omnia



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    “Look at him, Samira,” Jack says. The words seem lodged in his throat. He's forcing them out. “Sweetheart fucking face. And they were gonna kill him.”

    He kisses the dog on the top of its head. And Samira usually finds that sort of behavior foreign and disgusting, but she puddles just a little more when she sees Jack Abbot do it.

    “So you took a chance on him?” she says.

    “What can I say?” Jack lifts the tags on his dog’s collar with a crook of his finger. Samira watches as they slide, metal on metal, identifying information, dents and dings—and she sees it, she aches as she sees it, that scrape of metal limbs and dog tags in gray matter memories. “I'm a sucker for lost fucking causes.”

    -

    Jack rescues a tripod dog with a history of violence. Samira learns what they each have in common.

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    30 Jul 2026

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    Abbot lifted his head to look down at her. “See, that’s the post-traumatic stress. Something happens that your brain decides is a life or death situation. You have a massive adrenaline kick while it’s all happening, and then when it’s bleeding out of you on the comedown, your brain throws out anything that’s not completely vital. The amount of car crash patients we have who don’t even remember coming to the ER when they submit requests for their medical records for insurance… the brain’s a weird thing, Mohan.”

    “Yeah,” she said, shooting him a look out of the side of her eyes. “It can even make you convinced you have to hurt yourself in order to seek external validation when the most logical course of action is rest.”

    He snorted softly, shaking his head and leaning it back. “God,” he muttered, his cheeks stained pink. “Robby was right. You should have gone into psych.”

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    A night shift from hell ends in Mohan giving Abbot a ride back to his place, where tensions finally boil over.

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    12 May 2026

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    Dr. Jack Abbot, who prides himself on his decades-honed skills of observation and rapid assessment, does not immediately notice that Dr. Samira Mohan is gone.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Or: After the Shift from Hell (July 4th) Dr. Samira Mohan leaves the ED, leaves PTMC, leaves Pittsburgh.

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    12 May 2026

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    Jack had just stepped back onto the main floor when he clocked movement at the ambulance entrance, two guys hurrying in, the smaller one helping a guy with a sweatshirt covered in blood. But something was wrong, some unnamable instinct rising within Jack at the way they moved. It was too fluid, too controlled. Jack knew what the walking wounded looked like, had seen it for years, from war zones to bar fights. This wasn't the injured seeking help; this was men hunting.

    Time slowed, Jack's heart rate spiking, the adrenaline dump casting everything in sharp relief—the full ED floor, patients plus shift change meaning twice the usual personnel were here.

    Robby was here.

    That thought got him moving, Jack approaching laterally. He got there right as the guns came out.

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    30 Dec 2025

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    "A lot of times the ‘markings’ were common, simple things you said to strangers all the time. 'Excuse me'; 'thank you'; 'hello'. Some got extremely romantic things like 'it’s you isn’t it? I’ve been waiting for you' or 'Wow you’re really pretty'. And they were always the first words their soulmate would ever say to them.

    Of course, having 'You are the fucking worst kind of person in the world' tattooed down your side, didn’t bode well. How fucked up was Stiles Stilinski that even his fucking Soulmate hated him? High School had been a special kind of hell when all the kids learned what his tattoo said—despite his best efforts to keep it a secret."

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    22 Sep 2022