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Summary
Standing in the bathroom of an apartment that does not belong to her at five in the morning, Samira feels a sense of calm. An inevitability. The owner of these very four walls is currently wrapping up the night shift while she’s staring into a mirror that has seen her reflection more in the last year than her own, and all that she can think is that this… This possibility, whatever it may be…
It feels right.
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“Y’know, we could always use more hands on the night shift,” he said, completely neutral. He didn’t look at Samira, at all. But now, she became excruciatingly conscious of the palm placed on the back of her chair, and its proximity to the cocoa-butter softened skin of her lower back. All she had to was lean back, and he’d be touching bare skin. Her nerves were on fire.
When Sartre said “hell is other people”, I don’t think he was talking about this.
In which Samira Mohan breaks up with her situationship (who looks a lot like a certain doctor) and unknowingly tortures Jack Abbot at Trinity’s birthday drinks.
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“Okay I got three boxes of tests for this do you think that’s enough?”
“I think so, that’s enough for us all to take one at least twice, which I’ve only seen when there’s more than one positive” Samira trails off, “which there shouldn’t be. Trinity is an automatic negative, Cassie and Mel are both single so those should also be negatives, I am for sure a negative, and if Victoria is…”
A girls night featuring pregnancy test roulette and how it might go wrong.
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Samira Mohan gets a test result she doesn't want.
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There's over a thousand dollars in green American money locked away in a drawer, waiting for the day Abbot and Mohan finally put them all out of their misery and fuck out the tension. What happens when Samira leaves PTMC at the end of her residency?
