Chapter Text
Samira had just sat down at the central hub to check her email before rounds when an iced coffee was planted right next to her mouse. She looked up at the perpetrator to see Emery leaning over. She had her own coffee in hand, her bag slug over one shoulder, her hair pulled back in a neat bun, and her face relaxed. Evidently, nothing in the Pitt had pissed her off yet.
"Here. It's an apology for keeping you up late the other night," she explained.
"You didn't have to do that. It's not like I was being held against my will."
"Fine. I'll take my free coffee back." She held her open hand out.
"No, it's mine. No take backs." She playfully yanked it towards her chest. Her eyebrows shot up at the first sip. It was dark and strong without any bitterness from over roasting. The hazelnut syrup added an understated sweetness without overpowering the coffee's flavor. "Wow. That's good. Thank you."
"Don't mention it. Let's make plans during the day next time. It'll be my turn to stay up late."
Before Samira could start any follow up questions, she did an about-face and started towards the elevator. Efficient as ever. Or maybe it was her way of always getting the last word in.
"When do you start hooking up with Walsh?" asked Trinity as she rolled her swivel chair next to Samira.
"We're not hooking up," Samira denied with a glare and a long sip of her coffee. She had got to find out where Emery gets her coffee.
"Okay. And how long until that changes?"
"You and Cassie are way too comfortable talking about sex lives at the start of a shift." She turned back to her computer and hoped that Trinity would drop it.
"Now, pray tell how she kept you up at night." Trinity Santos was a talented doctor. She was ambitious and persistent in both her medical career and her intel gathering.
"She was helping me look for fellowships the other night. I'm getting my third letter of rec from Emery. That's all."
"Oh! So, you're on a first name basis with the attending surgeon who makes Park the Shark look like a minnow. Right, right, totally not suspicious," she affirmed with a slow nod and faux seriousness.
"I'm telling Dr. Al-Hashimi that you're behind on charting because you were too busy discussing my nonexistent sex life." And with a shove to her swivel chair, the senior resident sent a groaning Trinity back to her end of central.
Emery's eyes were fixed on the blinking cursor on her screen, but she did not process it at all. She was caught inside her memories, combing through all the cases she can remember working with Dr. Mohan over the past four years.
Sure, she could write that Dr. Mohan was thorough, assiduous, well-mannered, and one of the most promising residents she had seen come through PTMC's Emergency Medicine residency program in the five years she had worked here. That would be easy enough and make for a decent letter of recommendation. However, she still had a hard time shaking the belief that how she does one thing is how she does everything. Therefore, decent wouldn't cut it, especially not for Samira's letter.
She reached to cite specific examples from the brief consults she came down for. Aside from PittFest, the fast pace of their positions didn't allow Emery to observe her for more than a few minutes at a time. Both of them were constantly pulled to other responsibilities, but the small glimpses she caught were enough to leave a stellar impression.
At the end of memory lane, she replayed the vision of Samira in her home. When she arrived the other night, she looked haggard. Years of residency, Robby's hypocritical nitpicking, and twelve-hour shifts wore her down. She was lost, in her career and in the new space. It irritated her to see the once surefooted resident lose her tenacity. She wouldn't stop bouncing her leg or picking at the hem of her shorts. At least not until they settled on the couch and she buried herself under Fifi and her favorite blanket.
The fluffy throw was crocheted by an anesthesiologist who brought her projects with her wherever she could get away with it, including the corner of the OR and staff meetings. She gifted Emery the blanket when she graduated from residency. It had brought her great comfort and, evidently, Samira was not immune to its charm either.
Finally, she came back to her body, hunched over her sandwich. She glanced at the clock. She had spent fifteen minutes of her lunch break on the same paragraph. She hated working day shifts. Instead of simply knocking out the task, she was stuck on the way Samira melted into her couch and how her lithe figure looked as she stretched.
No, no, no! She shook her head, begging for the rational and alert part of herself to emerge. It grossed her out to see superiors use their standing to get what they want, whether that meant demeaning students with little consequence or flirting their way into bed. She had never crossed that line before and was not about to start now.
Sure, in the fleeting moments she spent in the boisterous ED, she'd noticed that Samira was gorgeous. It was hard not to with her long eyelashes and warm smile that was way too infectious for a hospital. Regardless, she was a professional who had a critical job to do and knew better than to ogle women, especially not young colleagues she outranked.
Her cyclical thoughts were then interrupted by someone who did not hold such a stringent view on fraternization.
"What's up, Emmy?" greeted Yolanda as she barged into her office.
Emery met Dr. Yolanda Garcia shortly after she accepted her position at PTMC. At the time, Dr. Garcia had just begun her residency in general surgery. Over time, she expressed her interest in trauma surgery to Dr. Fred Miller and began shadowing him on consults downstairs. Occasionally, Miller passed her off to Walsh to offer a different teaching method and perspective on medicine.
Garcia's competency was evident from the start. She didn't shy away from the gruesome, complicated cases that rolled into the trauma bays. She didn't shirk under Walsh's blunt and direct instruction that made no time for pleasantries. For that, Walsh was grateful.
The OR usually left plenty of time for staff to make small talk, especially during lengthy, routine procedures. Eventually, Garcia revealed that, like herself, she played soccer during her undergrad years. For that, Emery found a fast friend and they started meeting up for pick-up games.
"Not much. Just covering for Miller," she flatly responded, closing out of the screen and abandoning the task for now.
"Oh, yeah. Isn't he out of town this week?" Yolanda asked, sitting down across from the desk.
"Yup, he's renewing his vows in the Poconos."
"Why? They don't expire."
"That's what I'm saying," she agreed before biting into her chicken melt. "How was dinner with your dad? I know you said kinda sucked."
"It certainly did. In classic American tradition, we got burgers at a fancy place downtown that was too expensive for what it was because nothing else was open," she sarcastically explained. "His new girlfriend is fine, I guess. What I hate the most is that he'll just drop in and expect me to be available without any heads up." She slumped back into the chair and opened a bag of Goldfish, which was probably snatched from the staff lounge.
"I hear you. How are things going with Santos? Did she text you back yet?"
"No," she sighed, looking like a kicked puppy and definitely not smiling back at the snack.
"Bro, it's been two weeks and you still haven't seen her?" she asked incredulously.
"Yeah, I texted her the day after because I rain checked our plans, right? But she said she didn't feel up to it, or something. And every time I run into her downstairs, she's so awkward and won't look at me. And then—"
"Even more awkward than she usually is?" Emery interrupted.
"Yes! And then I try to catch her and check in, but she just says she's fine and that she has to be charting. Every fucking time, Em." She emphasized her last point by sharply tapping her hand on the desk.
"Geez. You're in trouble. What do you think happened?"
"I don't know. It probably has something to do with Langdon coming back and how they don't get along," she put lightly.
"You mean how he was a dick to her and now he's back working with his whistleblower?"
"Fair point," she conceded, gesturing with an upturned hand. "And it probably also has something to do with how I told her to call a therapist because I didn't want to hear about it again."
"You did what?" Emery shouted. "Yeah, no fucking wonder she isn't talking to you!"
"Look! I don't like hearing people complain about work shit because I have to go work with them. Then, it feels awkward because I see them and think about others' qualms about them. But now it's weird with the both of them!"
"Yeah, I know you don't like that. But you told her to see a therapist?" she reiterated, eyes squinting because she could not believe what she was seeing. "The fucking gall, Garcia!"
"Well, I don't know what to do at that point! That's out of my scope, out of my jurisdiction!" she defended. She threw her hands up in defeat, accidentally tossing some Goldfish out of the bag.
"Sure. But could you have been any meaner?"
Yolanda groaned and rubbed her forehead. "Dio' mio. I know how it sounds. But there's a lot she doesn't wanna talk about and there's a lot I don't wanna talk about either. Besides, I didn't think it would be a big deal anyways."
"'Cause y'all are casual," Emery couldn't help but mock.
"Fuck off, dickhead. It was better than having nothing with her."
"And now you have nothing," she pointed out.
In an instant, Yolanda was on her feet and raising the stapler high like she was about to bludgeon her with it.
"Okay, okay!" Emery tried to talk her down. She put up her dukes, ready to defend. "I wasn't saying I'm doing any better!"
"Speaking of your nonexistent love life, let's talk about that instead. It usually makes me feel better about myself." She sat down and both lowered their arms and their arms.
"I fucking hate you. I got stood up by the one I was talking to on Hinge."
"Ohhh! That's why you didn't update me on that," she said with a smirk.
"I don't know why you downloaded these apps for me. They make me want to pull out my hair."
"You wanna drink about it?" Yolanda suggested.
"Sure. I'm working a double today but I can do tomorrow night. Your place or mine?"
"I can host. It's been…quiet back home."
Emery hummed in acknowledgment. She refrained from showing pity, knowing that her friend wouldn't appreciate it despite the sudden R2-shaped hole in her life. Over the past ten months, she had brought up Trinity at any given opportunity and created opportunities out of thin air when one wasn't presented to her. Sometimes, it annoyed her so much that she felt like she was becoming homophobic.
A raucous vibration from Yolanda's pager broke the lull.
"Shit. We've got a possible allergic reaction with potential airway compromise," she read, already standing up and shoving her snack in her scrub pants' pocket.
"Hey. Pick up your Goldfish," she scolded Yolanda.
"My patient is dying," she argued, taking quick steps towards the door.
"So you have two messes to clean up." But Yolanda was already halfway out the door. Emery huffed when it clicked shut. "I hate gay people."
Samira parked her car in the gravel parking lot to the side of the climbing gym. The lot is absent of lines, leaving only the concrete wheel stops to mark the parking spots. She opened her phone to send a text.
Hey. I'm here. Just parked.
She collected her water bottle, wallet, and keys while she waits for a response, which thankfully came soon.
Emery Walsh
Good. Head inside and fill out the waiver. Tell them I have a guest pass for you. I'll be there in a jiffy.
Dr. Walsh said "jiffy". Samira caught herself giggling at that. Why would she be giggling at her phone? It wasn't even funny. Though she was still within the privacy of her own car, she felt the need to flee the scene and shake off whatever that was.
Behind the front desk sat a man with long wavy hair and a closely trimmed beard. A magnetic name tag that read "Zach" clung to his t-shirt.
"Hey! Welcome in," greeted Zach.
"Hi," Samira returned. She doubtfully explained, "This is my first time here and my friend Emery has a guest pass for me."
She sounded less like she was informing Zach and more like she was asking him if he could tell her what she was doing here and what was happening. More like she was asking, Hey, my coworker who I've barely talked to before two weeks ago is forcing me to try out hobbies and I don't even know if we're really friends yet. What do you think, Zach?
Zach did not answer any of those questions, but he did helpfully inform her that she can start filling out the liability waiver using any of the tablets behind her. When she was on page 5 of 11, she heard Zach call out, "Hey, Emery! You brought another friend!" At least Zach was convinced that they were friends.
She turned around to see Emery in a black tank top and grey gym shorts with her hair tied up in a ponytail. She had a light misting of sweat across her face and neck and what looked like flour sprinkled across her shirt. It seemed that she had gotten started already.
She quickly lifted her hand to give a wave to Samira before turning to Zach. "Sure did. You can put her on my monthly guest pass."
"You've got it."
Samira glanced up from the penultimate page of the waiver to see Emery leaning on the counter next to her. "How's it going, Mohan?"
"Not bad. Although, these warnings are making me have second thoughts about what I agreed to."
"Don't worry about it. It's just worst-case scenario. Besides, if Humpty Dumpty has a great fall, I'm sure I can put you back together," the surgeon insisted.
She put down another slew of initials beside some fine print and messily wrote her signature with her finger. "All done here," she turned and announced to Zach.
"Great! I'm going to give you a quick rundown of our layout."
He emerged from behind the counter and started pointing in different directions. "The bouldering walls are to your right. The cave routes are around that corner. To the left there are the belay routes. You'll need someone who's belay certified if you want to climb those. But you're in luck because I think Emery here just got certified."
"Yup, just got my certification last month," she affirmed proudly.
"What size do you wear for your street shoes?" asked Zach.
"Umm, usually an eight," Samira answered.
Zach pulled out and handed over a pair of grey and black shoes with their Velcro straps interlocked. "Here are your rental shoes. When you're done with them, just drop them off in that bin." He pointed to a bin a few feet away that was marked "Shoe Return".
"Thanks!" She turned to Emery, awaiting next steps.
"Follow me. We'll put your stuff down and you can switch shoes."
The two of them left the reception area and entered an echoey area with tall ceilings. As she following Emery along a wall, she took in the vast space.
Immediately to the right, a short ramp led up to a tunnel that wrapped around the perimeter of the room. The area below it had a low ceiling. Sparsely placed lights and scattered holds lined the dim cave walls.
In front of the tunnel, shorter walls with multicolored holds in various shapes stretched up and out across the center. Large triangular ledges extended from the walls at odd angles, creating corners that were difficult to see and reach around. The floor below them was lined with thick mats to cushion any falls.
In the far left, a staircase descended down about ten feet to a small pit. It faced a 20-foot wall littered with similarly colorful holds. Climbers ascended the wall while wearing harnesses attached by thick ropes to another person on the ground below them who held on tightly with great focus. Those must be what Zach described as the belay routes.
Samira had been here for all of ten minutes and was already overwhelmed. Thankfully, they reached the end of the wall and the end of the tour. They stopped in the corner where a fence bordered the pit below. There was a pair of wooden benches in front of a wall of small cubbies and about five square yards of green turf.
She emptied her pockets, placed her belongings in an empty hole, and sat down. She took off her sneakers and strapped the climbing shoes on. Each shoe had a thin rubber sole with a hard rubber tip at the toes. The mesh fabric made the shoe feel incredibly breathable. She had never felt so much of the floor while still wearing shoes.
"Woah. These feel weird."
"Yeah, and they're not very great. The rental ones have a stiffer toe that makes it harder for you to feel where you are."
She rolled back and forth from her heels to the balls of her feet. "I feel everything," she remarked, both impressed and disturbed.
"Quit new boot goofin' and let's get you warmed up. I can't have you hurting yourself."
She followed Emery to the turf where stood in the center and began stretching her arm across her chest. "I already warmed up and got started. But you need to make sure you stretch out your upper body. Otherwise, you'll be really sore tomorrow."
She copied Emery's movements as she led them through the warm up like a quiet game of Simon Says. Feeling awkward, she broke the silence and, unsurprisingly, made it worse, "Do you come here often? I mean," she caught herself as soon as she heard how it sounded. "Have you been going here for a long time?"
Unfazed by Samira's fumble, Emery answered as she stretched her rotator cuff in a wide swinging motion, "Yeah, I started climbing about, maybe, four years ago. Parker got me into it. We'd come here and blow off steam after night shifts. I used to hit the weight room or go run after my shifts, but I got sick of working out alone after the pandemic. Also, it's a nice hobby because it's engaging enough to do by myself."
Samira hummed, taking in the explanation. That might've been good enough reason for Emery to risk injury and put strain on her moneymakers, but she did not see the same appeal. "Is now a good time to tell you that I'm afraid of heights?"
A barely contained smile pulled at Emery's lips. A teasing look flickered in her eyes, but she, thankfully, opted to play nice. "Now's a great time. You might not like the belay stuff down there." She nodded down towards the pit. "We can just do bouldering instead. Those routes only go so high."
Whatever that means. She decided to roll with the punches. "Sounds good."
"I think we're done here. Let's get started." With that, Emery walked to a cubby, pulled out a drawstring bag, and started towards the nearest ramp. Samira followed her, feeling a bit like a little duckling, until they stopped in front of a column of large white holds sandwiched between loose, meandering lines of yellow and orange holds. Two of the white holds near the bottom had tags labeled "START". Emery lifted one of them and stepped aside to show Samira. "You see how this says "V0"? This gym uses the V-scale grading system. Zero is the easiest level of route that they have here. This is a good one to get your feet wet. I'll show you."
She dug her hand inside the drawstring bag, pulled out a small handful of white powder, and clapped her hands together to create a cloud of white. She unceremoniously dropped the bag and started rapidly ascending, pulling herself up with only the white-colored holds. Once she firmly grabbed the highest hold with a tag labeled "END", she jumped down onto the mats. "Seem simple enough?"
Samira could only blink at her. The entire demonstration finished before she could process that it started. "Sure, I guess."
"Go on and give it a try. There's chalk in the bag if you feel like your hands are sweaty." Emery patted her shoulder as she walked past, turning around to watch Samira's attempt. Her skin scorched under the light touch and the chalky handprint that remained felt like a burn mark.
Samira sized up the route, which only spanned about ten feet up and shouldn't hurt too badly if she fell. The lowest starting hold was about a foot off the ground and the size of a fist. She put a hand on the second starting hold that was at shoulder height. It was much larger and oddly shaped, jutting out and concaving towards the wall. Her fingers flexed around the upper lip as she adjusted her grip. She grabbed another medium-sized hold with her other hand and hoisted herself up until both feet were on small holds. The rubber tip of her shoes barely supporting her weight.
Great. She was off the ground. Then what? Between where she was and the finish point, there were several holds of various shapes and sizes, giving no indication of if she should put a hand or a foot there.
Samira was always studious and eager to learn. Hell. She undoubtedly learned something new every day at the hospital. When she wasn't working, she was reading newly published studies. She even enjoyed the sim labs during medical school, rehearsing roles and procedures. Though her sillier peers sometimes reduced them to chaotic scenes that resembled an improv show, they offered clear instructions and guidelines for learning.
Her learning experiences were usually a far cry from this. On the chalk-smeared, rainbow walls of a renovated warehouse, she felt like a baby tossed into a swimming pool and Emery Walsh was snapping her fingers above the surface of the water, waiting for her to resurface on her own. To say she felt confused was to say that January in Pittsburgh was chilly. She was befuddled.
She was also quick-witted.
She moved her right hand to a small hold. Finding that she couldn't get a solid grip on it, she backtracked and tried a different hold on her left. She reached up with her right hand, but the next hold was beyond her reach. Looking down, she realized her feet were her limiting factor and stepped up, carefully maneuvering her foot until she found an angle that stabilized her. Slowly, much more slowly than Emery, she scaled the wall until both hands gripped the pinnacle.
Pride flooded her system. She looked back at Emery, who casually stood with her hands on her hips as if she wasn't surprised at all by her success. "I did it!"
"Hell yeah, you did!" Emery shouted her congratulations.
A new problem dawned on her. "How do I get down?"
"In any way that makes sense to you. You can use any holds or you can just hop down."
Logically, Samira knew that ground was not as far as it looked and her instincts were coordinated enough to grant her a safe landing. However, the ground still looked far and she did not want the fun to stop when it just started. So she carefully backtracked downwards.
When she arrived, she turned to see Emery holding up a hand, offering a high-five. "Good job."
"Thanks." She didn't leave her hanging and smacked her hand. "That was fun! It's like I was solving a puzzle with my body."
"That's exactly why I love this." Emery tilted her head and smiled at her. Truly smiled, with teeth and all. It wasn't the sarcastic, tight lipped smile she'd don as she addressed an incompetent resident who had been on the team for long enough to know better. It wasn't even the cocky smirk that she'd sport after stabilizing a patient or when she dismounted from her hangboard the other night. Frankly, Samira didn't know Dr. Walsh could smile wide enough for her eyes to curve into crescents that barely peaked out under dark lashes. Maybe no one at work impressed her enough to warrant such a reaction. "You're getting it now."
"Yeah, I see the appeal. What's next?"
"Well, that green one in the corner is another V0 or we can try the pink one if you feel ready for a V1."
Samira followed her gaze to a hot pink route that crisscrossed through a yellow route and ended right over her head, just past where the wall met the ceiling of the cave. Its holds were more spaced out than the previous route's. "I want to do that one," she asserted, still staring up with her head all the way back.
"Eager, aren't we?" Samira glanced sideways to see Emery raised her eyebrows. She found herself mirroring her impressed expression, surprised by her own ambition.
"Can I see you do it first again? Please?"
She hummed and narrowed her eyes at Samira, as if in serious contemplation. "Only because you asked so nicely."
Samira rolled her eyes. "You are the drama."
Once again, Emery chose not to deny the allegation and started the V1. Samira stepped backwards, giving her space and observing her ascent carefully. The route winded towards the right before veering left again. Emery looked off kilter with her arms outstretched above her and her hips twisted to the right. She turned back to Samira, "You're going to want to switch your feet to get this next hold on the left here."
She deftly swung her right leg towards the center and placed it right where her other leg had been on the hold. Then, she hooked her left foot up and onto the next hold, wedging her heel into its slanted plastic nook.
She pressed upwards, taking more time with this route than the previous one. Its holds were spaced more widely apart and forced Emery's body into odd angles. Finally, just before her head brushed against the ceiling, she tilted her head backwards. One by one, she turned her palms up and hooked her hands to the hold that was just wide enough to hold the width of her hands. She curled her biceps, pulling herself up until the crown of her head tapped the ceiling, before gracefully dropping down to the mats. Show off.
"Your turn," Emery invited and nodded towards the wall.
Samira plucked the drawstring bag from the floor and reached her hand inside. She felt a large chunk about the size of a golf ball and a few smaller bits of chalk that she easily crushed with a light squeeze of her hand. She pulled her hand back out. She rubbed her hands together and felt the fine, soft powder draw all the moisture from all the creases of her hands. Feeling adequately prepared for the trial, she placed the bag back down and lined herself up against the wall.
It started out easily enough, but the pink rocks soon dwindled down to pebbles, forcing Samira to apply a bit more grip strength and hold her body tightly against the walls lest her feet slip off. Nonetheless, she pushed on and upwards. She swapped her feet like Emery had demonstrated. When her hands reached the top of the wall, she reached backwards towards the last hold. Swing and a miss. It was still too far away and her fingertips didn't even graze it.
Weighing her options, she moved her feet a little closer, swaying unsteadily in the process. When she extended her legs, her head hit the ceiling with a little more force than she expected. It was closer than she expected and Emery was shorter than demeanor projected.
Surely the end was within reach. She rotated her right arm in and stretched backwards. Her other hand clenched around the small grip reflexively, compensating for the lack of stability. Still, her right hand grabbed the last hold. Supported by only her feet and measly grip her hand could get on the hold, she wanted to get it over with. She lightly tapped her left hand to the hold and considered that a win before descending as quickly as possible.
"How did I do?" she asked as soon as both feet were planted on solid ground. Her core burned from holding herself against the wall. Her hands lightly shook from exertion. She felt an odd soreness in muscles she'd never used before. She felt elated. It was probably due to the endorphins and other feel-good hormones running rampant in her bloodstream, not from anticipating Emery's praise.
"Nicely done. I think you had an easier time than I did because your legs are longer. That's very advantageous."
Her hands twitched. If she was already starting to get sore, she couldn't imagine what shape she'd be in the next day. "I think I need a breather."
"Sit down anywhere. Just try to stay out of the way in case I fall."
She plopped herself down on the padded floor in a corner. She stretched her legs out in front of her and leaned back against the wall, finding a spot between two bulbous holds that framed the outskirts of her vision. Emery faced the opposite corner, assessing her options, before starting on a V4.
The route was a collection of large crescent-shaped holds, which looked too wide to get a grip on, crisscrossing in a line that slanted up and left around the corner. Somehow, she managed to make it work, plastering herself against the wall by sheer willpower.
Emery kept her knees bent, her arms straight, and her face neutral. She loaded her body with potential energy, all passive and relaxed. She'd stop to read the wall with about as little effort as it took to read the morning newspaper before gracefully moving to the next hold and the next hold.
When she reached the apex, she fearlessly jumped down onto the mat, shook out her arms and legs, and set out for the next one. Samira watched her climb two more routes. Although she watched with rapt attention, she didn't understand how Emery could seemingly glide up the wall. The tank top gave Samira a better view of her arms and back muscles flexing and relaxing than her t-shirt did the other night. Without her sweatpants, Samira watched her quads move as Emery hooked herself onto a hold. She planted her feet with conviction, never stopping to readjust no matter how awkward the angle. At one point, she smeared the ball of her foot against the wall and created a foothold out of friction and the rubber of her shoe. She made it look impossibly easy.
It was not unlike how Samira had seen her operate. Even during the most chaotic moments in the trauma bays with too much din bouncing back and forth from machines to bodies in the room, Samira had never seen her falter or be unsure of what came next. She regretted leaving her water bottle in the cubby because her mouth felt suddenly dry.
After Emery dismounted from the third route, she turned to Samira and asked, "Do you want to see the cave routes? I'm getting bored."
"Sure," she agreed with a shrug, despite having no idea what she was in for.
When they exited the tunnel, a deep voice called out, "Yo, Emery. What's good?"
They turned to see a tall man with a chalk bag strapped to his waist. It was in the shape of a shark with its mouth ajar so it looked like it would be biting the hand reaching for chalk.
Emery greeting him with a fist bump before gesturing to Samira. "Marcus, this is Samira. She's a friend from work."
So they were friends.
"Hi, I'm Marcus." He reached out for a handshake. "Are you a surgeon like Emery?"
"No, I work in the emergency department," she said, feeling a little guilty for transferring chalk to his hand. But he didn't seem to mind. Maybe he'd need it later.
"Don't tell me you're one of those cowboys Emery complains about," he teased with a wide, friendly smile.
"Not usually," she admitted. "Only when I have to be."
"She's alright," Emery testified. She was looking at her with a similar teasing, but disarming smile. "And her sutures are neat, for an EM doctor."
Samira smacked her arm lightly, releasing at small puff of white powder at the impact.
Unperturbed, Emery turned back to Marcus. "What are you working on today?"
"Zach told me they just set up new routes on the belay wall."
"Nice. Tell me how it goes."
"Will do." They dapped each other up and went for a hug. But while Marcus patted Emery on the back, her hand went to slap his butt cheek. "That's a crisp one," he remarked, twisting around to admire her handiwork. A white, clearly defined handprint of chalk remained on the back of his black shorts.
"Nice meeting you, Samira!" He waved before heading to the far corner of the room.
"You too," she returned, bewildered. Since he left, Samira focused her confusion on Emery. "You have friends," she blurted out. Observant as ever.
"I'd like to think so," she dryly responded. "We have an ongoing bit. I don't just go around slapping asses."
Samira watched Marcus descend the stairs, handprint swaying with his hips. "I don't know how anyone climbs something so far from the ground for fun."
"It's not so bad. Chances are the belay will stop your fall or at least slow it."
"And what if it doesn't? A lot of our job is dealing with what happens when things don't work how they're supposed to." Samira didn't understand why a surgeon would put so much strain on her hands and take on so much risk with so much indifference. Then again, Abbot spent his free time getting shot at, which was indubitably a worse hobby.
"Then, it would've been worth it," she stated. When Samira looked back at Emery, she had her arms crossed and was looking at her unblinkingly. "My job is highly intense. If I can't blow off all my steam in a similarly intense way, then I feel like I'll lose my mind. I need catharsis." She explained plainly and quickly, the same way she spoke when she gave instruction. "I almost burned out about a year into being an attending. Couldn't stand being in the OR for more than ten minutes at a time before I got fidgety," she added warningly. Her neck vein even popped out in the same way it would when she corrected students. Was everything she did always this captivating or was something in the air today? She must've inhaled too much chalk.
"I thought being an attending would be less stressful. Don't you have more control of your schedule? I was putting off a lot of things until I got where I wanted to be in my career."
Emery scoffed. "That is by far the dumbest thing I've heard you say, Samira."
Ah, yes. A new low.
Samira followed Emery as they resumed their walk to the cave routes. They ducked into the nook under the ramp leading up to the tunnel. A few routes started where the underbelly of the ramp met the floor and ended at the back wall. Emery sat down against the back wall and patted the spot on the mat next to her, inviting Samira to sit.
"In some ways, you're right. You'd definitely have more independence. But you're also running around putting out fires for everyone else." Emery was looking at her with the same concern she had when Samira first admitted her lack of hobbies. "Don't wait until you're less busy to be happy. It might not even be guaranteed."
Samira chewed on her lip. She had put so much focus on getting to the end, but she had never imagined what things might look like once she got there.
"Now watch this drive" was all the preamble Emery gave before snapping Samira out of her thoughts, sliding down against the mats, and setting herself up at the start of a route. She got about halfway up the route before her hand slipped and she fell onto her back with a thud. Samira laughed at her antics. From where she lay spread out on the mat, Emery looked up at her with a goofy, upside-down grin.
“You don’t get to laugh at me until you’ve tried it.”
The ceiling had a steep incline, but only reached five feet at its peak. So a fall, even onto her back, shouldn’t be catastrophic, especially since she probably wouldn’t make it that far.
She sat under the same route and reached her hands up. As soon as she kicked her feet off the floor and onto the first holds, she understood the challenge. Holding herself up off the floor at such an angle demanded every ounce of core stability she could muster. Was Emery secretly a super athlete with the strength of an Olympian hiding under her scrubs? Or was Samira more out of shape than she thought? She saw a hold barely within her reach if she just extended her hand out. She lifted her hand off of the hold. Thud!
Laughter bubbled up from her chest. Before Emery could tell her “I told you so”, she pushed herself up, enticed by the novel challenge. “I’ve got this!”
This time, she braced her core and did her level best to remain rigid, minimizing any swaying or wasted energy. She pushed with her feet to extend her reach. Thud!
”Nice try,” Emery said.
Samira, accepting her defeat, crawled back to take her place against the wall next to Emery. They sat with their legs outstretched before them. “How the hell did you even get that far?”
”I’ve been doing this for a few years, Samira. It’s only your first day.”
She huffed and blew a strand of hair away from her face. “I hate being bad at things.”
“You weren’t terrible,” Emery reassured incredibly warmly. “Besides, I thought you were having fun.”Samira pursed her lips and reconsidered. “I was. Thanks for inviting me.”
“I’m glad you liked it. You think you’d do it again?” Emery knocked the tip of her shoe against Samira’s.
She hummed. “Inconclusive, Dr. Walsh. Let’s see how I feel tomorrow first."
"Fair, fair."
Surprisingly, she had truly enjoyed herself, despite her tender hands and bruised ego. Without an injured patient between them, Samira could sit back and watch Emery be in her element and among friends. “Do you complain about work to your friends?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes. Most of them don’t really understand what I do and I doubt they want to hear about the details. It’s kind of nice that way, you know? I get to remember that I’m more than just a doctor.” Her jaw flexed and pronounced her neck vein for a split second. Samira wondered if it was a tell for when she was recalling a bad memory.
I get to forget about horrors, she seemed to imply. Samira wasn’t sure exactly when Emery became an attending, but she assumed that it must’ve been sometime during the pandemic. Samira was still in med school at the time, barely even an intern. She couldn’t begin to imagine what being thrown out of the pan and into the fire as a green attending was like in those times.
Before Samira could read into it any further, Emery moved out from under the nook and offered her hand to Samira. “I think we should call it a day. Watch your head when you stand up.”
She took her firm, calloused hand and followed her to gather their belongings. As she watched the back of Emery’s hair bob with each step, she reviewed what she learned like a diligent student.
Samira had known that Emery was a looker and had impressively muscular arms and a strong jaw. Here at the gym, she learned that she was also athletic and graceful. But her competence didn't captivate her in a familiar way. It wasn't the casual yet deep admiration she had for the unfairly pretty Dr. Al-Hashimi. She didn't feel this way at the VA when she wanted to do everything she said and do it right. No, she had a debilitating, distracting, unyielding carnal need.
Samira was not sleeping with Dr. Walsh. And that needed to change.