Chapter Text
Abbott stood at the center of the ER, arms folded, eyes scanning the empty halls like a soldier on watch. The Fourth of July usually brought chaos. Grill burns, drunken falls, firework mishaps, but disappointingly not tonight, the storm hadn’t hit yet.
The silence gnawed at him.
He hated standing still especially with one leg, and wished someone would barge in needing for his help. On queue, someone came and called for him, but for the wrong reasons.
“No!” He waved his hand, shooing Mohan away.
Samira Mohan walked in, stethoscope swinging with purpose as if she didn’t hear him.
“I figured I’d come in and help out.” Samira replied, almost sheepishly.
“You’ve been doing doubles all week. Go home.” Abbott gave an order.
“I will, but not now. I don’t want to stay home tonight. Please, Dr. Abbott.”
He hated when he sways inside to the softness of her voice. She needed rest. He knew that. But the truth was, he liked having her here. She was sharp, reliable—and, if he was being honest, she looked.... he stopped himself from veering to unprofessional thoughts.
“…Fine. If you do one thing I don’t like, you’re gone”, he teased.
“I promise I won’t get in the way.”, she said as she walked away, and he caught himself looking. Snapping his head away, knowing he’s being carless.
The hours crawled by, making Samira regret coming. No traumas. No walk-ins. Not even a twisted ankle.
“This is killing me,” she muttered to Dr. Ellis. “The one night I’m here and nothing explodes?”
“Fireworks in 5 minutes. Thats explosion” Dr. Ellis offered.
“Fireworks starting,” Mohan invited Abbott, “We’re heading up to the roof. Coming?”
Abbott didn’t even look up. “I hate loud noises.”
“I’ll bring you back a sparkler.” and she almost got a smile from him.
A crowd formed on the rooftop with tired nurses and techs laughing with excitement. The fireworks lit the sky with vibrant colors, and for a moment, Samira had a realization standing amongst her coworkers.
She felt empty.
It would have been the same as looking at the fireworks alone from her apartment.
So she left the party, and headed to the ER, searching the real reason she keeps coming back to the night shift.
He was talking to Myrna, and she awkwardly stood between them, trying to join the conversation. Myrna would never allow any woman to ruin her moment, so she blocked her. Abbott took a sidestep and said “You have the report ready for me Dr. Mohan”
“Yes, Dr. Abbott” She continued the act as they made their escape.
“The fireworks got boring?” Abbott asked while folding his arms.
“Yeh”, she said, tucking her the loose hair behind her ear. His intense gaze made her nervous.
A metal crash echoed through the corridor. An ambulance clipped a gurney, sending it skidding into a wall with a shriek of metal.
Everyone ducked instinctively, nurses, residents, even Myrna.
Everyone except Abbott.
The noise wasn’t a crash to him. It was a blast. The landmine that shredded his foot.
Pain lanced through a leg that wasn’t there. The phantom pain roared to life, and his balance gave way.
“Abbott! Are you shot???” Samira yelled, rushing forward. She caught him before he fell completely and searched his body for a wound.
“I-I’m fine,” he growled through clenched teeth, eyes fading and losing its usual intensity.
Then the ambulance driver came in apologizing to the hospital crew about the minor crash as he wheeled in a patient in need of urgent care.
Abbott was still frozen in place and time.
“You’re not fine,” she said quietly, placing her hand on his shoulder.
Her touch brought him back, like switch flipped. He jolted, eyes flashing, and quickly shrugged her off.
Abbott hated being pitied by anyone. His disability does not define him.
He grabbed the edge of the counter, used the strength of his good leg, and stood. The ground still felt unsteady beneath him.
He looked at the wheelchair parked nearby, jaw clenched in protest, pride tightening his throat.
‘The patient comes first’, he reminded himself then pointed to the wheelchair.
Samira didn’t question it and rolled it over with quiet efficiency.
He sat down and compartmentalized the shame of feeling and looking weak.
Across the room, the head nurse met Samira’s eyes. An unspoken message passed between them to warn to not say a single word about his situation.
They missed on person, Myrna.
“When can I ride you, Hot Wheels?”