parking okay? It's all street.” She nods and tells him it was fine.

“Here, let me help,” Jack says and reaches for the roller bag. 

“Thank you,” she replies and follows him into the entryway and then the living room. 

“Thank you, really, for everything,” she says when he's turned around to face her. He shrugs it off like it's no big deal. Inside, though, his brain is screaming about what a very big deal it is.

Jack shows her the guest bedroom and gives her a tour of his cozy condo. Tells her to make herself at home, what's his is hers and just let him know if she needs anything. He also has her text him a list of foods she eats regularly. She tells him he'll have to go to more than one store for most things. He waves her off again, tells her that's for him to worry about. 

Samira knows he’s being genuine. She decides to take a cautious step in the direction she really wants to go. She'd thought about it, on the way over. He lives about thirty minutes from her apartment so she had some time to think in between dealing with her landlord, packing, trying to save some of her books on the lowest shelves in her living room. Calling him had calmed her down a lot more than she realized it would. He had that effect on her; she could be reeling at work, from Robby, from a bad case, from self doubt. And then Jack would walk in like he owned the entire department and she was his chosen resident. In a way, he did. And in a way, she was. She thought about what Parker had said in the locker room, what Mateo had pointed out in the trauma room. She wondered what John would say. She'd caught him giving them knowing glances but never anything else. 

Samira thought back to one of their very first one on one interactions. He'd been trying to restrain an aggravated patient when the patient's foot had clipped his chin in an uppercut. He'd bitten his tongue, but only enough to need stitches, and since she was the only doctor in that wing of the department she'd been the one to suture. She'd never been so close to him before, except for when she had a panic attack and he'd put his hand on her shoulder. But this felt closer. And in a way it was; she numbed his tongue and leaned in to start the procedure. Her face was just inches from his and it would have been intimate had there not been so much blood, needles, and thread. Their breaths mingled. Samira had to concentrate harder than ever on not letting her hands shake. On remembering how to suture. Her brain had nearly forgotten all of her training, being so close to Dr. Abbot. His breath hitched a few times. Once when she injected the anesthesia. Once when she inserted the suture needle and he felt a tug of the thread. And once when she had leaned back to check her work. The needle and thread were on the supply tray. The only thing touching him, the only thing applying pressure was her hand holding his chin to keep his mouth open. She had had the urge to hold his chin like that again, in a less professional situation. She still has the urge. She hadn't fully realized her feelings toward him until he had told her to come stay while her apartment is fixed. 

Jack gives her some space, even though they both don't want it. But neither of them know that. And Samira doesn't object. He shuts the guest bedroom door gently and goes back to the living room. 

~~

It's been a week of working and living with Dr. Abbot and they’ve fallen into a comforting routine. Samira can’t pinpoint exactly which day it happened, but one evening they both got into Abbot’s car and he drove them both to work. They eat breakfast together after shift, and they have dinner before going in. Abbot cooks, Samira cleans if he lets her. The one evening he’d let her make dinner, he’d insisted on cleaning as she went. Usually she waited until after they had eaten and right before they went to work, but she wasn’t going to complain that he was in the small kitchen with her for so long.  If it had been anyone else, Samira would have told them off, to get out while she was in there. But she didn't want Abbot to go even to the living room. When he’d passed behind her to empty the dishwasher, he'd put his hand on the small of her back to let her know he was there. It felt so natural. She wanted to lean back into his touch, lean back for him to kiss her cheek. But she'd stayed put and kept stirring the tadka before adding it to her tomato rasam. 

Samira brought her favorite books and her laptop with her, and Abbot has his own well-stocked home library, so she’s never bored. She is starting to feel a little pent up, though, because every night she sleeps down the hall from the only man who’s ever made her feel safe, feel cared for. The only man who can see right through to her core and know exactly what she’s thinking, exactly what she needs and when she’ll need it. Not just at work anymore, either. A few days into their new living arrangements, Samira had run out of hair oil without realizing it. It was Abbot’s day off, but he’d still driven her to work and picked her up. When she went to shower that morning she noticed a new, full bottle had replaced her empty one. She hadn’t mentioned needing a new one. She hadn’t even told him where to find it. She had needed something and he had fixed it. She started to wonder what else he could anticipate and provide. 

Samira has started to notice something else, too. She’s noticed that she could get used to this. She realizes that she hadn’t noticed just how lonely she’s been, living by herself, eating by herself, practically working by herself too. But at work now she has the Crawlers, at home she has Abbot’s company even if they’re doing separate things. She’s found peace in the quiet of his condo. She doesn’t feel like she needs to fill it the way she always did in her apartment. 

She’s also noticed that something has shifted in Abbot. He’s quicker to smile, even laugh, at work. The dark circles under his eyes have lightened. He’s started calling her ‘Mira’ at home, and insists she calls him ‘Jack’ outside of the hospital. One night, she noticed he was researching Tamil cuisine on his laptop, with another tab open for taking notes. Another, she heard him humming while making dinner. She hasn’t said anything to him, though, for fear that he’ll get self conscious and stop. She likes seeing all the different sides of him. 

~~

Three weeks into their new situation Samira gets an update from her landlord. 

Text from Bruce (landlord):

Hey Samira. Looks like it’ll take @ least another 3 weeks. We’ve had 2 completely rip out the floors in ur lvng rm & started replacing them yesterday. Fixing pipes delayed 2. Sorry abt all this. U won’t have 2 pay rent while this goes on, but ull still have ur lease for as long as it takes. I’ll let u know any updates as soon as I can. Also, we’ve taken pictures of the damage 2 help ur claim w renter’s insurance. They should be able 2 pay 4 replacement furniture. Ur books are ok tho. 

Altogether not terrible news. Samira would be lying if she said she isn’t excited to have to stay at least three more weeks with Jack. It’s her day off, so she texts him a screenshot of her landlord’s message. He replies two hours later:

Text from Jack (r)Abbot 🐰: 

Yay books! Can they make it take 6 more weeks?

Samira stares at the reply. He wants her to stay? He’d never said otherwise, but he also hadn’t mentioned anything, really. When she’d called him crying at the very beginning he’d said for as long as it took. But she didn’t think he’d expected it would take longer than a month. But maybe he had. Maybe this was all a ploy for her to move in full time with him. Maybe he’d sabotaged her pipes. What the hell is she thinking? Samira shakes her head like that’ll dislodge the image of them becoming more than roommates. But would she say yes if he asked? A very loud voice in her brain hollers the answer. She would very much like to get to know him in a completely un-platonic way. 

~~

It’s officially been a month since Samira showed up on Jack’s doorstep. They’re both scheduled for the night, but around 4pm Dana calls them in. There’s been a shooting at the local music festival PittFest, she tells Jack over the phone as calmly as possible. It’s all hands on deck for however long it takes to respond to the mass casualty. Samira and Jack are in the car together on their way home when Dana calls— they’d just been to her apartment complex to check her mail. Unsurprisingly, there was only junk. Jack looks over to Samira with worried eyes once Dana hangs up, his brow furrowed and slightly wrinkled. Another thing that has changed in the four weeks they’ve been living together: Jack is more open with his emotions. Not with everyone, but with Samira he has allowed her to see his reactions and feelings in real time. She must be mirroring his worry because he reaches over and puts his right hand over her left, where it rests on her thigh. He gives it a reassuring squeeze but doesn’t let go. 

“Do you have extra scrubs and clogs in your locker?” he asks her. His go-bag is in the backseat, of course. He’s been trying to get Samira to also make one, and now she finally sees his point. Samira shakes her head, eyes wide. 

“I’m always at home when I get called in so I have time to change,” she says, realizing a little too late that that might sound a little pathetic. But Jack doesn’t say anything to indicate he thinks that. 

“That’s fine,” he says. “I have two extra pairs of scrubs in my bag, you’ll just need to roll up the pantlegs and sleeves. As for shoes…” he trails off. 

“What size are your feet?” he asks. “Women’s 10, men’s 8,” Samira answers. Abbot lets out a laugh like he’s not sure where to put his emotions right now. 

“You have a spare pair in your bag and you’re the same size?” Samira guesses. Abbot nods like he can’t believe their luck. “Small feet for a man,” she teases.

“Not you bullying me,” he says so quickly Samira thinks he must have practiced the younger generation’s cadence. She bursts out laughing.

“Since when do you speak like that?” she says between gasps for air. Jack’s grin engulfs his entire face. 

“Mateo has been teaching me,” he says proudly. Samira descends into another fit of giggles. They both sober, though, as they get closer to the Pitt and all of the ambulance sirens come into earshot. 

“It’s gonna be a long night,” Jack says. He pulls into his parking spot. Samira nods. This isn’t her first MCI, but the emotional toll hardly gets any easier the more events she encounters. She has gotten marginally better at handling the adrenaline crash, though. As soon as Jack puts the car in park they’re unbuckled and out of the doors. He grabs his bag and Samira holds the backdoor open for him. They rush into the locker room and he hands her the extra scrubs and shoes. His sneakers fit snugly on her. Somehow just right. She rolls up the sleeves and pantlegs like he said in the car and secures his extra stethoscope around her neck. 

“You’re like Mary Poppins,” she mutters. “What else is in there?”

“Just wait and see,” he replies with a wink. Then they’re jogging out of the locker room with matching strides to find where they’re needed most. 

~~

This is the worst MCI Jack has seen in a very long time. Worse than the bridge collapse a few years ago. It’s definitely close to his time in the army. He’s not sure how that will affect him later, but now he doesn’t have time to dwell on that. Patient by patient, they get through it. He and Samira have been working side by side for most of the night, and he’s grateful for it. He’s grateful that they’re seeing the same things, that he knows what she’s seen and she hasn’t had to see anything without him next to her. He almost wishes she hadn’t been in the car when Dana called him. He wishes she’d been at home with her phone and the tv off. If one of them has to see any of this, he’d rather it be him. Between compressions on a quickly coding patient, Jack makes a mental note to ask his therapist if they know of any South Asian practitioners he can pass on to Samira. 

But, for better or worse, patient by patient, they get through it. Physically unscathed. It takes them six hours. Robby forces Jack to agree that he’ll take the next night off and make sure Samira does too. Ellis and Shen have been in reserves, so they come in to relieve Jack and Samira around 10:30pm. They both give Samira big hugs, making sure she’s coming down okay. John claps Jack on the shoulder, holding eye contact until the younger attending is satisfied by what passes between them. Parker gives Jack a hug but it’s a little more awkward than the one she gave Samira. 

Samira and Jack walk silently to his car after changing back into their street clothes. About halfway home, Samira reaches over and gently takes Jack’s right hand off the steering wheel, placing it in her lap and covering it with both of her hands. They stay like that even after he’s parked outside his condo. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes pass before Jack squeezes Samira’s hand and they, still silently, unbuckle and head inside. Once the door is shut and locked and they’ve taken their shoes off, Jack pulls Samira into a tight hug. She’s a little taken off guard at first but quickly recovers and returns it just as tightly. She feels his shoulders begin to shake. 

Samira has never seen Jack cry before. She’s never even seen his hands shake. She holds him as tightly as possible, hoping her arms and the pressure can ground him. His shaking intensifies so Samira readjusts their arms so hers are more around his shoulders, closer to his neck and his are more around her waist. She reaches a hand into his short curls and holds him there. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers. She’s not sure she believes herself. She can still hear patients’ screams— for their pain, for their loved ones, for what they've seen. She wishes she could have screamed with them. None of this was fair. How could someone do such a thing? 

Samira can feel her shoulder where Jack hides his face getting damp. She tries making a shushing sound, tries to comfort him any way she can think of.

“We saved 106 people tonight,” she whispers. That has to count for something. Jack sniffs, trying to breathe through his nose. 

“112 came through our doors,” his voice is muffled and thick. Samira holds him close by the back of his head and gently rubs circles into his back. She nods into his neck. She knows what he means. 112 people should still be alive. We should have saved them all. But they couldn’t have. And they both know it. But that’s not the point. Samira begins to cry with him. They stand there, in Jack’s entryway, tightly embracing, both shaking, for what feels like an eternity. Eventually their sobbing subsides. But neither one of them is ready to let go just yet. Samira plays with Jack’s short curls, lightly scratching his scalp. He’s broad and heavy against her, taking deep breaths, trying to regulate himself. Finally he pulls away just enough to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. He misses a few tears so Samira gently swipes them away with her thumb. Her hand cups his cheek now. 

“Want to shower?” she asks him, voice still just a whisper. He nods. “Will you need help?” He nods again. 

“Come,” she says. She guides him to the bathroom and has him stand in front of his transfer chair. Samira tugs slightly on his jeans’ beltloops. He undoes his belt, unbuttons and unzips his pants, and then pushes them down his legs. Samira squats to pick them up and hang them from an empty towel hook. He raises his eyebrows at her in question as his hands go to the elastic of his boxer briefs. She nods. He pulls them down, and she averts her eyes to the floor where they fall and she puts them with his jeans. Samira can’t help herself; she gives him a long look up and down before meeting his eyes. He’s already watching her. Samira feels her cheeks heating, but notices that his are unchanging. The look in his eyes sends a bolt of lightning from the top of her head down to her toes. Samira tries to swallow, her mouth gone dry. She clears her throat and motions for him to sit down on his transfer chair. Once he’s sitting, Jack takes off his shirt. He’s fully naked now. Samira is still fully clothed. 

Jack reaches to take off his prosthesis when Samira stops him.

“Let me,” she says. She lets his hands guide hers to the pin where his calf would meet his shin and she presses too gently at first. She tries again and this time she can slide his prosthesis out of the liner that covers his residual limb. Samira slides the liner off, letting her hands graze his knee and slightly massaging the distal end. Jack sighs in relaxation. Once his prosthesis and the accoutrements are away from the shower, Samira turns the shower on, letting it get hot before helping Jack change positions so he’s under the water. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” Samira tells him. Jack nods and she pulls the shower curtain closed. 

Jack takes his time in the shower. He’s usually pretty utilitarian about bathing; he does what needs to be done and doesn’t dilly dally. But tonight he lets himself sit, hunched over on his shower chair, the hot water beating against his back. He thinks he starts to cry again but he isn’t quite sure what’s from the faucet and what’s from his eyes. Eventually he washes his hair, face, and body and turns off the shower. Jack reaches for his towel and realizes he’d forgotten to bring his crutches into the bathroom. 

“Mira?” he calls. Samira launches herself off her bed that’s directly across the hallway from the bathroom. She’d left her door completely open but the bathroom door ajar just in case. 

“Yeah?” she says as she catches her breath after the sudden movement. She tries not to notice how Jack looks right out of the shower. It’s endearing how flat his hair now lays. 

“Can you get my crutches? They’re by my bedside,” Jack says. Samira nods, disappears, and quickly comes back to help Jack out of the tub, making sure his towel stays around his waist. 

“Your turn,” he says as he attaches the crutches to his forearms, taking hold of the handles. 

“You’ll be okay?” she asks. They both know she doesn’t mean do you need help getting dressed? He’s not sure of the answer to her actual question. But Jack nods and makes his way to his bedroom. He turns in his doorway when he hears the click of the bathroom door behind her.

“Mira?” he says again. She opens the door and pokes her head around the doorframe. Jack can see that her shoulders are bare. He ignores the feeling he gets when he imagines her naked.

“Thank you,” is all he says. 

“Always.” She smiles at him softly, giving him one of her Jack Smiles. He tries to smile back but knows it probably looks more like a grimace. Jack hears the shower turn back on as he puts on his pajamas— a clean pair of boxers and an old t-shirt that’s definitely seen better days. So has he, though, so he doesn’t begrudge the shirt for the holes along the hem. 

Samira is usually the one who takes her time in the shower, turning this way and that so the hot water gets every angle of her body. She usually moves Jack’s chair out and then back in when she showers, too, but tonight she sits. It’s not a hair wash day so she leans slightly forward, careful not to get her bun wet. Samira plans to redo it when she puts her bonnet on to sleep. She scrubs her body free of the hospital, not noticing that she’s reached for Jack’s body wash until the lather releases his comforting scent. His soap matches his cologne, but somehow it’s never overpowering. She moves on to wash her face, turns the shower off and wraps her towel around her. Samira decides she’s much too drained to do her entire skincare routine so she does the bare minimum: retinol followed by her heaviest moisturizer. Then she moisturizes her body and slips into the pajamas she brought with her to the bathroom. 

When Samira leaves the bathroom, she notices that Jack’s door is still open, light still on, and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands.

“Jack?” Samira says. She doesn’t want to scare him, but she’s worried so she approaches him quietly. She gently but firmly puts one hand on his shoulder and tips his chin up with the other. His eyes meet her gaze and they’re completely bloodshot, making Samira’s breath catch in her throat. She briefly wonders what he would do if she weren’t here. How he would handle this himself. But he doesn’t need to, not tonight. Not as long as she’s here with him. The mattress dips as Samira sits down next to Jack and puts her head on his shoulder, her hands covering his like they did in the car. He takes a shuddering breath. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Samira asks him after a beat. She raises her head so she can make eye contact with him.

“You’re leaving?” He looks startled. Hurt, even. Samira shakes her head.

“Not unless you want me to,” she replies. It’s Jack’s turn to shake his head.

“Never,” he whispers. His eyes are red but the look in them is completely vulnerable. She’s never seen him so open. Samira cups his cheek like she’s used to doing so. Like this is a completely normal position for them to be in. She hopes her eyes are mirroring his. 

“I meant, do you want me to stay with you, here, for the night?” Recognition flashes across his face. Jack goes to nod but then stops himself. Samira cocks her head. She moves her hand back to her lap, feeling her cheeks heat again but this time because she thinks he’s just rejected her. She goes to stand.

“Um—” she starts. “I’m just gonna— go back to my room,” she stammers out quickly but quietly, her head down so she doesn’t have to look at him. But she doesn’t get far; Jack catches her hand in his, turning her back to face him. She raises an eyebrow and he watches as tears well up in her eyes. 

“Hey,” he says gently. Jack pulls her back onto the bed. His voice is much steadier than it has been since they left the hospital. “I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret, especially because we’re both so emotional right now,” he explains. 

“We’re friends, and we both need comfort right now, more so than usual. Why would I regret that tomorrow?” she asks him. He almost narrows his eyes at her. He knows she knows that's not what he meant.

“I think we both want more than that,” Jack’s voice is softer than a whisper. Samira gasps quietly. All the air in her entire body has been swept away. 

“I do, but not tonight, Jack,” Samira says. “Tonight I just want to sleep but I don’t want to be alone.” He nods fully now. 

“Me too,” he says. If Jack Abbot weren’t so tired, he would notice the vice-like loneliness gripping his heart relinquish its hold almost completely. If Jack Abbot weren’t so tired, he would have known that having Dr. Samira Mohan tucked into his chest would result in the best sleep he’d had in a long, long time.

~~

Samira wakes to a flock of Northern Cardinals chirping outside Jack’s window. They've shifted in their sleep, and she's wrapped around his back, hand on his belly under his shirt with one leg over his thigh. Samira moves as gently as she can to push her sleep cap up and out of her eyes. Jack stirs, moving back against her, trying to close the distance created by Samira’s movements. Samira scootches forward to resume her position around him. She lightly kisses his shoulder and Jack hums contently in his sleep. They haven't set any alarms; they're taking Robby seriously about their day/night off. Samira thinks back to the night before. The blood covering her trauma gown, the scent of it mixing with the antiseptic of the hospital. The way she had had to tie Jack’s spare scrub top tighter around her waist with a hair tie. The patients' screams, the doctors yelling at each other for help. She pulls Jack even closer to her chest. She had tried her hardest to stay by his side all night, too scared to venture away by herself unless it was absolutely necessary. She had seen him give her the same look she knew she was giving him. Fear mixed with comfort when they looked back at each other. Despite looking so scared, his treatment never faltered. His hands were sure and steady and his voice never wavered. He worked as quickly as ever and she matched his pace. They anticipated each other's movements, anticipated each other's needs. It was like that day Mateo first pointed it out. 

Samira smiles into Jack’s neck this time, breathing in his body wash mixed with his natural scent. His curly hair tickles her nose. Samira thinks that this is where she belongs— not just in his bed, sharing his condo, but in the emergency room with him. They make a good team in and out of the PTMC. She somehow knows, in her bones, that he feels the same way. The cardinals chirp and Samira closes her eyes, settling down into the mattress and her pillow and wrapping her limbs tighter around Jack. She drifts off for a few more hours.

When Samira wakes, the other side of the bed is cold and the sheets have been neatly tucked in. She frowns, scrubbing at her eyes. 

“This side,” Jack’s low, gravely voice says from behind her. Samira flips over faster than she thought possible. This makes Jack chuckle softly. He's holding two mugs of hot coffee; Samira leans up to see into the mugs and smiles. One is much lighter than the other— she likes it with milk and sweeter than he does, drinking it almost black (Samira has spied that he'll put a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee if he thinks nobody is looking. She's never said anything and doesn't plan to, but she's made it for him before and seen the way his face relaxes into a content smile when he takes his first sip). Jack hands her the mug with light brown coffee. “Your coffee flavored milk and sugar, my dear,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. Samira blushes but takes the mug from him.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she says. Samira wraps both hands around the mug and breathes in deeply. It's perfect. Jack rounds the bed and sits down slowly on his side so neither of their coffees spill. 

“How are you?” He asks as he takes a sip.

“Better,” Samira replies after she swallows. “You?” He nods. She hums in acknowledgement. They drink their coffee in comforting silence, listening to the cacophony of birds just outside. Jack thinks he could get used to this. If he's truly honest with himself, he already has gotten used to it. He never wants her to go back to her apartment, but he knows she'll have to eventually. That wouldn't end anything but their living arrangements, he tries to console himself. But they do need to have some sort of conversation, finish what they both mentioned the night before. 

“Earth to Jack,” Samira’s beautiful, smiling, sleepy face comes into his field of vision. She's taken off her bonnet at some point, but her hair is still a little messy. He wants to take it out of its bun and run his fingers from her scalp through the soft curls. Massage her head gently, scraping ever so slightly with his nails. 

“Jack?” Her voice says, no longer sounding as silly. There's worry laced through the way she says his name. He shakes his head to refocus.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, and Samira's breath catches in an audible gasp. He cocks his head in question. 

“Sweetheart?” Samira whispers. Her belly is doing somersaults and all the parts of her psyche are hooting and hollering in celebration. Jack ducks his head, pink creeping into his cheeks. Samira puts her coffee on her nightstand and then takes his mug to put with hers. She holds one of his hands in hers, and with her other she tilts his head up by his chin. Samira looks deeply into his eyes. Her index finger and thumb hold his chin gently but securely. Jack doesn't think he'd ever want to move anyway. 

“Can I kiss you?” She asks him. 

Her eyes search his face for any indication that he thinks this is a bad idea. Instead she finds a new look in his eyes. Except that's not true. She's seen it before a few times. The time he taught her how to do a crike. The time she thanked him for his pillow and blanket after he'd made her take a nap at the beginning of her night shift after working all day. The moment he opened the door to reveal her standing on his doorstep with all her bags. One quiet afternoon they were both reading the same article on their separate devices, Jack wearing his reading glasses, Samira’s feet tucked underneath her on the couch next to him. He'd looked at her over the lenses and smiled a new Samira Smile. And one morning, when she'd woken up an hour before him to make them dosas for breakfast. He'd come out of his bedroom, following the smell like a cartoon animal, and watched her cook. He watched the way she spooned the batter onto the flat pan, swirling the ladle expertly to get it as thin as she needed it to be. The way she'd dripped ghee around the edges of each dosa, getting them as crispy as possible without burning. How she flipped them onto their plates and filled them with the potato mixture she'd made the day before. When she turned to put their plates on the dining table, she'd caught the look before he looked down at his feet. When he looked back up at her, it was still there but in a way that made her think he didn't realize. 

“Please,” Jack says. Samira pulls him into her, meeting him in the middle of the bed, balancing on her knees. She keeps her hands tangled in the front of his pajama shirt and they both lean in. Their lips meet but neither one of them moves just yet. Then Samira tilts her head to the right to get a better angle, and Jack moves to cup her cheek with one hand and the back of her head with the other. Samira is the one to pull away but she can't go very far as Jack holds her in place. His eyes are closed, his breathing getting shallow. Samira leans forward again and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. This makes Jack smile and open his eyes. He pulls her into him this time, and the hand that was on her cheek moves down to hold her hip. Samira shifts so the entire top half of her body is pressed against his. This kiss is even deeper. They pull back at the same time to take a deep breath, and then move in tandem back together. Jack moves so he's leaning back into the mattress with Samira nestled on top of him. They don't break the kiss but she smiles into his mouth. Another breath. 

Another kiss. This time Samira presses herself as close to Jack as she can— she’d get under his skin if that was humanly possible. Both of Jack’s hands are in her hair now; he scratches her scalp and she sighs into his mouth. He takes that opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth, exploring at first until she meets him with her own. Samira pulls her tongue back just enough that she can bite his bottom lip. Not too hard, but enough to make him gasp and chase her mouth with his as she leans up, pulling away slightly. She grins as she sits back onto her knees. 

“Should we talk about what we started last night?” she says. Jack groans and scrubs his hand over his face.

“Now?” he almost whines. Samira tries to hold back a giggle and fails. He tries to glare at her— he also fails. She nods. 

“Okay,” he says as he sits up against the headboard. Samira clears her throat, her posture straightening but she’s still sitting on her knees. She puts one hand on Jack’s thigh and scoots closer to him.

“Did you mean it when you said you want to be more than friends?” she asks. Samira isn’t one to pull punches. It’s one of her traits that Jack likes the best. She’s direct, she’s honest, and she gets to the point. If she wants to ask you something, she will. Jack looks up at her and holds eye contact, making sure his gaze is steady. 

“Yes,” he says clearly. He thinks Samira’s smile is brighter than the sun. “Did you?” he echoes. He’s not going to leave any room for either of them to doubt their situation. Samira nods vigorously and somehow her smile gets even wider. He grins back and takes both of her hands in his. 

“What do the kids call it these days? ‘DRT’?” he asks, his eyes glinting mischievously. Samira fully laughs now. 

“DTR— determining the relationship,” she corrects him between giggles. 

“Ah, yes,” he nods sagely like he knew the answer all along. Samira leans down to kiss him quickly. When she sits back again, her face is as serious as she can get it. A small smile threatens to grow and she tries to frown to even it out. Jack’s heart does a somersault, newly freed from its former cage. 

“Dr. Jack Abbot,” Samira says solemnly. He raises his eyebrows. “Will you be my boyfriend?” His stomach and heart collide in the middle of his abdomen. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” he answers. He pulls her down on top of him again and kisses her deeply, as if it’s an answer on its own.

And Jack Abbot forgets how to be lonely.