Work Text:
Samira fiddled with the straw in her gin and tonic as she stared across the bar. The nerves turned over her stomach in a way that was not entirely unpleasant.
“Hello. Earth to Sam,” Trinity said, waving her hand in front of Samira’s face, bringing her back to focus on the conversation they had been having. Trinity was explaining the crike Robby had allowed her to do on a MVA patient that came in at the tail end of shift.
“No. That’s great, Trinity,” Samira replied, looking cowed. Trinity followed her eyes behind her until they landed on the man who had just sat down at the bar, before smirking.
“Ah. I should have guessed. Your favorite old-timer. I get it. He’s good-looking for an older gentleman.”
Samira felt her face warm. She studied Jack Abbot sitting atop a bar stool, chatting with the bartender, silver curls a little mussed, black t-shirt stretching a little around his arms to accommodate his biceps. Good-looking didn’t seem an adequate description.
“He is not,” Samira mumbled, very pointedly not looking over Trinity’s shoulder.
Trinity scoffed. “He’s not what? Good-looking? Bullshit. I’m gay, and even I can tell that he can get it.”
“Old,” Samira, corrected. “He’s not that old.”
“So….” Trinity drawled, understanding reaching her eyes. “We’re still hung up on this. Look. He is older, but you’re like thirty. It’s not exactly like he’s robbing the cradle. He’s not that kind of guy.”
And Samira knew that coming from Trinity, that assessment carried weight. Knew how sensitive the intern always was when it came to older men preying on young women. She had a hard-earned instinct for spotting things like that and was never hesitant to intervene when she thought it was warranted. If she was sitting here asserting that there was nothing wrong with the fifteen years between her and Abbot, maybe she had a point.
“Look. At least go over there and say ‘Hi.’ It’s too much to stand here and wallow in all your repressed longing,” Trinity groaned.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Samira replied, taking a sip of her G&T for confidence, before setting the glass on the table between them and turning to walk toward Abbot. “But it would be rude to pretend I didn’t see him.”
Trinity rolled her eyes. “Of course. For the sake of manners, then.”
Samira would be lying if she said she hadn’t put a little more effort into her outfit than was necessary for this bar in the hopes of seeing Jack. This was the PTMC staff’s bar of choice. It wasn’t the first time she had run into him here. And she knew she looked good. Her curls were set with curl cream, sleeker and more defined than they would have been had she been coming off a shift. Her dress was a simple, black number, nothing scandalous, but it hit a little higher on her thighs than would be considered modest. She’d paired it with her favorite knee-high boots, not a high heel but enough to make her legs look long and her ass look good. Objectively, she knew she looked nice.
As she sidled up to the bar next to Abbot, he confirmed this for her, taking her in and looking briefly a little bug-eyed before composing his face into a wry smile.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Samira offered, a little more flirt in her voice than she would normally allow, but the sip of her drink had given her a bit of confidence.
Abbot smiled. “Always a pleasure, Mohan,” he replied, humor in his voice. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
“Just grabbing drinks with Santos on a night off. I think she’s hoping Garcia will show up.”
“Ah. Young love,” said Abbot, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Did you get a chance to read that JEM article I sent you?”
“Sociodemographic Variables Associated with Self-Reported Emergency Department Utilization,” Samira recited, before looking a tad embarrassed, feeling like an overachieving school girl. She gathered herself. “I did. It was great.” And it was. His ability to cherry-pick articles to her tastes was something that made her heart stutter. She liked to think that he was combing through literature with her in mind. It seemed a bit far-fetched, but a little fantasizing never hurt a girl. “I was planning on sending you my notes after my second read-through.”
“It’s not a homework assignment, you know. I can’t give you an A in exchanging EM nerd shit with a friend” he teased, but Samira hoped he enjoyed her feedback as much as she enjoyed the articles themselves.
A young woman interrupted them, bumping shoulders with Abbot in a familiar way, seating herself on the other side of him.
“Jack. Hi. Sorry I’m late. Class ran long.”
She was young, about Samira’s age, and heartbreakingly pretty. Her auburn curls were pulled back in a claw clip, with tendrils spilling out around her face, brown eyes bright as she looked at the man beside her with fondness.
Samira felt a catch in her throat, before she began apologizing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were meeting someone.”
“No need to apologize,” Jack replied, at ease. “This is Katie. Katie, this is Samira Mohan, an R-3 at the Pitt.” And Samira felt a bit like the wind had been knocked out of her. Right. She was just an R-3 at the hospital where he was an attending. Nothing beyond that.
“Oh. You’re Samira!” replied Katie.
“That’s me.” Samira said, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. If Samira had been thinking clearly, it would have registered that not only did this mean that Abbot had spoken about her, but he had spoken about her using her first name, something he never did to her face. But Samira was so overcome with discomfort, and fine, jealousy, at this beautiful, young woman’s presence, the thought didn’t cross her mind.
“Katie’s doing her Ph.D. in Neuroscience at UPitt,” Jack explained, unable to conceal the pride in his voice. “She’s one of the few people I know as smart as you are, Mohan.” Jack practically beamed, and Katie, for her part, looked a little embarrassed.
So, she was almost exactly Samira’s age, she thought, unkindly. Young and pretty and smart. It appeared that Abbot had a type. The thought made Samira a little ill.
She managed a weak smile. “Well. I’ll leave you two to it. I didn’t mean to interrupt. It was nice to meet you, Katie. Dr. Abbot.” She turned on her heels quickly, hoping the heat of her face wasn’t visible.
Samira wanted out of there as quickly as possible. Santos, it seemed, had found Garcia, who had shown up after all. They were chatting at the table and Samira caught Trinity’s eyes before gesturing with her head towards the door. Trinity raised a brow as if to ask if she should follow, but Samira just shook her head and ducked out the door. She needed to be alone.
As Samira walked home, cold Pittsburg air biting at her exposed legs, she let herself feel everything at once. There was jealousy. Samira rarely found herself interested enough in anyone for jealousy to be a problem, but the green-eyed monster was certainly rearing its ugly head as Samira remembered how pretty the girl had been. How comfortable she seemed being close to Abbot. How proud Abbot had been to talk about her educational pursuits and brag about her intelligence. Samira couldn’t help but compare herself to the girl.
But underneath the jealousy, embarrassment bubbled up. Of course. Abbot wasn’t just interested in her. The flirting and the eye-contact and the articles handpicked to pique her interest weren’t because she was special. The opposite in fact. It was because Abbot had a type, it seemed. Beautiful, smart, and young .
And wasn’t that humiliating. Samira clearly wasn’t as smart as Abbot insisted. She was just like any young girl, besotted by an older man, convinced that she was special or old for her age or wise beyond her years or any of the other things creeps said to young women to convince them that what they were doing was above board. She was a cliché. And so, the humiliation gave way to anger.
She was angry at herself for thinking she was special, and she was angry at Abott for making her think it. She was angry that the guy she thought she knew, funny and kind and principled and a little damaged, was just another creep. Angry at herself that she hadn’t seen it. Angry at her naivety. Maybe she was even a little bit angry with Santos for not picking up on it, her shrewd intuition when it came to men had somehow missed this. It had given Samira a false sense of security, and then Samira was angry at herself all over again.
As she let herself into her apartment, Samira finally let herself feel sad. So much for a little fantasizing never hurting anyone. She was sad that the crush she had been quietly nursing for a good man was wasted. But she was also sad that some part of her, the jealous part, the naïve part, still wanted Abbot. Still wanted the man who praised her when she took risks in the ED that paid off. Still wanted the man who knew the exact case report that would enthrall her. The one who drank black coffee but would bring her an iced matcha when she grabbed the odd night shift. All of those things she couldn’t let go of. But she hoped that time would ease their grip on her. She resigned to give herself time to let go as she drifted to sleep.
---
Time, it would seem, was not in her favor. The next day, Samira walked to work, still aiming to clear her head, pulling her hoodie around her to fight the light chill that had begun to set in over a Pittsburg fall. As she clocked in for her shift, claiming a computer at the hub, she noticed that there had been a schedule change in attendings. Robby, damn him, had chosen today to be the first shift he had called in sick since the start of her residency.
Of course. She rolled her eyes but looked up at the board, hoping that if she could throw herself into work, she wouldn’t have the time or energy to think about the fact that the on-call attending was none other than Dr. Jack Abbot. And apparently thinking his name was enough to summon him, because when she glanced down at her workspace, Abbot had placed an iced matcha in a to-go cup in front of her.
“Anything looking exciting for us this morning, Mohan?” Abbot asked gleefully, making eye contact with Samira, a twinkle of amusement in his eye.
Samira very pointedly did not pick up the cup. Turning and walking toward south 15, picking a case at random from the board. “Lethargic four-year-old, suspected accidental cannabis ingestion. Nothing I can’t handle on my own,” she replied, curtly, brushing past Abbot.
The case was, in fact, nothing she couldn’t handle on her own. Tox screen confirmed her suspicions, which were further confirmed when an older brother admitted to hiding gummies in his bedroom, where his little brother could have gotten into them. She contacted Kiara and set up the boy to be observed until it had all cleared his system.
She was choosing another case from the board when Trinity strolled up, a pleased smile on her face. “So, Garcia did show up last night while you were chatting with the old man. Conversations were had. Then relocations were made to her place. Overall, last night was a win. Thanks for coming out with me.”
“Glad it worked out for one of us,” Samira replied glumly.
“What do you mean? From what I saw, you guys were vibing.”
“Vibing. Sure. Until the pretty young Ph.D. student showed up for their date,” Samira retorted.
Santos’s eyes doubled in size at that. “Oh. That’s–Okay. How young are we talking? And you’re sure it was a date?”
“Not illegal young. Late twenties. And it certainly seemed like a date. She was plenty comfortable with him, and he was singing her praises.”
“Well. That’s a bummer. I really thought there was something there between you two. He’s always finding you in a room and just sort of–I don’t know. Gazing longingly. And he really doesn’t seem like the type to have a roster of young women. Normally that’s the kind of thing I pick up on.” Trinity seemed to search Samira’s face.
“It’s fine. It was a crush. It passed. I’m over it. Old men will be old men,” Samira shrugged.
“Oh. So now he’s an old man?”
“Who’s an old man?” interjected Abbot, suddenly at their side. Samira felt a jab of irritation at herself for noticing how good he looked. The last vestiges of the auburn in his grey curls bringing out flecks of green in his hazel eyes. It was fine. He had always been hot. Objectively.
“The guy in 6 north. Complaining of foot pain. Standard issue gout. Old man stuff,” she muttered, hoping that was all he had heard of their conversation. She made her way to the patient's room brusquely, to avoid interacting with him more than necessary.
And that’s how she carried on for the rest of shift. Abbot tried to make small talk with her again, but after the third time she had turned tail and run from him, he seemed to take the hint. He was generally a more hands-off supervisor than Robby anyway, and he let her attend to patients without much interference. She made it through her shift, and if she ever caught her focus drifting to a certain attending, she forced herself to think of Katie and the possibility of other smart, beautiful women her age. She found that the anger that surfaced was a great motivator.
When it came time for Samira to clock out and head home, she stood at the exit, regretting her walk into work this morning. The temperature had dropped another ten degrees. She pulled her too-thin hoodie around herself and debated calling an uber or just braving the chill for the fifteen-minute walk home.
And then he was at her side again.
“You’re not walking home in that, Mohan. Let me give you a ride,” proffered Abbot. Samira prickled at that, imagining Abbot coming to her rescue turning her stomach. As though she were someone that needed the help, needed saving.
“No, thank you,” she replied, prickly. “I can uber.”
“I know what they pay residents, Mohan. And it’s on my way anyway. You know that.”
Samira did know that. It wouldn’t be the first time Abbot had driven her home. After a rare shift together, on days like this, when the weather was a bit too cold to justify the walk, he’d drive her home. Grill her on the cases she had seen that day, talk about articles he had sent her in her time off, just listen to his Dad Rock on the speakers of his old jeep in companionate silence. It was always so comfortable. Samira had a feeling this particular car ride would be anything but.
“I’m really fine,” was all she could manage.
“Samira, please,” Jack pleaded. The use of her first time was enough to snap her attention to his face. He looked weary, a tiredness set over his handsome features, but there was something else there. If she didn’t know better, Samira might have called it guilt. Taken aback, she found herself considering it. It really was cold, and a small, mean part of her thought that it may even give her the opportunity to give him a piece of her mind.
“Fine,” she acquiesced quietly, walking out the exit to where she knew he always parked, not bothering to wait for him.
She climbed in and buckled her seatbelt. He did the same, fiddling with the stereo until it landed on a Wilco song, and then he pulled out of the parking lot. Samira had been right. This ride was not the silence they usually shared. The air between them was charged, but not with the usual flirtatious energy that accompanied their alone time. Instead, the unease between them was palpable, heavy and thick, with Jack making no attempt at small talk and Samira unwilling to break the silence first.
Jack pulled in front of Samira’s apartment and put the car in park before turning to Samira, the look on his face nervous and more than a little sad. She hadn’t expected that. “I want to apologize,” he began. “I’ve behaved inappropriately.”
Samira could help the scoff that left her mouth, her anger returning. “Inappropriate. You all of a sudden care about what’s appropriate?”
Abbot, at least, had it in him to look ashamed. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable. I guess–I guess I misread things.”
This confused Samira. “Uncomfortable is a weird way to put it but sure. Uncomfortable being one of the many, I guess.” But something about what he said bothered her. What had he misread? It wasn’t like she hadn’t been openly flirting with him back.
“I really am sor–Wait, one of the many? What is that supposed to mean?” He looked genuinely perplexed and for some reason, this pissed Samira off further.
“One of the many younger women you’re interested in. I didn’t realize I was just your type,” Samira quipped unkindly.
“Samira,” Abbot began, dumbfounded, “When have you ever seen me indicate that I was interested in another woman, much less a younger woman?”
“Last night. The Ph.D. student, Katie?” Samira replied, raising her eyebrows as though it were obvious. “That’s your type, right. Smart, beautiful, successful but young?”
“Katie?” Jack asked, before rubbing his hand across his face, something like understanding touching his eyes. “Katie is my niece.”
His niece. Samira felt the earth stop spinning for a moment. He hadn’t been the one to misread things. She had. So much for being brilliant. She was so stupid. She knew Abbot had older sisters. She knew he had nieces and nephews. Not for the first time in twenty four hours, Samira felt like an idiot.
“Niece? She’s your niece? Oh god. I’m such a moron,” she moaned, a new embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
“She’s my oldest sister’s kid,” Abbot clarified. “I was getting a drink with her because, yes, she’s about your age and beautiful and too smart for her own good. A lot like you. I needed advice. Samira, God. I’m so old. Too old for you. But I can’t help myself. I just like you so much. Like is not the right word. It’s not big enough. And I’m awkward and out of practice, and I just needed some insight from someone who knows how things work nowadays. I needed to know that I wasn’t being some lecherous old creep and making you uncomfortable. And then today, you spent all day avoiding me, and I knew that I had done just that.”
“Nowadays,” Samira repeated, still a little shocked, “You’re not that old.”
Samira paused. Jack made a face like he was about to object but she held up a hand to stop him. She needed to compose her thoughts and if he kept talking about her, she wouldn’t be able to.
“And you didn’t make me uncomfortable. I’ve been flirting back for months. If that was also unclear. I came over to you at the bar to flirt. I was flirting, Abbot.” Samira felt lighter than she had felt in a long time, buoyed by the knowledge that she had been right after all. The kind, funny man she’d harbored feelings for was who she thought he was and then some.
“Like I said, I’m out of practice. And you should really start calling me Jack,” he added, offhanded. The look of confident ease that he normally carried had returned and something slotted into place for Samira.
“Well then, I think you should walk me to my door, Jack,” was all she said, stepping out of the car but waiting in front of it for him to catch up this time. She laced her fingers in his before leading him up the two flights of stairs to her door.
When they reached the top, Jack brushed an errant curl behind her ear. “Just so there’s no more misunderstanding, I am going to kiss you now,” he said quietly.
Jack leaned in and brushed his lips lightly against Samira’s, sweet at first, chaste, before deepening the kiss, winding one large hand into her hair and pulling her in at the waist with the other. Samira let herself be handled but gave as good as she got. She ran her tongue along the seam of his lips before he opened for her, moaning into her mouth.
She felt heat building in her. After months of pining and longing and wanting, having seemed not just possible but imminent. So, when he pulled back, disappointment dropped heavy in her stomach until she brought her eyes to his face. He looked hungry in a way she had never seen him, his breath as ragged as hers.
“Again, so there’s no misunderstanding, I really want to keep kissing you. I want to do so much more than kiss you. But I am old. And old-fashioned. I can’t do this casually. Not with you. I know that’s what the kids are doing these days. Situationships. But I would like to take you on a proper date. Several proper dates, if you’ll let me. So many, in fact, that one might call it dating.”
Samira smiled and let herself bask in the warmth of him wanting her as much she wanted him.
“I like the sound of dating, but I really can’t convince you to come inside with me now?” Samira lilted, big brown eyes pleading with him in her best attempt at seduction. It seemed to work for a moment. He looked like he wanted to give in more than anything, but then he shook his head, resolute.
“No. I’m taking you on a proper date. You’re off Wednesday, right? I’ll pick you up at eight on Tuesday. I’m doing this right.” There was authority in his voice, sure of himself, sure of Samira.
And Samira couldn’t fault him. After all, he was a good man.