Work Text:
Samira doesn't know why she does it. She just does. It wasn't like she was in any trouble. She wasn't. In fact, this was the safest she'd ever felt. She was happy, settled on her bed, reading a printed out medical article that Jack had sent her the day before, snuggled into pillows and blankets and all sorts of fluffy ephemera she'd collected over the years. Lonely, maybe, but still happy.
It was the lonely part that bothered her. She'd always been lonely. Even at work, she was lonely, surrounded by doctors and people who didn't understand her. Even the night shift struggled to “get” her. She didn't mind, per se. But on nights like this, yeah, she did.
She set aside the journal, snuggled deeper into her bed, and fiddled with her phone. She shouldn't do this. Jack was an attending; her boss for the nights she worked. Some of her colleagues might have something to say about it.
But no one said she needed to tell them.
Samira sighed, still fiddling.
Since PittFest, they'd grown closer. A little bit, not a lot. He messaged her good morning messages when he was just winding down his shift and she was getting ready to come in. They'd linger during hand off, fingers brushing as they passed IPads to each other. She'd message him good night as she was going to sleep and he was about two hours or so into his shift. It wasn't much. Not really, but she didn't move fast and it seemed neither did he.
This would be a tremendous, gigantic step forward and she wasn't sure she was ready for that. Not to mention he was currently at work, muddling through the mire and the horrors their job presented them. He couldn't just drop everything and leave.
Another sigh. Then, she pivoted.
She dialed a number she knew better than Jack’s. She waited, and waited. The dial tone buzzed in her ear. Then the voicemail kicked in. She hated leaving voicemails. But she did anyway. It was simple, quick. Just a brief “hello” and “how are you” before she said, “What are you doing tonight?”
She left it at that, hanging up and going back to reading her journal.
What she didn't expect was a knock at her door some ten minutes later. She frowned. Surely it wasn't…
She kicked off her blankets and padded to the front door. She peered through the peephole, a smile spreading across her lips, then she opened the door, leaning against the doorframe and peering up at the man who had thankfully interrupted her evening.
Even in the dim light of the hallway he was handsome. Maybe especially so tonight. His dark eyes were covered with dark rimmed glasses. His hair slightly askew, no doubt from the shift they both had endured some hours previous. His wrinkles looked a little deeper, his body just a little bit folded in on itself. She wanted to smooth away the lines between his eyes and relax the tightness in his shoulders.
It seemed like the phone call had been a good idea.
“You came,” she said in almost disbelief, despite the fact she was still smiling.
Michael shrugged, a bit of a self-deprecating expression on his face, but his eyes sparkled with a devilish hint of mischief.
“You called,” he countered, a slight smirk tugging his lips upward.
Her fingers curled into the black t-shirt that clung to his perfectly formed body, tugging him through the threshold into her apartment and tugging him closer so she could press her mouth against his.