Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Admittedly, Samira probably could have paid slightly more attention to her surroundings. But she was tired and it had been a long shift, and all she really, truly wanted was to go home and crawl into bed. After a shower of course.

So when the two men fell into step behind her, gradually increasing their pace until they had overtaken her, she had simply thought that she was walking too slowly, and blamed it once more on post-shift fatigue.

When they’d stopped in front of her and demanded her purse, it had taken more than a few seconds for the request to be processed in her tired mind. A few seconds too long evidently. Perhaps they took it as hesitation or defiance rather than a poor resident with only a few firing neurons left. Regardless of the reason, they took offence and moved before she could. She only saw the glint of silver a second before it came down on the arm holding her bag. A thin line of red bloomed as the other ripped the purse from her and they ran. Of course, as they crashed past her, with no concern for gentlemanly acts, she was jostled so violently, so jarred by the situation that she fell backwards, not before cracking her head on the lip of a step that she hadn’t even noticed.

Her vision blacked out for a few moments or minutes she couldn’t be sure, but when she was finally able to force her eyes open, the back of her head was pounding and there was a flurry of activity around her. She realized belatedly she should probably force herself up, tell the onlookers that she was fine, except that she was so tired , and lying horizontal, even on the dirty ground, was preferable to sitting up.

It all happened rather quickly. Sirens and lights and being loaded onto a gurney. Thick, lumpy and surprisingly more uncomfortable than the pavement. Before she realized what was happening, they were already in the back of the ambulance.

“I don’t need a hospital.”

The EMT shrugged, “You lost consciousness ma’am. It’s protocol.”

Protocol her ass. Also, ma’am? She was not fifty. Also, she was a doctor. Although he didn’t know that. She wasn’t above pulling that card.

“I’m fine. I’m an emergency medicine resident, I can go home, and I’ll go to the hospital if things get worse, promise. I just finished a shift and…”

She trailed off when she saw the EMT shaking his head. 

“Sorry, ma’am. Protocol.”

…

Jack was a calm man. He was unflappable after his years in service. He was only halfway through his shift, when the call came from EMS for an incoming patient with a laceration and possible concussion. It was a courtesy call they said, because the patient was a resident at his hospital. Something about how her purse had been stolen. Dana’s voice was sharp when she asked for a name. A long pause, and Jack tensed. 

His jaw tightening was the only giveaway when the call came through again, patchy and difficult to hear. “She says her name is Mohan.”

Dana only leveled a glance at Jack, who was already striding to the ambulance bay. 

She checked in on the open rooms, before meeting Jack outside. “Keep your head straight,” she murmured to him quietly as she stood beside him. 

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re so obvious Jack, it’s a wonder the girl hasn’t figured it out yet.”

“There’s nothing to figure out.”

The argument was cut short as the ambulance pulled into the bay. There was the usual kerfuffle of unloading the patient, but there she was.

Mohan.

Samira - strapped into the gurney, looking none too pleased at the commotion, still arguing with the paramedics. Until she caught sight of Dana, a look of relief upon her voice. “Tell them, Dana! I don’t need to be here.” 

Jack was already striding towards her, his chest finally untightening at her voice, at the obvious sense in her words. Alert and oriented. GCS 15. 

Thank fuck . 

Before he could make it to her, another ambo slammed into the bay behind the first, its driver jumping out in a rush. “Active CPR,” he called to Jack as he ran toward the back. 

Much as he didn’t want to, Jack changed directions towards the second ambo. 

Dana called out. “I’ll take Mohan to bay 12. You take resusc 1 Jack.”

…

“Dana, you know this is ridiculous, I’m fine .”

“And you know you can’t leave until a doctor clears you.” She settled her hands on her hips and levelled a glance at Samira, assessing. “Unless you were planning on leaving AMA.”

Samira appeared to ponder it, her eyes lifting to the ceiling as she fiddled with her hands. 

Dana continued. “Which you wouldn’t, of course. Because that would reflect badly on the department if one of its own residents left AMA. It would reflect poorly on Dr. Abbot.”

Samira lowered her gaze appropriately chastised. Dana smiled as she lifted a brow. “So you’re going to stay?”

“Fine.” A pause. “Do I have to keep the monitor?”

Dana laughed. “You know the rules. Only docs can discontinue the monitors.”

“ I’m a doctor, Dana.”

“Uh-huh,” she levelled a sardonic glance at Samira. 

“Heather is on today, can she see me?”

Dana smiled, but it was vaguely threatening. “Nope.” Waggled her brows. “Someone else signed up for you.”

“Dana, I swear to god, it better not be--” 

Dr. Abbot stepped into the room. 

“Better not be who?” he asked mildly, as he snapped on his gloved. 

Her mouth clamped shut so hard, she wondered if they heard her teeth smashing together. He only leveled a glance at her, before staring up at the monitors. 

“She stays on the monitors,” he said, looking only at Dana who shrugged at Samira before winking and leaving the room. 

He crossed over to her in two large steps, unhurried and efficient, and she tried to relax. Which all went out the window when he grasped her chin and started turning her face to and fro, examining. Looking for abrasions? She wouldn’t know, her mind had decided to short circuit. Where was she supposed to be looking?

At him? Should she keep her eyes closed?

She opted to stare at her hands. 

“You okay?” he asked, and his voice was softer, gentler than she’d ever heard it before, and that’s what got her looking up at him.

The monitor picked up slightly with her heart rate, but he only looked at her. He was still holding her chin and she couldn’t find it in her to shrug away from his touch. 

“I’m okay.”

He nodded curtly. “You’re tough.”

She laughed, somewhat hysterically, at the rarely bestowed Jack Abbot Compliment ™ . He chuffed her under the chin lightly before turning away and pulling a suture tray into the room. He settled onto the bed in front of her, sitting closer than he needed to.

She smelled nice. He was a selfish man. 

She tried not to stare at his forearms. They were muscled, thick with prominent veins. She could see the shift under his skin. 

When he pulled her arm into the space between them and started methodically unwrapping the gauze, she realized what he was doing. 

“Absolutely not.”

He only smiled and continued unwrapping. His brow furrowed when he saw the deep laceration. Funny, Samira had thought it was only a shallow lac. Maybe they had been right to insist she come to the ED. Still, they shouldn’t have called her ma'am. 

“The department needs you. Any year two could do this.”

“Fat chance.”

“Why?”

“Why won’t you let me help you?” frustration laced his voice, barely concealed.

“Because I don’t need it,” she said, her jaw squared and defiant. They stared each other down, equally aggravated as the moment stretched on.

Finally he took a breath and sighed, shaking his head as he returned to his meticulous work.

“I really don’t care what it looks like.”

“Well I do.”

“Well you shouldn’t.”

“Samira.” He glanced up at her, his brows raised. His voice was severe. Serious, with no room for questioning. “Let me take care of you.”

His words hit her like a punch to the chest. She was stunned into silence as the room was suddenly a million degrees warmer. Her clothes felt too tight and constricting and the way he’d looked at her had felt different . 

The stupid monitor started alarming. They both glanced toward it - second nature in the emergency department - and Samira wanted to die. He had the good sense not to make a comment. But there was a tightening at the corner of his mouth like he was holding back a smile. 

Her heart rate had jumped at his words.

Dana and her stupid monitor. 

She slipped the probe off her finger, and when the monitor started to ding off, she - somewhat forcefully - stabbed at the button to turn it off. 

He continued his work, meticulous. Her skin overheated, and she opted not to look at him as he worked. But invariably, her gaze would always slide back to him. There was something about it, the gentle way he turned and moved her arm around. The focus. 

His salt and pepper curls. 

“Almost done,” he said, quietly. 

She could only hum in agreement, not trusting herself. 

When he tied off the suture she turned her arm in the light. It was a thing of beauty, his repair. She admired it, appreciative. 

“It’s very pretty,” she congratulated him, somewhat reluctant. 

His voice was rough when he replied a moment later. “Beautiful,” but when her eyes lifted to his, he wasn’t looking at his handiwork. 

Their gazes caught and held, and Samira’s heart hammered in her chest, so hard she wondered if he could hear it. Thank god the stupid monitor was off. 

Jack’s gaze was steady and confident. A hint of challenge. 

To her credit, Samira didn’t look away. 

They were both stubborn to a fault, refusing to look away until an overhead page. “Dr. Abbot to trauma 1. Dr Abbot to trauma 1.”

“That’s your cue,” Samira whispered. 

He gave her a half smile before he left. 

…

A half hour later he returned to check on her. 

He pushed a cold styrofoam container into her hands. “Eat it,” he said, nodding to the container. “You’ll feel better.” 

Samira inspected it quickly. “Chocolate! My favourite.” A small private smile there and gone so fast Jack wished belatedly for a phone with a camera in it. Her eyes flicked between the ice cream and Jack several times before she spoke.

“How’d you know?”

His eyes met hers and when he shook his head, she felt warm. 

“There always seemed to be a deficit of chocolate ice creams after your shifts. I would say it was an educated guess.”

“Do you take stock of all the snacks when you’re here?” she was smiling now, radiant sunshine illuminating the room and Jack could feel it in his chest. This want of his. 

He raised a brow. “Chocolate is my favourite, too.”

She managed to look contrite. “Sorry,” she smiled again and his brain short circuited on the word, dimples. 

…

He checked in on her throughout the rest of his shift. Samira ended up moving to the staff lounge - beds were always in high demand and if Gloria knew a resident was using it to sleep in, there would be hell to pay. 

The first check in, he found her huddled onto the lazy boy in the corner of the room, the one that faced the window. Her sweater was draped over her in a makeshift blanket. It tugged at something deep in Jack and he ended up returning a minute later having stolen one of the blankets from the warmer. Gloria would be pissed but he didn’t care. 

The second time he checked in on her, she was with Dana and they were sharing another chocolate ice cream. 

Dana whispered in her ear as she gave Samira a light hug.“Utah.” She smiled, winked and walked away, calling out loudly as she left, “Enjoy your blanket!”. Jack took the recently vacated spot. 

Jack noted that Samira had a hard time meeting his eyes after whatever Dana had said to her. He made a mental note to inquire about it later. When she wasn’t sporting a head injury. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” she said it too quickly, and he bit back a smile. A moment passed, and she asked her question. Soft. Mildly whiny. She wanted to go home. 

“When are you going to discharge me?”

“Let me keep you here for a little more observation,” he implored. 

She raised a brow. “How much more time?”

“Til’ the end of my shift?”

Her brows nearly reached her hairline. “You’re joking.”

“I’m serious.”

“Why? We’re well past 4 hours of observation. Which is the standard of care. As you know.”

“I’m not keeping you for observation.” At least not in the medical sense. Jack wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel comfortable sending her home after a shift ever again. He didn’t want her out of his sight. Which he realized was slightly insane. 

“For what, then?” She crossed her arms. Jack found it distinctly adorable. 

“I’m keeping you until I’m done my shift. Then I’m taking you home.”

She choked. On air. He looked confused then embarrassed as he realized what he’d said. He blustered, his mouth opening and closing on unsaid words. The tips of his ears turned pink. Samira found herself grateful the monitor was no longer with her. 

Jack found his tongue after a painful moment of floundering. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She smiled. “I know you didn’t.” She said it a bit sadly, but she was sure he hadn’t noticed.

Samira let herself imagine, just for a moment (or several), what it would be like for him to take her home. To walk together, soft easy conversation flowing between them. Entering her apartment together. More . 

Her cheeks warmed and she looked down at her freshly bandaged arm. Pressed her lips together. Jack found it distracting. 

“You don’t need to walk me home,” she said softly. 

“I mean it. You’re not going home alone.”

“You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“Let me take you home, Samira. Please.”

Her neck heated. Her fingers twisted together and she refused to look up at him. 

“People will talk.”

“About the attending making sure his resident doesn’t get assaulted twice in one day? People would talk if I didn’t take you home.”

She finally raised her faze to meet his. He looked back at her, steady, confident. It let something in her chest melt away. Somehow, when he was around, when he looked at her in that way of his, all her worries, her nerves, became less important. Only with him. 

He calmed her. She wasn’t sure if he knew the extent to which he had his effect on her. 

“I have a shift tonight. I need to go home to sleep.” She said it reluctantly. Tired. 

He stood, muffling a groan as he massaged out his thigh. “I already spoke to Robby. You’re off for the next week. On account of your head injury. You can thank me later.”

He chuckled at the look on her face as he walked out. But not before securing an errant curl behind her ear. 

Dana's Utah echoed in her head.

…

When Jack’s shift ended a few hours later, he found Samira asleep in her recliner, the blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders, her ice cream cup empty beside her. He smiled despite himself. A soft shake of her shoulder. She slept deeply, and only stirred after a few more soft jostles. 

“Come on,” he whispered when she finally opened her eyes. 

“You’re done your shift?”

He nodded once, and that’s when she noticed his rucksack over his shoulder. And his hand… 

“My purse!”

He gifted her one of his rare smiles. Then gave her the purse, their hands brushing at the handoff. 

She rifled through the contents, incredulous. “How’d you get it back?”

“The police chief owed me a favour after PittFest.”

She bit her lip against her smile. “You called in a favour for me?”

He nodded, feeling distinctly on the backstep and exposed. 

She looked up at him, big brown doe eyes and Jack was caught. 

“That’s very sweet of you.”

He stared down at her, resolve in his eyes before he nodded again. His voice was gruff when he spoke again. “Come on. Time to go.”

He didn’t want to think too much about the fact that his hand automatically went to hers as she made to stand up. She didn’t need extra support. He just wanted to touch her. Her hand curled around his easily, and he was steady under her. 

But he wasn’t going to think about it. 

When they made their way out of the department Dana smiled at them both, winking at Samira when Jack wasn’t looking. She mouthed “Utah ” and Samira made a mental note to talk to Victoria later. 

They made it outside, the morning air heavy and humid. Storm clouds rolled overhead. Thunder clapped in the distance. 

Jack nodded, mostly to himself, his gaze sliding over to hers. “We’ll take my car.”

Her brows raised at that. “You really don’t need to, I--”

“I’m not letting you get rained on.” He looked up at the clouds then back at her, noting she was biting her cheek. “Besides, my leg hurts.”

“No it doesn’t.” 

The look she leveled at him was sardonic but she was fighting a smile and Jack felt on top of the world.

She shifted her bag against her shoulder. She gestured to the lot, “Lead the way.”

When they got to his car, he insisted on opening her door and sliding her purse from her shoulder. She’d given him a look at that, like she was unused to being treated like this. It made Jack’s jaw clench. Made him make an internal promise to himself. That she would get used to being treated like this. At least by him. 

Once she was all tucked into the car, he handed her the seatbelt, their hands brushing as it passed from him to her, his chest seizing at the slight contact. He closed her door firmly before making his way to the driver's side. 

Through the drive, she stole glances at him, curious, her hands fiddling in her lap. The car was nice - warm, with soft music just low enough to set the ambience without being able to make out the words. Jack drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the clutch between them. 

For some inane reason, Samira found this to be incredibly attractive. 

She decided she needed a cold shower. 

When they pulled to a stop in front of her place, she made no move to get out. A moment passed, two. She could feel his stare on the side of her face. Then she found the courage to ask him what she’d been wondering all day. 

“Would you do this for the others? Whittaker? Santos?”

She turned to look at him, her face so incredibly vulnerable it was a gut punch to Jack. 

He closed his eyes as if bracing himself and sighed, before he opened his eyes and looked at her. She could see it there. In his eyes - the look of defeat.

“No. I wouldn’t.’

“Why, then?”

He could see it in the way her eyes darted over his face, catching and snagging on his eyes. His mouth. She knew already. 

She just needed a little push.

“Why do you think, Dr. Mohan?” This was the voice she responded to in the Pitt. The one that spurred her into action, that gave her confidence in herself. “You’re the smartest person in every room, so you tell me.”

Big, brown eyes. She stared at him and he felt vaguely, that it was unfair of her. To disarm him so easily. 

The moment stretched. 

“We should go inside,” she whispered, achingly soft. 

We. 

Jack was going to hold onto that word for a very long time. 

Chapter Text

Samira was a little bit more than peeved when she finished handing over her patients and realized it was 11pm. Her shift was supposed to have ended three hours ago, when it was still light outside. She had been planning on watching the sunset from her balcony. 

Instead, three VSAs rolled in back to back after some sort of highway MVC. After that, the Pitt had been clogged up with the leftover traumas, all of which required reductions or calls to ortho or surgery and time had gotten away from her. She liked it, her newfound ability to flit from room to room, juggling tasks, making quick decisions. She’d lost her confidence when she’d lost her first patient. 

It was the mass casualty event at Pittfest that had led to her rediscovering herself as a physician. She was needed. Heather and Langdon weren’t around to pick up the slack she’d left in the wake of her thorough medical work ups. She’d stepped up. She’d been pushed, encouraged to step up. And it wasn’t thanks to Robby.

Abbott. With his unyielding stare, his unerring belief that she could do it, do anything, that she could save lives. And so, she’d found her flow state again after 3 years of residency without it. 

Sometimes she wondered if she should send him a thank you card. It would be the closest thing to communication between them in the weeks that had followed him driving her home. 

...

When Jack Abbott had followed Samira into her house, he was a man possessed. He’d follow her anywhere she wanted he was sure. It was jarring - the switch from his car to her home. In his car, it had just been the two of them, insulated with the rain pounding and drowning out the world. Safe teetering on the edge of something else. Inside, it was the two of them and space and sound and it was…vulnerable. She’d looked at him, tired but kind and asked if he’d wanted tea. 

They'd stepped out to the back patio and settled onto her porch swing. It was disconcerting to her, how at home he looked, hands dwarfing her favourite mug. She sat beside him, awareness prickling her nape as they both stared out to the garden. Perhaps she should have left more space between them. The city never slept, but it quieted some at night. 

He took a sip from his tea, which she had somehow known to brew perfectly. Green tea, steeped just right. Did she know he liked loose leaf? That was ridiculous. It was probably all she had on hand. He was going to ignore the veritable mountain of teas she had to choose from. 

He liked her porch swing. He liked sitting beside her even more. 

He never got to be this close to her. At least, not without them having to do some procedure. 

After a moment, he cleared his throat. “You had a scare today.”

She hummed noncommittally. 

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his eyes focused on the garden. 

She nodded sharply. “I’m fine.”

He shifted closer, just a little. Just enough that his knee brushed hers. Stayed there. “It’ll catch up to you, Mohan. When it does, you need to tell me.”

She sighed, long suffering. Her head hurt. Her arm was starting to throb as the pain meds wore off. Yet, she didn’t want to leave this moment. It was the beginning of something. When her head felt too heavy to support, she let it drop onto his shoulder. 

To say Jack was pleased would be an understatement. 

He pulled her hand into his. She noted the steady warmth he exuded. The sense of surety that came with his touch. 

It was only when her breathing evened out that Jack forced himself to move. She stirred, barely waking as he pulled her up and into the house. Soft footsteps to the front door. She leaned against the wall as she watched him with bleary eyes. He nodded at her as he pulled the door open, his eyes serious. “Take care of yourself, Dr. Mohan.”

She’d floated to bed after that.

…

Things had changed after that …and were still the same. A new awareness had settled on her skin. A prickling at her nape, a quickening of her pulse when he was around. They barely overlapped their shifts. She really only saw him in passing. Jack found himself coming in earlier and earlier for handover until Robby commented on it. Jack couldn’t very well help himself. Not when it meant he could see Dr. Mohan in action. 

She always wore her hair up. Not a strand out of place. Not like during that Pittfest shift. Then, her hair had escaped her usual strict tie back. Wild hair precipitated a confident Samira. He’d found himself reaching, wanting to tuck the curls back into place for her. 

Their eyes tended to find each other. Like a compass pointing north. 

Not so tonight.

Jack had arrived for the midnight shift, not his favourite. Largely because the department always tended to slow down by 2am, beds would fill up, they would get gridlocked, and he would clear out the chairs by 3am. The downtime that ensued afterward would get to him, too quiet, too much time to think. 

Finally, Dana got bored of his tireless rounding through the department and sent him to his call room. Time out would be more accurate.

“We’ll call you if we need you Jack, promise!” she’d said as she all but pushed him down the hallway. Three hallways later, in the bowels of the hospital he found the room. He hated using it. Too quiet. No windows. 

Grumbling to himself he pushed open the door after punching in the code. 

He was met with a startled scream that quickly quieted to a squeak.

He blinked slowly as the light from the hall filtered into the room. “Dr. Mohan?”

There she was, scrambling from the bed where she’d obviously been asleep moments before. Her hair was down, he noted belatedly, curly and askew and beautiful. 

“You scared me!” she whisper-shouted, almost accusatory.

She stood up too quickly and the world spun and she gripped the blanket around her shoulders.

His voice was gruff from the surprise. “What are you doing here? Your shift ended hours ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, pulling on her sneakers haphazardly. Right on left, left on right. She sighed, “Shit, sorry, I’ll get out of here.”

“Dr. Mohan--”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be using this room tonight--”

“Dr. Mohan.”

She continued on, right shoe on the right foot. Literally. “I’m sorry, I thought Dr. Shen was on tonight, and he never uses the call room so I--”

“Dr. Mohan.”

She paused, looking up at him, and he was disarmed. Deep brown irises, eyes blown wide, framed by the prettiest lashes.  He took a breath. “It’s okay, stop apologizing.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Do you always sleep here?”

“Only sometimes,” she muttered, tucking her hair behind her ears, self conscious with her hair loose in front of him. 

He paused. Thought it over, scanning her, making sure she was okay. He chose his words carefully, not wanting to scare her off. “Dr. Mohan if you…do you need a place to stay?” It didn’t make sense he’d dropped her off at her house only two weeks ago…but maybe. He knew the resident’s salary was peanuts. Fuck, was she sleeping here all the time? He shifted forward, closing the door behind him. “Do you need a place to stay? Is something wrong with your place? I have an extra room at mine, it’s yours.”

Her mouth popped open. Oh. He thought she was unhoused. And was living in the hospital. And he was offering her his home. Oh. Her heart felt like it was beating out of pattern. Oh, she was going to fall for this man.

When she smiled at him, something in his chest tightened. She shook her head. “I only crash here when my shifts run late.”

“Why, then? Because you’re tired?” He tilted his head to the side, regarding her in that way he did. Like he was trying to understand her and challenge her all at once. 

She shifted her gaze to the door behind him. “Correct,” she said curtly and made to step around him. 

He knew it was a lie. Knew it because how many lies had he told himself? Robby? Dana? Too many to count. 

He stopped her with a hand at her elbow.

She couldn’t walk out there. 

Not after he’d walked in. 

Him taking her home after she’d been assaulted was one thing. 

Her walking out of a call room, his call room, was a wholly other thing. The hospital was the worst kind of gossip mill and there were always eyes and ears listening. 

Samira refused to look up at him, little zings of electricity making their way up her arm from where he touched her. 

Just four fingers - barely there on her skin and she was falling apart under his touch. 

He had too much of an effect on her. Made her feel too much. 

A different sort of challenge than medicine. 

“The truth, Dr. Mohan.” his voice was gruff, and the air in the room felt oppressive. His thumb brushed against her arm reassuringly. “Please.”

She bit her lip as she looked at him, willing herself to say the words. But how could she? How could she tell him that she was scared to walk home along her regular route because it meant walking past where…

Where it had happened?

She couldn’t even say it in her mind, how could she tell him? He’d been a medic in actual war zones. He knew what real trauma was.

This was…

It was nothing. 

“Dr. Mohan?”

She swallowed audibly. 

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

He only tilted his head as he studied her, eyes roving over her face, disarming and unescapable. He was too discerning. 

“I’m fine!” her voice had jumped an octave, and Jack was unsure what it was that was upsetting her. But he was a determined sort of man. Samira could barely meet his eyes. 

“Tell me,” his voice dropped lower, it rumbled over her skin. He was looking at her in that way of his. Discerning, confident. It made her chest drop out. 

She shook her head. “I…” her voice trailed off, uncertain. 

She bit her lip in a way that Jack found adorable and all together much too distracting. Her gaze flitted to him and away, back and forth. 

His grip on her tightened as he tugged her further into the room. Steered her to the two seater couch. She sat easily enough, her eyes on her shoes. 

He settled beside her, closer than necessary. But as he’d proven before, time and again. He was a selfish man when it came to Samira Mohan. 

She sighed softly before speaking. “I can’t walk past it.” Once she started, her words sped and overlapped each other she was speaking so quickly. She had to get it all out. One shot. “I can’t walk past where it happened. So I’ve been taking this other route home, but it’s kind of sketchy at night. So when I finish a shift late, I stay here because-- because--” She couldn’t find the words. 

“Because you feel safer.” he said quietly, softly. 

“Dr. Shen gave me the passcode. He just thought he was doing me a favour, he doesn’t know about all of it.” He looked at her, unwavering and encouraging. Samira shrugged. “It’s dumb. I hit my head. A small laceration. That’s -- it’s not traumatic. It’s nothing. It was a bad day. How can I complain to you about this, when you--”

She broke off looking away, her arms wrapping around her torso tightly. As if she were holding herself together. 

“When I’m missing half a leg?”

She laughed, and it sounded watery. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”

He let his knee fall against hers. He had a habit of doing that, she noticed. 

He took a breath and spoke soft and slow. “You went through a traumatic experience, Dr. Mohan.”

She knew where he was going with this. She’d given this same speech herself to countless patients. She shook her head, steeling her shoulders, straightening her back. 

“I don’t have PTSD. I’m not hypervigilant. I don’t have nightmares or flashbacks. It hasn’t even been a month.” she ticked off the diagnostic criteria on her hand. “Maybe I avoid stimuli associated with…it, but it doesn’t impact my function.” 

She took in Jack’s raised brow.

“Much,” she amended.

“You’re sleeping in the hospital, Dr. Mohan.”

“I was sleeping. Until someone woke me up.”

He cracked a smile. “This is the attendings call room, I think I have dibs.”

“Since when do you sleep on shift?” she said, exasperated. 

He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Since Gloria decided to fuck with my schedule.”

She laughed softly, and his gaze slipped back to her. She was a strong woman, Jack thought. Beautiful and capable and overly kind. 

“I missed seeing you at sign out.” She said it quietly, her eyes flitting to his and away, feeling shy. 

She was going to carve his heart out. Maybe he could talk Robby into switching shifts, Jack mused to himself silently. He wanted to reach out and trace the curve of her cheek. Untuck her hair. Tuck it back himself. 

He was losing it, he decided. 

He gifted her one of his gentle smiles. “I missed you too, sweetheart. You should get back to sleep.”

Her chest dipped out as he pulled her hand back into his and tugged her to the bed this time. Hands on her shoulders he gentled her onto the mattress. 

“No, you should sleep, you’re the one working, I--”

He moved back to the couch and propped his feet up on the table. Pulled a medical journal from his bag before he pinned her with a look. “I only came here because Dana forced me out of the department. Go to sleep.”

She sputtered. “I can't! Not with you sitting there.” 

He raised a brow at her. “If you’d prefer, I can get in there with you?”

Her mouth dropped into a perfect O, her eyes widening. 

“I’m kidding,” he grumbled before leaning back and opening his journal, his eyes studiously away from hers. 

She laughed, the sound half choked before she lay back down. It had been a long shift. Besides, it felt nice to know he was there, despite her earlier objections. 

It was only when her breathing started to settle out and soften that he asked her the question that had been burning in him for the past three weeks. 

“Dr. Mohan?” he murmured.

“Yes?” her voice was so pretty, Jack thought. God, he was such a goner for her. 

“Why does Dana keep mouthing Utah to you when she thinks I can’t see?”

There was a long pause before Samira answered. 

“I have no idea.”

Chapter Text

Jack had, unfortunately, been hyperaware of Samira since the day she’d started at the Pitt. At first, it was only in passing. Just her name signed off at the bottom of charts. Her notes were excellent, with wide differentials, organized from most to least likely, from highest morbidity and mortality to least. Her work ups were no different. Jack only ever got handover from attendings about her patients, as was the norm, so he’d never met her in person. 

Yet, he somehow got a sense for her when he met her patients. More often than not, they’d be disappointed that she was done her shift, that their case had been handed over. They spoke about how she’d sat at their bedside, listened, and hadn't rushed them. It seemed that she had checked in multiple times, reviewed their lab work in a way that made sense. Her diagnoses were spot on. 

It was impressive. And Jack wasn’t an easily impressed man. 

Then, one (fateful) night, Robby had needed to leave in the middle of his shift to help with some staffing emergency at another hospital, and Jack had stepped in to cover. There wasn’t time for staff to staff handover, so Robby had directed him to the residents. “Take Mohan first,” he’d muttered pointing her out. “She has the least number of patients and yet, somehow, the biggest work ups pending.”

Strange, Jack had thought. She was clearly the strongest resident based on her charting, yet somehow she was on Robby’s bad side. 

Robby had introduced them before departing. What Jack hadn’t expected was to be immediately disarmed by her face. He was a steady man. He’d been married. A widower. He didn’t really notice women in that way, he hadn’t for a while. 

Yet. 

There was something about her. She was distractingly beautiful. Deep brown eyes framed by thick lashes. She’d walked with him through the department, completely oblivious to Jack’s internal turmoil. She was a resident. She was younger than him. She didn’t even know him. But he knew her. 

She was on edge as she’d presented her patients. They were difficult cases, one had ulcerations masked as MSK pain, a pregnant woman on methadone presenting with HELLP, a toddler who’d initially presented with a spiral fracture but was found to have soft tissue bruising on full skin examination. Thorough, thorough, thorough, he thought in awe. 

When she’d finished presenting, she’d turned to him, her jaw tight, the grip on her tablet even tighter as she’d looked up at him. As if she was bracing herself. He could only nod. “Impressive,” he muttered, and she’d looked confused for a moment before she nodded. “Yes, his bruising is rather extensive.”

Jack shook his head. “No, I meant you are impressive, Dr. Mohan.”

She blinked. Samira was almost never complimented at work. Robby made sure of that. He wasn’t purposefully mean, he just invariably felt she could do better, do more. He’d suggested, more than once, that she switch out of the program. That had stung. It was a looming threat in the background of her shifts, that maybe he’d go to her program director, and tell them she wasn’t cut out for this. She’d heard her nickname muttered by nurses, other residents, even medical students. Even Robby wasn’t above using it. 

So when Jack Abbott had said she was impressive, Samira short circuited. 

The entire time she’d been presenting to him, she was a mess of nerves. It hadn’t helped that she’d been mildly infatuated with him since she’d started in this program. He was smart, undeniably so, even though most other residents and attendings had scoffed at what they’d dubbed his combat medicine skills. People tended to look down on those with a military background in the healthcare system. They thought his combat medicine was subpar in comparison to academic medicine. Yet, he’d saved so many patients. Brought them back from the brink, he was unconventional and unashamed of it, and Samira admired him for it. 

It didn’t hurt that he was ridiculously attractive either. 

“Oh,” she had said, looking up at him, not knowing what to do with his praise other than bask in the warm feeling in her chest. “I only have three patients, though.”

“They also happen to be the most difficult cases in the department. Take the compliment, Dr. Mohan. You did a good job today.”

She’d beamed at that, and Jack was a goner. 

…

He’s kept his eye on her after that. He couldn’t help himself. Smart, and kind and beautiful? Jack was only a simple man. 

Save after save. Then he’d seen her and Robby working together. The way he’d pull her out of rooms she’d just stepped into. How he’d told her to consider another specialty. How she’d caught things he’d missed and she would still get chastised. 

Jack saw both perspectives. It still left an uncomfortable feeling in his chest. 

He brought it up when they were on the roof together after a particularly brutal shift where Jack had to be called in. 

“She’s smarter than you and I put together, man. “

“I know that,” Robby sighed, scrubbing at his beard. 

“Do you? Because I've seen you riding her, she’s losing confidence because of it.”

“She’s too slow.”

“So? Teach her how to be faster, don’t berate her.”

“We need to see more patients.”

“You know who you sound like? Gloria.”

Robby’s face was stricken at that and Jack clapped him on the shoulder as he walked away. “I’m not trying to be an asshole. I just want you to take a different perspective. She’s a brilliant doctor. You’d do well to realize it.”

Jack paused as he opened the door and looked back. He debated for a moment if he should say what he wanted to. “And stop calling her Slow Mo.”

…

So it went. Jack was overly invested in Samira Mohan. He didn’t go out of his way, but when she was around, he was hyperaware of her. How she moved through the department. Her easy smiles. Sometimes he’d catch her eye and smile and she’d look surprised, but would smile warmly back at him. 

Then one day, Jack noticed something new. There, on her finger, a ring. A thin band, gold, but on her ring finger. His chest caved in. 

It hadn’t been there the day before. It hadn’t. He would have noticed it. He noticed everything about her. 

She was engaged. 

To say Jack was crushed would be an understatement. He knew it was irrational, knew he had no claim to her. They barely spoke. It was a passing interest, nothing more. 

Yet, the rest of the day, he was on edge. Patients irritated him more, his skin felt tight. Handover couldn’t come soon enough. He slipped the question in as innocuously as he could when he spoke to Robby. 

“How are your residents?”

Robby shrugged as he swiped through the tablet, looking at charts. “Fine, I guess.” 

“Looks like one of them got engaged. Mohan, I think?” 

As if Jack didn’t know her. As if he wasn’t mildly intimidated and enthralled by her all at once. As if he didn’t think about asking her out at least once a shift. 

Robby peered up over his glasses at the woman in question. “Huh, never noticed the ring before. Maybe? I try not to get involved in their lives.” Jack resisted rolling his eyes. If it wasn’t about Collins, Robby really couldn’t care less. They moved on with handover and Jack forced himself to stop looking at Dr. Mohan. 

He waited until his next shift to talk to Dana. It was in the quiet hours of the morning, the nursing station all but deserted because there were almost no patients and the break room was full of donuts. Jack dropped into a chair beside Dana as she scrolled through the EMR. 

“Hey, Dana.”

She peered at him over her glasses. She and Robby were both quite good at it. Her eyes flicked back to her screen. “What’s got you so squirrely?”

“I’m not squirrely. Just hoping to hear the department gossip.”

“Do I look like I have time to gossip?”

Silence ensued and Jack carefully kept his mouth shut. 

She looked at him again and laughed. “What do you want to know?”

He tried to act nonchalant. “Any weddings on the horizon?

She raised a brow at him before leaning back in her chair, her gaze to the ceiling as she pondered. “Well there is Sandra, that was about a month ago. Jesse has been engaged for years but I don’t know where that’s headed. Padma just broke off her engagement, but you don’t even work the same shifts so…”

When she looked back and saw Jack’s mildly unfocused eyes she smiled widely. “Oh, I know!” She crossed her arms smugly. “You’re wondering about Samira.”

Jack sputtered. Shrugged. “Just curious.”

“Please, you stare at her with puppy dog eyes every time she walks by.”

“I do not.”

“I’m surprised Robby hasn’t mentioned it to you yet.”

“Robby’s in his own world, you know that.”

“Uh-huh.”

She went back to her charting and Jack wanted to sink into the ground. “Dana, please.”

“Ask her yourself.” Dana said, still looking at her screen.

“She’ll think I’m hitting on her.”

“Well, isn’t that what you want to do?”

“Not if she’s already engaged, Dana!”

Dana loved toying with Jack. He was usually so calm and collected, but after he’d met Samira, he’d changed. It was subtle and Dana only noticed it because she’d known him for so long. He has been a widower for years and kept his ring on. He lived up to his reputation of an army medic. Controlled, always punctual. Always focused. Nowadays, it seemed his attention was often split. Instead of going to the breakroom when it got slow, he stayed at the nursing station, always within viewing distance of Dr. Mohan. His eyes followed her across the department, an unfocused quality to them before he seemed to remember himself and turn back to his charting. 

It happened multiple times a shift. So often, it was almost as if he couldn’t control himself. Dana had seen them together, when Samira gave him handover on her patients. He would stare at her, captivated while she seemed oblivious and nervous, her eyes flitting between him, the patient and her tablet. It was sweet. 

Dana did not consider herself to be a matchmaker, but for Jack, she took pity.

“She’s not engaged.” She pushed her glasses up. “She started wearing the ring because a patient kept sexually harassing her to the point that she gave the case to Langdon.” She tutted. Scumbag. “She’s single, last I checked.”

“Huh.” He took a breath.

“Go get her, tiger.”

“She’s a resident, Dana.”

“You’re not her supervisor, Robby is. Besides, I think he and Collins have more than cleared the path for you.”

Jack decided to use that moment to walk away. He turned back, again feigning nonchalance. “What was that patient’s name? The one who was harassing her?”

“None of your business, Jack. You know that. Besides, she already reported it to Robby.”

…

When her alarm went off at 6am the next morning, an hour before the next shift started, giving her enough time to vacate the room, a surprise was waiting for her. Beside her phone, still hot to touch, a tea from the hospital cafe, with a short note beside it. Dr. Abbott’s handwriting had always been overly pretty. 

Meet me outside. Parking entrance.

Samira took a sip of the tea - earl grey, her favourite, milk, and sugar just the way she’d liked it. She wasn’t sure how he knew, and she wasn’t going to examine it too deeply. 

He was already outside, leaning against the wall when she arrived. “You look well rested,” he said mildly, barely hiding his smile. 

“Thank you for the tea.”

Jack almost asked if he got her order right. Almost. He asked to walk her home instead. 

Samira bit her lip in a way that Jack did not particularly appreciate. It was too distracting. Made him want too many things from her. He had to take this slow. 

Her eyes shifted from him to the sky. “It’s still dark out.”

He raised a brow. “Exactly.”

She was doing it again, biting her lip, her arms crossed over her front. “I don’t need exposure therapy.”

“I’ll take you to breakfast afterward.”

“I certainly don’t need pavlovian therapy.”

He was all out grinning now. “So you consider breakfast with me a reward?”

She tucked her chin down, hiding her face from his and he laughed aloud. It was nice. It settled her hammering heart. 

He pulled her to his side and walked them out of the parking lot. 

It was strangely comforting for Samira to walk beside Jack. Bustling streets and cars backfiring and normally she’d be more jumpy but with him she felt…

Safe. 

Which was ridiculous.

She was too attached and much too obvious and with Dana’s teasing it was only a matter of time until he put it together. If he hadn’t already. 

Her steps slowed almost imperceptibly as they approached the corner store. But Jack was very attuned to her. So he noticed it. 

“This is where it happened?”

She nodded sharply, her eyes straight ahead, fidgeting with the strap of her purse. She took a breath before she stepped further into his side, and her hand slid into his. Soft and sure, palm to palm. She was very warm. 

“Is this okay?” she murmured, uncertain and vulnerable.

Jack didn’t trust himself to speak. He only nodded back and then she tugged them forward. Her steps were quick and determined, but Jack didn’t miss the subtle tremor of her hand in his. He swept his thumb across her hand, once, twice, and her steps settled, slowed. 

Calmed. 

He knew she was okay when they’d finally passed the store, and she’d sighed. Her deathgrip relaxed, but she made no move to pull away. Jack wasn’t about to let go either. 

They went for breakfast at a small diner that Jack knew, where the owners knew him personally and took a special interest in Samira. They peppered her with questions, knowing glances between themselves that Jack and Samira pretended not to notice. They asked when Jack and Samira had met. Told her about how Jack had told them about her. How Jack had been coming to this diner for years. How he’d never brought anyone with him, and he was probably lonely, the poor soul and how lovely it was that he had Samira, and wasn’t she so pretty, Jack?

Jack had nodded at that, his eyes focused on Samira, unyielding in their challenge. She’d laughed, as if she didn’t believe him, before busying herself with the menu. 

His leg grazed hers under the table and it was all she could focus on as she ate her pancakes. She felt like a live wire. She was sitting with Jack Abbott. The man who’d sutured her arm, who’d driven her home. He’d bought her tea and walked her home and let her hold his hand. 

He was looking at her as if… as if he saw something more in her. As if he cared about her. 

It felt too good to be true. 

How many times had she stared after him in the department, dreamy eyed until Dana had walked by and nudged her arm? She still remembered talking to Dana about him. The endless teasing she’d endured. Samira thought she had been subtle. It had been one of the better days, with a minimum of screaming drunks and screaming children. Dana had been in a good mood, so Samira had pounced on the opportunity. There was no one else to ask if she was being honest. Not without showing her hand. It had been her and Victoria and Dana at the nurses station. Victoria had had yet another cringe inspiring interaction with Mateo, although Samira secretly thought it was sweet. Victoria had groaned, freaking Utah, and left in a huff. 

Dana had explained the meaning to Samira as she laughed. Young love. Samira didn’t know much about it, she’d been too focused on her career. She’d transitioned the conversation to other departmental relations, carefully avoiding the topic of Robby and Collins. She’d tried, subtly she thought, to bring up Jack’s wedding band. 

Dana had clocked it immediately. 

“Got your very own Utah, do you now?”

“I don’t!” She tucked her hair away from her face. “I was just curious.”

“Sure, of course.” Dana studied Samira over the tops of her glasses before taking pity. “His wife died a long time ago. He’s free, and you should go for it.” Her gaze flitted to the ring Samira wore. “Though, I’d probably get rid of that before you do. Might send the wrong message.”

Samira heavily doubted that Jack Abbott ever looked in her direction, let alone at her hands, but she let it slide. “Just curious, Dana, that’s all.” Nonetheless, she slipped the ring off. 

Dana laughed to herself. Maybe she was the department matchmaker. 

...

Jack walked Samira the rest of the way home despite her protests. I live close by, he’d said. He’d walked her to her front door and slipped her another piece of paper, this time his number in neat block letters. “Call me,” he’d said. “For anything,” he’d amended, and Samira had to stop herself from reading into it.

Chapter Text

He hesitated as he left, his hand lingering on her screen door. He shook it and the hinges rattled. “This is going to fall off soon,” he muttered, brows furrowed. 

Samira shrugged. “I told my landlord about it. He said he’d get to it eventually.”

His brows raised at that. “Eventually?”

“This was about a year ago. I stopped asking after a while.”

“I can fix it for you.”

Samira focused on fiddling with her shirt hem. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. Write me a list of things you need done around the house, and I'll come over on Saturday.”

…

So Samira spent the rest of the week oscillating between excitement and nerves that he was coming to her home again. She couldn’t get it out of her head. The feel of his hand around hers. The way he looked at her in the diner. The warmth of the tea he’d brought her. 

He’d called her sweetheart. 

She was able to walk to work now. When she passed the place where it happened, there was a happy memory to replace the one that frightened her. 

Work was more or less the same. Except that her co-workers were surprisingly observant despite their own dramas. Victoria smiled at her, sweet and sometimes awkward. Samira had taken her under her wing. Honestly, it was almost like having a little sister, the way Victoria talked her ear off. Matteo this, or that. How her mom was so annoying, and how difficult medical school had been for her. How out of place she’d sometimes felt. How she thought maybe others thought she was out of place too. 

Samira had been quick to squash that idea. She was no stranger to that feeling. The feeling of not belonging. Of wanting to, so badly. 

She’d made it a point to pull Javadi into the goriest of cases, and the nickname Crash slowly faded. 

Santos noticed Samira’s pre-occupation.

“You seem distracted, Mohan.”

“You can call me Samira.” She didn’t bother glancing up from writing her note. 

“Nah.” Santos had found a suture kit from who knew where and was practicing her mattress sutures. No doubt taught to her by Garcia. For one insane second she remembered how it had felt to have Abbott teach her during the MCI and she accidentally wrote Jack as the diagnosis in her note. 

She hit the backspace button decidedly harder than necessary. 

“Slow down there, tiger, what did that computer do to you? Jeez.” Santos finished her sutures and held it up for inspection. Samira pointed to a spot where the suture was pulled too tight, causing the silicone “skin” to bunch. 

“You need a little bit less tension. But overall, excellent work.”

“Fuck, you’re right.” Santos cut the sutures and started over. “You know who also needs a little less tension?”

Samira hummed non-committally. It was best not to engage with Santos’ questions because they inevitably led to misery and embarrassment for Samira. Her nape prickled with awareness and she focused on putting in the right diagnosis - pneumonia, RML - before she gave in and looked up. 

He was there, across the department, talking to Robby. Handover, of course. He caught her eye for just a moment and there was just the slightest change in the shape of his mouth, like he was holding back a smile. 

She looked back down to her notes. 

“You,” said Santos. “You need less tension, Samira.”

“I’m a very calm person.”

“You know who could help you become less tense?” Santos plowed on, ignoring Samira’s answer. 

“I’m not listening to you anymore.” She signed up for another patient and pushed away from the desk.

“Probably the same person who got you your tea last week.” Santos called out as Samira walked away. 

… 

True to his word, Jack showed up on Saturday. Samira, true to her people pleasing dogooder self, had written up a list for him. She’d written almost everything she needed done on the little scrap of paper. He looked it over silently, and she felt oddly nervous. Maybe he’d realized it was incomplete. Maybe she’d asked for too much. Maybe he thought it was mildly pathetic that she hadn’t fixed up her home in the time she’d lived there.

Finally, he raised his gaze to meet hers. “This is it?”

“Yes?”

Jack tried not to sound too disappointed that her wishlist wasn’t longer. He’d wanted an excuse to spend as much time with her as he reasonably could. He resolved to keep an eye out for extra tasks as they worked through the house. 

“Alright, let’s knock it out.”

There was something about seeing Dr. Jack Abbott in her home, carrying a toolbox around that did something to Samira. 

It was just so masculine. He already exuded it, his muscled frame, the way he spoke in a way that instantly commanded respect. The worn jeans and grey t-shirt that stretched across his chest weren’t helping either. She was setting back feminism, she thought resolutely, and averted her eyes from his arms. 

They started with the screen door, Samira holding it in place as he tightened bolts and applied WD40. He changed out the light bulbs she couldn’t reach as Samira steadied the ladder beneath him. Patched up a bit of the wall that she’d accidentally smashed a hammer through when trying to hang up a photo of her parents. 

“You look like your dad,” he’d remarked mildly and it had warmed her chest. 

She’d insisted on cleaning out the eaves trough herself. She just wanted him to hold the ladder steady. 

Samira wasn’t in her scrubs and Jack Abbott didn’t know if he could handle it. She was wearing a simple t-shirt, the logo faded from being washed too many times and jean shorts that made his brain short circuit. He was not looking at her legs. He was a gentleman. 

He peered up as she picked through the debris, disgust evident on her face, but she was stubborn and had insisted that she could do this atleast and Jack would do anything she wanted if he was being honest. 

She felt his gaze on her and peered down. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged, non chalant. “The view is nice,” he said as he squinted up at her, biting back a smile. 

“What?” She looked up to the sky, cloudy and somewhat overcast. There was no view to speak of. 

His hand wrapped around her ankle, steady and grounding. He brushed his thumb against the inside of her leg, right at her pulse point. 

“Nothing.” He was full out grinning and Samira felt distinctly on the backfoot. It didn’t help that he was touching her the way he was. It was innocent, he was keeping her steady - except that she could barely concentrate with his hands on her like this. It was too distracting, the steady thrum of electricity he was stoking under her skin. Heat spread up her leg as she tried to focus on the task at hand. Eaves trough. Gross, waterlogged leaves and debris. Forget his touch. 

It was just that he seemed so confident. Like he knew how she’d respond, knew exactly what to do to drive her half insane with want. 

What she wanted to do was completely inappropriate. 

She was working through her list of inappropriate wants when it happened. She was methodical to the point of mechanical as she pulled away dead leaves, so she didn’t realize at first what it was. It was only when it jumped - a frog - that she shrieked. Then three things happened in quick succession. She reared back and away, her foot slipped from the ladder and she fell. 

Half a second of flight, her chest dropping out and then Jack was there, catching her. Strong arms caged her against his chest and her heart was racing. 

A moment passed as they both breathed heavily. 

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice rough. 

“There was a frog,” she said simply. It was explanation enough. Jack made no move to put her down, and Samira had absolutely no problem with it. She was half on fire, warmth and electricity spreading through her as Jack held her tighter against his chest for a moment before he set her down gently. 

He kept a hand on her shoulder, grounding her. “No more ladders for you, Dr. Mohan.” He started up the steps and she took his place at the base, steadying the ladder. He looked down at her, mildly reproachful. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

…

They found themselves at her sink with Jack on his back looking at her pipes from below. Samira was tasked with handing him whatever tool he needed - which at first seemed like a simple task. However, she’d neglected to take into account that this position afforded her an unrestricted view of Jack at work, and his biceps and triceps which were undeniably defined and ridiculous. 

His shirt tended to ride up as he reached above him and Samira was absolutely not mesmerized by the thin strip of his abdomen that showed. 

She wasn’t.

She wasn’t ogling Jack Abbott while he helped her make her home a bit more liveable. That would be rude. 

She was absolutely not thinking about his abdominal muscles when he asked for the next tool. Or when he called her name. 

Jack’s chest swelled with something unnameable when he saw Samira’s unfocused eyes staring at him. His nape heated. 

Maybe she saw something in him too.

He cleared his throat and she jumped, her gaze sliding to his guiltily. 

“Distracted?” he asked, a smile in his eyes.

Her skin heated with embarrassment. She reached out and gently tugged his shirt back into place. “A little,” she admitted. She handed him the wrench and he went back to work, a little spark of heat working its way through his body. 

This was their last task of the day and it was only 5pm. She should have made her list longer. She wanted him to stay longer. 

She took a breath. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

He propped himself up on his elbows and levelled his gaze on her. That same one from the Pitt, challenging and supportive all at once. “I’d like that a lot, Dr. Mohan.”

…

Samira was actually quite talented in the kitchen. She never really cooked for herself though, she was too tired after shifts, but this was a golden weekend, and she’d actually slept the night before. And she had company. So, when Jack Abbott was her company…she pulled out all the stops. 

They ended up on her back porch swing and Samira served them both her creation. Zucchini pasta topped with caramelized peaches and burrata. She watched as he took a bite, feeling oddly nervous. It felt too vulnerable. 

“Fuck.” he groaned, letting his head drop back. 

For one insane moment, Samira wanted to kiss up the column of his throat. 

Who needed to be that muscled anyways? He was an emergency room doctor, not a weight lifter. 

“It’s okay?” she laughed. She’d forgotten how nice it was to have her cooking appreciated. 

“Fuck.” he said again, his head still back, his throat still there and Samira sat on her hands. 

She laughed lightly. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

He forced his head up to meet her eyes. “You’re incredible.” He tilted his head as he regarded her. “Multi-talented.” He reached out and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. 

Samira glowed. 

…

She plucked up the courage to ask him her last request when they finished dinner. 

“I was hoping you might help me with one last task.”

“Always,” he said it simply and Samira didn’t know how to react. 

So she stood up stiffly, and he followed her to the bedroom. Her bed was against the connecting wall of the semi detached home. A window at the opposite end. 

“Can you help me move my bed over there?” She pointed to the wall with the window. He squinted at it, his brow furrowed as he walked over and pressed his hand to the glass. 

“This window isn’t insulated at all. You’ll be cold.”

“I don’t mind.” She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. 

He regarded her cooly. “Tell me why you really want to move your bed.”

She bit her lip, her gaze darting from him to the bed. 

“You can’t laugh.” She said seriously. 

He nodded solemnly. Jack really was falling for her. He couldn’t help himself. 

“So, about a month ago, I was just about to fall asleep and then I heard this commotion. It was coming from my neighbour’s side.” She wrapped her arms tightly around her torso. “Lots of yelling and thumping on the wall. Mostly a lady yelling but then I thought I heard a man yelling. I thought it was a domestic situation. So I went over there.”

She looked up at him, suddenly shy for a moment. “I thought about calling you before I went over, actually.”

“Yeah?” He tried to tamp down the heat that spread through his chest. “Why didn’t you?”

She shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “I didn’t think--I thought maybe…,” She took a deep breath and bit the inside of her cheek. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

Oh. She was going to break his heart. Jack realized it then. That she really didn’t know how he felt about her. 

He was going to have to remedy that. 

“So what happened?”

“It turned out not to be a domestic situation at all.” Her cheeks heated and she found it hard to meet his steady gaze. “It was…um--”. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “They were just having sex rather loudly.” She rattled off quickly. 

“Oh.” Jack was fighting back a grin. 

She started to laugh. She covered her face with her hands, peeked through her fingers at him. “They were--”

“Passionate?”

“Very!”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, well, they were!”

“So you interrupted them mid-coitus?”

“I was worried.” Samira was laughing too much she thought to herself, just on the tip of out of control. “No wonder they hate me, god.”

“I don’t get what this has to do with moving your bed, though.”

That sobered her up. “They’re getting back at me. It’s retribution. Every night, 10 o’clock on the freaking dot, they have the loudest, most obnoxious sex ever. It’s like they’re purposefully beating the wall between us and I can’t sleep, and I need to sleep.” 

“Let me go talk to them.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, yes I do.” He was already striding out her front door and rapping on her neighbour’s door. She peeked out from her window.  There was a small divider between the homes, so she couldn’t see him talking to them, but she could hear him. Low voices, serious at first, then they were both laughing, and a few seconds later he was striding around the barrier and back into her home. 

“Sorted.” 

“I can’t believe you did that.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he winked before he gathered his toolbox. He leaned against her doorframe, taking her in. The soft evening light backlit him and Samira wished he would stay just a little bit longer. Jack lingered longer than he knew was appropriate. He didn’t want the day to end.

“I’ll see you at work?” Samira wasn’t sure why she sounded so unsure and hopeful at the same time. Probably because she was going insane.

“Or before then,” Jack said kindly. “If you want.”

“I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

Somehow, she’d ended up on top of the patient in the emergency bay, performing CPR as they wheeled the gurney into the resuscitation bay. It was jarring and left her more than a little nauseous, and Samira really wished she had eaten breakfast that morning. 

Finally, the stretcher was parked and then there was a flurry of activity around her as the nurses descended on the patient and Jesse took over compressions. She needed to get off, to get out of the way, but suddenly the floor seemed too far away, and there were cords and IV lines crisscrossing the patient, nurses and doctors on either side of her and Samira wasn’t sure how to get down without pulling lines out or kicking someone in the face. 

She only had a moment to worry before a strong arm banded around her torso and lifted her off the gurney. She was weightless for a moment. A warm chest pressed against her back and she knew it was him. Jack deposited her on the floor gently, his hand at her elbow as he steadied her. “You okay?” he murmured, quiet in the chaos of the room. 

She nodded, but her hands were bloody and her scrubs were disgusting and the room was still spinning. Just a little bit. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” his voice was kind as he tugged her away. 

Robby glanced over and nodded. “Go, Mohan, you finished your shift hours ago. We got it here. Good job.”

She walked out of the department somewhat numbly. She could feel Jack at her back. She knew she should send him back, that she was being selfish for wanting him close to her. She knew it and kept her mouth shut anyway. 

She grabbed a pair of scrubs from the machine and slipped into the women’s change room as Jack leaned against the wall to wait for her. 

She paused, half in half out of the room. “You don’t..." She couldn’t even meet his eyes. “You don’t have to wait for me. They need you back there.”

“Dana will call if she needs me.” He jerked his chin to the change room. “Get cleaned up.”

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she re-emerged. It had taken longer than she’d expected to scrub the blood from her skin. Even longer to stop shaking as the adrenaline left her body. She half expected for him to have been called away, but he was still there, waiting for her. 

His gaze was soft and much too kind. Unyielding, as always. She stepped up to him, unsure of what to say. 

He spoke first. “I shouldn’t have done that. Back there,” his voice was gruff and low. 

She tilted her head in an unspoken question. 

“With the gurney, I shouldn’t have pulled you off like that. I should have asked, I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

Her heart was fluttering up, up and away. 

“Don’t be sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mind at all.” She took a breath and forced herself to meet his eyes and tried to be brave like he was. “I like it when you touch me.”

His gaze seemed to heat. Darken, his eyes dropping to her lips and back up. He shifted forward. “Yeah?” he murmured, and her skin seemed to catch fire. 

He reached out, his hand circling her wrist easily. He brushed his thumb over the inner surface, just against her pulse. Back and forth, slow and teasing, his eyes boring into hers so intently she was starting to melt.

“I could say the same thing for you, Dr. Mohan.” He murmured, his voice low and dark and rumbling. 

His head tilted closer as if he might kiss her, in a hospital hallway, with antiseptic scenting the air, chaos just a few rooms away. She couldn’t find it in herself to pull away. Her eyes fluttered to his mouth and up to his eyes. A question was there. 

Then his phone rang.

His jaw twitched for a moment and his eyes closed before he took a sharp inhale. “Yeah?” he barked into the phone. “Fuck, okay, I’ll be there.”

His thumb pressed more firmly against her wrist, searching out her pulse for a moment as he stared at her. The air was tight and heavy and she found it a bit hard to breathe when he looked at her in that way of his. 

“They need you,” she whispered and it broke the spell. 

He nodded sharply. 

“I’ll call you tonight,” he promised before turning and jogging back to the Pitt. 

He had been calling her every night since the Saturday of Home Improvements. She called him too. She looked forward to talking to him. It had quickly become the highlight of her day, hearing his steady voice through the phone. Hearing his laugh. Telling him her stories. Listening to his. 

It felt like the beginning of something more. 

…

It appeared that Samira was not the only person obsessing over her relationship to Dr. Jack Abbott. The Pitt was a gossip mill at the best of times, and the story of one Dr. Abbott, heroically, bodily lifting a resident with just one arm during a resuscitation, was just the type of fodder that kept the mill happy. 

Of course people asked Samira about it. Did he really lift her with one arm? Yes, but it was to help a coding patient. Did she feel his bicep? No, of course not. (Except yes, she had, and it was huge, and she thought about it too much). Did she know how much he could bench press? No, why would she? Did she think he was hot? He was a staff. (Yes, of course she did). Was he dating her? No. (She wished). 

And on it went. Most bemoaned that they wished they’d been in her position. They would have capitalized on it. 

When Jack pressed a tea into her hands, Santos had caught her eye and winked. 

A week later, Victoria had smiled and quickly whispered that she thought Samira should go for it with Abbott. “He’s like, totally obsessed with you. He stares at you all the time.”

Dana was like a cat with a bowl of milk. “What’s this I hear about one of my doctors throwing you around, Samira?” She grinned widely when Samira startled at the question. 

Perlah winked at her from behind Dana.  “I wouldn’t mind getting thrown around by Abbott.” She laughed before walking away. 

Samira turned to Dana. “It really wasn’t like that.”

Dana crossed her arms and pinned Samira with a classic Dana staredown. “Really?”

Samira shrugged helplessly. Looked around to make sure they were alone before she spoke. “Okay fine, maybe it’s true. But I don’t know. I think maybe, sometimes…but then I think it’s just all in my head.”

Dana laughed and clapped Samira’s shoulder as she walked towards the incoming trauma. “It’s definitely not all in your head, kid. Trust me.”

…

Jack was in the break room when Samira burst in, dragging her hands through her hair as she groaned.  She jumped when she saw him sitting in the corner, already onto his third coffee of the shift. 

“Hi.” he grinned widely at her. 

“Hi,” she said weakly, as she pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her hammering heart. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked mildly. 

Samira sighed, and crossed the room to sit beside him on the couch. It dipped beneath her weight, and Jack let himself shift closer. His arm brushed against hers. She didn’t move away. She just leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. Jack tried not to stare at her. He’d like to trace the column of her throat. Preferably with his tongue. 

“Robby’s been on my case about getting faster with the E-FAST. He thinks I’m too much of a perfectionist.” She sighed. “I just need to practice in a controlled setting.” She let her eyes shut as she sighed. “Sorry, I’m just complaining. Ignore me.”

“Practice on me.”

She barked a laugh. Then she turned to look at him and found his earnest gaze staring back. 

“Oh, I can’t practice on you."

“Why not?”

“Because.” 

Because she’d probably short circuit and combust and burst into flames if she practiced on him. He would see how flustered she got. Then, he’d know. He'd know how she felt and there'd be nowhere to hide.

“You can practice on me. Look, I have my kit right here. It’s perfect.”

He rooted through his pack easily, and pressed his POCUS kit into her hands. 

He was already up and walking to the door, casually flicking the lock into place. She stood, suddenly nervous. He was challenging her with this, she realized. 

While Samira was a perfectionist, she also had a competitive streak. 

He walked to the couch like he belonged there, his arm reaching behind and grabbing the scruff of his collar as he went. He pulled his shirt off in a fluid, easy movement that left Samira feeling warm everywhere. He folded the garment neatly, placed it on the table before he laid back on the couch, his arms behind his head.

Jack Abbott shirtless was not something she’d woken up that morning expecting to see. Everything about him lived up to expectations. His arms corded in muscle were on par with his pectorals and abdominals. He was a man built with thick muscle that Samira wanted to trace. 

“Go on,” he challenged. “I don't bite.”

“Jack,” she implored. Give me a way out, she thought. Don’t figure me out. 

“Come on Samira. Landmark me.”

She bit her lip, shy and nervous all at once. 

She was turning slightly insane, she thought, her throat dry as her mind short circuited. Her tongue was heavy in her mouth as she tried to move forward and found she couldn’t. 

“Landmarks, Samira.” he said, his lips twitching as if fighting off a grin. 

It seemed he knew exactly what he did to her. 

Jack couldn’t help himself. She was adorable. She was affected. By him. He had An Effect™ on her, and damn if it didn’t light him up inside. He forced himself to still, not to preen and grin under her slightly unfocused eyes, her mouth a little open. He would like to kiss her bottom lip, he thought to himself. 

She was close enough that he reached out and grabbed her hand, hauled her closer to him. She perched on the couch beside him as he placed her hand directly below his xiphoid. 

She took a breath, tried to calm herself. Let herself press her fingers into his zyphoid, felt the smallest give in the bone. Pressed gently below it. Traced her hand to his left flank and pressed there. He nodded, his eyes trained on her and nothing else. Samira pressed against his right flank. He nodded again, curt and intense. The flanks were where retroperitoneal hemorrhages could be missed. She touched his pectorals softly, where she would expect to find lung sliding. Let her hand drift down, her neck heating as she palpated just above the suprapubic area, where she would look for peritoneal fluid. 

“Okay,” he said, his throat dry and voice raw. “Now with the probe.”

The room was too warm. She thought distantly that she should remember to breathe as she squirted gel onto the probe. 

“It’s gonna be cold,” she muttered, her eyes flicking to his and away. A small smile curved against her lips when he still jumped at the cool gel as she settled the probe against him. She went through the motions again, this time with the probe in her hand. 

He readjusted her grip or her angle every so often, each time she startled at how warm his fingers were against her. How sure his touch was. He asked her questions softly, not quizzing, but showing her that she knew more than she gave herself credit for. They went through it all. Four chamber view of the heart. Morrison’s pouch, the area between the liver and kidney where blood could hide. Lung sliding to rule out pneumothorax. She did a cross sectional view of his heart just for fun, because it was fascinating to see the asymmetry between the thick left ventricle and right and Jack had smiled right along with her. 

He made her go through it again and again until it became muscle memory. “Go again,” he’d murmur and then delight when her hand would brush against him. He liked that she let him touch her. He liked the steady pressure of her thigh against his as she perched on the couch beside him. He might have considered pulling her down on top of him. Multiple times. But Jack Abbott was a gentleman and he believed in taking things slow. Besides, Jack thought Samira was just a tad bit skittish. He wasn’t going to scare her off.

She finally pulled out one of the abrasive towels from the hospital trolley that sat in the corner and wiped away the goop from his torso. She was careful to keep her eyes only on the task at hand. She couldn’t look up at his face. She’d give herself away. Besides, she didn’t mind one last chance to trace the perfection that was his body. 

“Thanks,” she said softly, her eyes on her knees. “For doing that for me. It was helpful. I think I’ll be faster now, so… thank you.” She fiddled with her hands. “You didn’t have to, but I really appreciate it.”

Jack pushed himself up to a sitting position. He was still shirtless, a fact that Samira was hyperaware of. He pressed a singular finger to her chin and turned her face to his. He was closer than she expected and her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t escape the steady way his eyes searched hers. Samira smelled so nice, Jack thought to himself. So sweet. Smart, too smart for him, but Jack was a selfish man when it came to her.

“I’m always happy to help you, Samira.” He chuffed her under the chin and winked, there and gone so fast she thought she imagined it. “Besides, I meant what I said before. I like it when you touch me.”

Chapter Text

Living a few streets over from Jack had its benefits. She could invite him over whenever she liked and he’d be there in a few minutes. When he passed by her house on his daily runs he’d stop by to say hello and Samira tried not to think about how handsome he was. 

Of course, there were also cons. Specifically in that they shared the same power grid. 

She knew his shift had ended about an hour ago, so he’d probably only just reached home. His call came like clockwork. 

“Is your power out?”

“Yes,” she grumped. She was already in her frigid bed, wearing three of her thickest sweaters, two sweatpants, three socks and a pair of mittens. She was still shivering. Her shift had ended hours ago, and it hadn’t been the best. Coming home to a cold bed had been the cherry on top. 

“You don’t have a backup generator, do you?”

“From my cheapskate landlord who wouldn’t even fix the door hinge? No, I don’t.” She laughed a little. It was nice that he cared enough to call. Samira could admit to herself that she liked talking to Jack. She really liked talking to him. Maybe even would say it was the bright spot of her day. 

“I’ll come pick you up, you can stay at my place.”

Samira was about to argue that his place would be just as cold as hers, but he’d already hung up.

True to his word, he was at her place, knocking at her door within a  few minutes. Samira reflected on the dates she had been on where knocking on the door was too much work and the men had opted to text her from their cars. 

Jack was different. 

She pulled open the door and couldn’t stop the smile that spread when she saw him. She wasn’t sure why she did it, wasn’t sure how her brain short circuited the way it did, but she was moving and in his arms before she could overthink it. 

“You’re freezing,” he murmured into her hair that smelled fresh and clean and a little bit like oranges. 

“And you’re warm,” she mumbled into his chest. Solid muscle, somehow still the most comfortable place she’d been. 

“Let’s go home.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, there and gone, and Samira wondered if maybe she would float up into the stars. All too soon they were in his truck, and he kept his hand on her leg as they drove. It wasn’t sexual, more like… he wanted her to know he was there. A reassurance. A steady weight that kept her grounded. 

His house was pretty, she thought, somewhat surprised. She’d expected a house like him, no frills, no nonsense. It was homey, with a pretty fence, an inviting porch with fairy lights wrapped around the pillars. He saw her looking at them and scratched at his stubble. “My sister thought it would look nice. They’re solar powered, and I don’t usually keep them on…but you were coming over.”

“So you turned them on?”

“Do you like them?”

She smiled her first smile of the day and it was just for him and Jack bit back his own as he opened the door for her. The inside was more…Jack. Piles of medical journals on the coffee table. Hardwood floors. A clean, sturdy looking couch against the wall. A large lazy boy in front of a fireplace. Tasteful artwork, forests and boats predominately. A guitar in the corner, his go-bag beside it. 

He pulled her to the lazy boy and she dropped into it without instruction. He fiddled with it for a second before the leg rest popped out, startling her and she laughed as she let her legs stretch out. 

He knelt before the fireplace in front of her, arranging logs and within minutes, he’d stoked a fire to life. He rose, biting back a self indulgent smile and touched her shoulder as he passed her towards the kitchen. She basked in the warmth of his touch. 

It seemed her words from the week before had struck home, she thought to herself. He touched her at every chance, and it never failed to make Samira light up inside. 

He returned with two steaming bowls. “I picked up some soup on the way home.” He pressed a bowl into her hands. “Scooch.”

She shifted over and he sank into the seat beside her, and she temporarily forgot how to breathe. Their sides were flush against each other. Samira thought she might combust. 

“You just happened to buy two portions?”

“I was feeling hopeful.”

She let that wash over her and felt herself soften back against the couch. Jack was mesmerized. She was here, in his home, looking like she belonged there, sitting beside him. He was in awe of her half the time. That a woman like her could exist. Smart, and headstrong. Layer after layer, sometimes she was shy, other times she was brave beyond measure. She pushed him, in her own little ways, challenged him with just a look. Caring despite the pressure she was under. 

They ate their soups in a comfortable silence, punctuated by the crackle of the fireplace, and soft questions here and there. 

Samira broke the silence well after Jack had stacked their bowls and placed them into the sink. He’d settled back beside her, an arm easily slung over her shoulders. She tried not to hyperventilate. 

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

With her head on his shoulder the way it was, Jack would have answered anything. Deepest, darkest secrets, hopes, wants, fears. All of it. 

Best not to overwhelm her. He hummed in assent. 

“Do you normally keep your prosthesis on at home?”

He hadn’t been expecting that. 

He cleared his throat of cobwebs. “Normally, I would have taken it off by now.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“I didn’t want to scare you away.” He said it softly, a quiet admission that hung in the air between them. 

She shifted, carefully settled her hand against his chest, above his heart. Felt it beat against her palm as she exhaled. 

A moment passed, then two as she chose her words. Carefully. She didn’t want to scare him off either. 

“Jack?” It didn’t escape her that she almost never used his first name. “I’m not going anywhere.”

…

She didn’t mean to fall asleep. She really didn’t. It was just that she was so tired, and the fire was so warm, and Jack was even warmer. And there was something about him, his steady presence beside her, how comforting and safe it felt when his arm settled over her shoulders, it was like transdermal melatonin. So Samira fell asleep against Jack. 

Jack had absolutely not been secretly wanting this to happen. He didn’t delight in her steady breaths against him, wafting against his chest, lighting him up inside. He didn’t die a silent death when her hand fell against his abdomen. He liked how she felt pressed against him. Liked how soft she felt. Liked how she looked at him and saw him and asked him questions and didn’t skirt around the edges. He liked her. 

So, Jack fell asleep too. 

When Samira woke in the middle of the night, she wished she could have been surprised. But she knew. She’d known for a long time how she felt about Jack Abbott, and his effect on her. So was it really such a shock to find herself in his lap? She’d somehow ended up with her face squished into the crook of his neck, and she was lost in the spice of his cologne. Her legs draped over the arm of the chair and dangled in the air. His arms caged around her, warm and reassuring, a hand at her hip, his thumb just under the hem of her shirt. Her hand was pressed against his chest, and she revelled in it for a moment. Just a moment to enjoy the peace, how utterly at home she felt with him, before she began to overthink it. 

He hadn’t asked for this. He’d probably be shocked if he woke and found her on him the way she was. She knew that maybe…maybe he saw something he liked in her. But this? This was too much, too fast, and it would scare him away and Samira didn’t want that to happen. 

So she moved. Tried to shift out of his lap, tried to get back to their original arrangement, side-by-side, and he groaned. 

“Where are you going?” he grumbled against her hair, his arms tightening around her. 

Samira shut her eyes. She was going to combust. His hand was pressing insistently against her hip in a way that made her grow too warm and not warm enough. His thumb stroked against the sensitive skin under her shirt. She couldn’t breathe. 

“I thought you might not…” she trailed off uncertainly. Words seemed to cease permanence when Jack touched her. 

“I’d prefer you stay where you are.”

“You’re sure?” Her voice was soft and uncertain.

“I'm sure, Samira.”