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The truth is— Samira doesn’t know Dr. Abbot that well. She knows that their shifts barely overlap, but when they do they somehow always gravitate towards each other. She knows that he’ll sometimes grumble the occasional ‘fuck’ under his breath, but never when the patient is lucid. She knows that his hands are warm and solid, because she once slipped on some blood and he was suddenly there with two hands on her waist to catch her. (The parts of her he touched did not tingle for the next hour or so, thank you very much.)
She knows that he wears a necklace with a flower pendant on it everyday— and she knows this because she’s the one who gifted it to him. The Pitt had run a Secret Santa last year and she had gotten Dr. Abbot, who’s little information slip was barely filled out, and the interests he had written were extremely vague. She had planned to get him some candy, she swears!, but she got so wrapped up in a particular case she had lost a patient on, trying to figure out what she could have done differently, that when the day finally came to exchange their gifts all she could think of was to ransack her own apartment for a gift. She didn’t want to be late for work, so when her eyes caught on her jewelry box she ripped it open and examined her options. Earrings were out, and she figured her rings would be too small on him. (She had deduced this not because she had spent a lot of time admiring the size of his hands, forearms, and biceps, she had simply made an estimated guess on a topic she knew nothing whatsoever about— so stop asking!)
At the bottom of her box, she paused when she saw it. A pendant of a leaping rabbit. She recalled one late night when she and Dr. Abbot had been catching their breath after working on a family of five, who had all been electrocuted by trying some YouTube challenge. She wasn’t supposed to be there, she had pulled a double to cover someone on the night shift, and her mind was starting to reel from both the adrenaline crash and the fatigue. She had turned to him, hands on her knees, and blurted out: “Does anyone ever call you Jack Rabbit?”
His slight smile turned into a laugh, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel a sense of pride in bringing that out of him after a particularly hard shift. “Sometimes, yes.”
Before she could even think about what she was saying, she replied, “sometimes when I think of your name, I put a space in between the first letters in my mind. So when I think of Dr. Abbot sometimes I think ‘D r.Abbot,’ like D Rabbot. The Rabbit. Get it?”
In some far away place in her mind, where her sanity was actually in place, she knew this was the stupidest thing she could possibly say to someone who was technically her superior. Not even that, it was just a stupid thing to say in general. But she hadn’t slept in 24 hours and she knew that her brain’s cognitive functions were impaired because of it, very obviously affecting her decision making skills at that moment. Dr. Abbot’s eyes shined with something of amusement, but as he opened his mouth to respond she didn’t give him the chance, she just turned around and speed walked to her locker. She had already handed off all her patients to other doctors, and she was desperate to get the hell out of there, so she clocked off and left the building in record time.
When she opened her locker to start her day shift two days later, she found a plastic bag with baby carrots in it. The note attached read, I had some left over from my stash, please enjoy :) JA.
They never talked about that particular interaction, but he did smile at her in a way that made her a little dizzy the next time she saw him. So, she figured her finding this leaping rabbit in her jewelry box had been fate. The problem was that it was only the pendant with no necklace attached to it, so she dug around in her box to find an empty chain. The closest thing she found was a necklace with her birth month flower on it— a daisy. It was the necklace with the smallest charm attached to it, so she slid the chain through the leaping rabbit and let it slide all the way down. Coincidentally, they matched very well. With the chain and both charms being silver it seemed cohesive enough, and the leaping rabbit gave the effect that it was chasing the flower.
She hadn’t had any more time to think about it, so she just shoved it in a velvet gift box she thankfully hadn’t thrown away from her last purchase, and ran out the door. Since Secret Santa worked a little differently at the Pitt, gifts were just left in the recipient’s locker along with a slip of paper that had their gifter’s name on it, so she never got to see his reaction to it. But everytime she saw him after that, she saw the glint of the chain on his neck.
Maybe she does know a few things about him, but that doesn’t mean she knows him.
She’s reminded of this every time they happen to see each other walking in or out of the ED. They’ll smile and nod, and sometimes he’ll even ask her how her shift was, but they can never really get past the small talk since there’s always a patient that needs their help. It’s a weird feeling she has when he talks with him— it’s the first time she’s ever wanted to socialize with someone outside of work. Although, yes; she, Santos, Whitaker, Mel, and Javadi occasionally hung out outside of work, but she didn’t start that. It had been Santos’ insistent nagging that they go to a bar (“Okay, fine! A restaurant with a bar inside,” she had responded when Javadi gave her sad puppy dog eyes) that had dragged her to a secondary location with her co-workers.
Overtime she had grown to look forward to it, and she now knew what it was like to have a group of good friends, but this new feeling with Dr. Abbot was foreign. It was her wanting to actually initiate seeing him outside of the ED. She could never get the times right, though, because they were almost always on opposite schedules, and she couldn’t think of a good enough reason to bother him on his days off. But… couldn’t she?
Samira may not know him as well as she’d like, but she does know he’s an incredibly respectful man. Contrary to some male co-workers in the past, she’s never felt uncomfortable around him, even when his hands lingered on her waist that one time he caught her from slipping. Once, on a rare night where they worked together, she had mentioned that one of her patients kept flirting with her, so he had clenched his jaw and ordered her to switch cases with him. He was just a standup, nice guy overall.
On the other hand, she had also picked up on some hints that he might not enjoy being around her that much. Sometimes, when they made eye contact he would look away too quickly. When her fingers brushed his, he would flinch away. While she wasn’t entirely sure on what her own feelings were towards him— she would say respect or admiration, but the feeling was too intense to be able to just categorize it under that— she was sure that he only thought of her as a coworker. Someone who was good at her job. Someone he didn’t really know, and didn’t really need to.
All this meant that she probably shouldn’t ask him to spend time with her on one of his few, precious days off. But she was tired of the butterflies she got everytime he pulled her onto a case, and she needed to know if these were bizarre ‘I want to make a friend’ feelings, or something… more intimate.
So when she walked into the ED that morning she had a plan. Well, everyday for the past few months she had walked in with that same plan. She had been carrying around a piece of paper with her number on it for so long it was crumpled and ripped now, but the plan always remained the same: at the end of the shift she was going to ask Dr. Abbot if he would be interested in grabbing a cup of coffee with her sometime. Then if he agreed, she would tell him to let her know when he’s free, and she would slip the paper into his hand and be on her merry way.
She had never followed through because she always somehow found an excuse to cut the conversation early. Oh, it was an especially hard shift today. Oh no, a patient needs his help urgently. Oh, is that Dana? It looks like she really needs to talk to him. That all stopped today, though. She had told herself that either she would ask today, or she would shred the piece of paper and never think about it again.
So she had a plan, and tonight she was going to stick to it.
—
Jack wouldn’t say he had an obsession. Yes, he did look for her curly hair every time he stepped into the ED. And he may stare at her for the few, precious moments they happen to be in the same room at the same time. But he only calls her for his most complicated cases because he knows she can handle them, and it’s not his fault that for the past few months almost all his cases have been very complex— at least, whenever she’s on the clock. He’s never noticed how her eyebrows shoot up and her dimples make an appearance whenever she gets excited about something, and he’s definitely never imagined himself tucking her loose strands of hair behind her ears. (A stupid thought— that he’s never had!— because that would only end in him getting blood on her face, which might actually be unethical, because who was he to mess with such beauty? It’d be like taking a crayon to the Mona Lisa.)
None of this added up to an obsession, though. The only thing someone could say he was obsessed with was his necklace. He routinely put it on every morning, meticulously cleaned it of blood, and had even designated what was previously a hook for his towels in his bathroom for it. He had never been a jewelry man before, not even with dog tags from his time in the military, but this necklace was different. It was a gift from her.
In the deepest, darkest parts of his mind it felt like she was staking some sort of claim on him, but he never allowed himself to think of that for more than two seconds at a time. It didn’t seem fair, because he was likely at least 15 years her senior, and he didn’t know her very well at all. He knew that she smelled of honey underneath all the antiseptic and medicinal scents that the hospital overwhelmingly provided. He knew that she was incredibly patient with everyone in the ED, and that she was undoubtedly the smartest one there. Also, it was worth noting that she was the most beautiful. Yes, he knows that that’s not important at all, but sometimes a simple look from her was too much, and he has to look away. It’s like looking directly into the Sun.
He also knows that she’s sometimes too kind. When she had offhandedly mentioned that a patient had tried to grab her multiple times, and kept harassing her every time she walked into his room, he had to clench his fists in order to stay calm. He would never admit that he had had a very intense talk with the man, and if he threatened him to never go near her again, no one had to know. The way she smiled and laughed with him once the man had left, joking about how she had half a mind to withhold his painkillers, he decided it was worth it— even if he was reported and fired the next day.
But a few weeks later, here he was, still a doctor. A very observant doctor, who noticed that her gaze lingered on him a little longer than anyone else’s did. Dr. Mohan, who’s hands seemed to reach out and touch his ‘by accident’ on occasion, where every time it felt like his body was jolted awake. Dr. Mohan, who happened to always be by the door whenever he entered, almost as if she was waiting for him. Who when a patient asked for his number, she bit the inside of her cheek and walked over to North 4, where Whitaker obviously didn’t need any help. (He told the patient he was married, and when she asked where his ring was he said he wore it around his neck.)
Jack figured the best way to get to the bottom of whatever this was between them was to go get dinner together.
And he planned to ask her tonight.
—
Once Samira is off the clock, she pauses for a minute at her locker, as she usually does. She used to have to wait for around 10 minutes before he showed up and she could coincidentally pass him by the doors, but lately he had been coming in earlier and earlier. Once she hears the doors open and a deep voice greet whatever nurse nearest to him, her feet quicken. Dr. Abbot and her both walk towards each other, eyes locked and neither of them willing to break contact. He smiles at her, and she’s about to just blurt out how happy she is to see him when several people start screaming.
Her first thought isn’t any sense of urgency, it was more along the lines of really, right now? But her thoughts of urgently getting to safety quickly follow when a man shoves a patient to the side and fires two bullets at the ceiling. Her ears start ringing, and she freezes in place.
“Everyone shut up!” the man shouts, and so everyone does. He looks around frantically. “Who was it? Who reported me to the police?”
In a communal moment of confusion, everyone looks around. Samira notices that Dr. Abbot is a few feet to her right, and while everyone’s hands are up in the air, his are angled towards her— almost as if reaching for her. Be still my beating heart, she thinks.
“Don’t act stupid! My wife and I came here a few weeks ago because she got a black eye and broken ribs,” his waves his unoccupied hand in the air as if to explain away this silly miscommunication. “She was in a rock climbing accident! But someone reported me to the police, and now she’s gone from my house, and she’s taken Rudy with her!”
The air is tense, and no one moves a muscle. His crazed eyes search for any hint of who it could’ve been— but Samira knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that it had been McKay who had either reported him or encouraged his wife to report him. And rightfully so, it seems.
“She drained my fucking bank account!” He says this with such force that his handgun swings around a bit, causing a few people to drop to the ground. Trying to find Dr. Robby, who is somewhere behind him, Samira accidentally makes eye contact with the man.
“You,” he hisses, and he walks over to her in a handful of angry strides.
“Me?” she whispers and points at herself with a finger, suddenly five years old when facing death two feet in front of her.
“I remember seeing you that day, talking to my wife. You— you called the police.” She’s too terrified to defend herself, but even if she wasn’t there was no way in hell she’d ever direct his attention towards McKay. The man points the gun at her, and suddenly there’s a flash of movement at her side. She blinks, and then all she can see is Dr. Abbot’s back, his body blocking hers from the gun, and a scalpel in his right hand.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he clips, and his empty hand stretches backward towards her, almost as if subconsciously. The man tips his head back and laughs.
“Or what? You’re going to stab me with that tiny knife?”
“No,” Dr. Abbot says calmly. “I’m going to fucking kill you with this tiny knife.”
Enraged, the man lifts his gun up a little higher, presumably aiming, but Dr. Abbot throws the scalpel into the man’s upper thigh. The pain distracts him just enough for Dr. Abbot to lunge at him and in one quick move that neither Samira’s mind or eyes can decipher, disarms him. He has the gun pointed at the man, but in another swift action he seems to change his mind: he unloads it, tosses it to the side, and punches the man in the face. He sweeps his leg, and once he’s down security rushes in to grab him.
Samira is in a daze, looking around to make sure no one else was hurt during this whole ordeal. Suddenly, a pair of warm hands cup both sides of her face and gently urge her to face forward. She’s met with the eyes of Dr. Abbot, and it’s the closest they’ve ever been without having a patient to lean over. She watches as his eyes take their time scanning her face, as if trying to search for any surprise bullet holes.
“Are you okay?” he asks in such a soft voice that her brain can’t connect it to the man who just fought a gunman and won. “Dr. Mo— Samira, are you okay?”
He’s getting nervous now, she can tell, and him using her first name clears her vision a little.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she blurts, and she tries to look around again. What if someone was shot? What if someone needed her help? What if—
“Hey, look at me,” the soft voice commands, and it sounds so polite that she decides she should listen to it. She sees a slight smile, and eyes crinkling with concern. “You’re going to pass out.”
“What? No I’m not,” she replies, offended. He doesn’t think she can handle a little violence? But she has to admit that her words do sound a little slurred. And now that she thinks of it, she had forgotten her water bottle this morning. She quickly ran the diagnosis in her head— she hadn’t drunk any water all day, she had been on her feet for the past 15 hours, and she had started her period today, which meant she was losing a lot more blood than usual. Her blood pressure was too low, and the stress of having a gun pointed at her was the final straw.
Her head spins as the force of gravity grows stronger, and the floor seems like it's flying at her in slow motion, until two warm arms sweep her up. Suddenly she is laying her head on something very comfortable, and absentmindedly wonders when and why she had sprayed cologne on her pillow.
She can tell she’s swimming in and out of consciousness, and when she opens her eyes she sees one of the newer nurses sitting in a chair in front of her.
“Move,” she can both hear and feel the urgency coming from the voice floating above her. A second later, it growls: “Now!”
She feels herself being gently lowered into a chair, and the prick of an IV in her arm. She wakes up to what she’s sure is only a minute later, and she’s feeling much better already. Her head is still extremely dizzy, but she can see Dr. Abbot crouching in front of her. She scans the room and she can see almost everything is back to normal, except that Kiara is making her rounds with both the patients and the staff.
Her head starts to go woozy again and she feels herself drifting off, until she feels a warm hand on hers.
“You okay?” Dr. Abbot asks with a voice so soft she still can’t understand how he can go from so aggressive to so gentle in just two seconds.
“Yes,” she says, but for some reason she feels a tear roll down her eye. And then another. The shock must be finally catching up to her, but she’s never been an overtly sensitive person. But then again, she’s never been the primary target of a loaded gun before. Also, she knew that due to her low blood pressure she wasn’t getting as much blood to the brain as she needed to, so she figured that it needed a minute to regulate itself before she could go back to normal.
Dr. Abbot’s eyebrows crease, and he reaches out to wipe her tears. “Hey, you’re fine. Everyone’s fine, it was just some crazy guy.”
“Yes, but—” the part of her brain that is still functioning tries to stop her from what she’s going to say next. Saying it was her primary objective earlier, which is probably why her muddled mind is so determined to say it right now, but this situation is not exactly how she’d imagined it to go. Her mouth clamps down, then opens again, and she says: “I w— It’s just that I was gonna ask you if you’d like to go for coffee sometime.”
And there it is. Samira is never going to forget her water bottle ever again. At least she’s not crying anymore, it was just those two tears trying to distract her from what her dehydrated and overwhelmed brain was planning on doing.
“Really?” he chuckles.
“Yes,” she sighs, already so embarrassed and defeated by the past thirty minutes that she’s wishing more than anything right now that she could just teleport home. He laughs a little more heartily now, and she shuts her eyes. “Did I overstep?”
“No, no, absolutely not,” he assures her with such a firm resolve that has her believing him instantly.
“Then why are you laughing?”
“Because I was actually thinking we should go for dinner, not coffee. You know, less casual, more romantic,” he winks, and her chest almost explodes.
“Are you asking me out on a date, Dr. Abbot?” she smiles at him, and she can see his eyes track her dimple.
“Call me Jack.”
“Alright, Jack,” she repeats and it feels strange on her tongue. “I seem to have hit my head as I fainted, and oh no! I now have memory loss over the last five minutes. What were we talking about?”
He shakes his head in amusement, and grabs the hand she was poking her mouth with as if in thought.
“Let me take you out on a date, Samira. Dinner, 5 PM, this Saturday at La Perla. I’ll pick you up.” His eyes stare into hers, willing her to say yes.
“La Perla? We’d have to book that like a month in advance,” she laughs. “We can just go out for pizza or something, I don’t mind—”
“I’ve had the reservation for four months now.”
Her jaw drops, and her heart is suddenly a conservatory filled with butterflies. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been carrying this stupid piece of paper around for three!”
She fishes into her pocket with her free hand, and hands him the piece of paper with her number on it. He stares at it for a moment, running his finger over the writing.
“I’m an idiot for not asking you sooner, huh?” he chuckles again.
“No, you’re definitely smart. And strong, too. I saw you take down that guy.”
He smirks at that, and asks for her phone. She gives it to him, so he types his number into her messages and sends himself a text. He passes it back to her, and she holds her hand out expecting for him to give her back the piece of paper since he has her number now, but he just takes out his wallet and slips it into one of the folds. He grabs her hand instead, so now they’re holding both hands.
“So, I’ll pick you up at 430,” he grins, running his fingers over her knuckles. “I think the restaurant policy is black-tie, but you can wear whatever you want if you don't have a dress.”
“And what if they refuse to serve me in jeans? You’ll stab them with a tiny knife?” she teases.
“No,” he says matter-of-factly, “we’ll just go back to my place and I’ll cook for you.”
Her heart warms, and she squeezes his hands.
“I did go through the effort of booking the reservation, though, and I already called to make sure they would have no shellfish items on the menu that day, so maybe we can save my cooking for the second date.”
“How did you know I’m allergic to shellfish?” her eyes widen.
“I think you’ll find I know a lot of things about you, Dr. Mohan,” he says with a twinkle in his eye, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You just haven’t been paying attention.”
At this, she beams and throws her arms around him. She can feel the imprint of his necklace in her skin, and he smiles into the crook of her neck.
Saturday can't come soon enough.