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Robby, like any normal person, spent a large portion of his day looking forward to his shift being over. As much as he loved his job, working in an emergency department meant a never ending barrage of traumas and illnesses, unhappy patients, indeterminate fluids ending up on his clothes, and visits from admin stretched over twelve long hours. On any normal day, Robby would be looking forward to handoff, to zipping up and walking home and turning off his brain for the evening.
But handoff, in this case, was the reason Robby was absolutely dreading the end of this shift. Handoff meant bringing the night shift attending up to speed on anything that had transpired over the course of his shift that would carry over into the next one. And this evening, just an hour and a half before he was due to get out of there, an intoxicated patient had assaulted a member of his staff.
That in itself was, unfortunately, not unusual. It was a truism that if you worked long enough in emergency medicine, it was all but certain you'd be the victim of some kind of violence at the hands of a patient, whether it was a confused BH patient or a disgruntled parent who'd spent too long in chairs waiting for their kid to be seen. Eventually, the high tension environment of the ED came for them all.
The problem this time was who had been assaulted, and worse, who he was handing over to.
Robby pushed his glasses up his nose as he finished the note he was working on in a chart. He glanced across the hub, and saw Jack Abbot stroll through the doors, grey hair damp, carrying a thermos, same black scrub top and cargo pants he always wore, hint of a smile on his lips as he said his hellos for the day. Robby had known Jack a very long time, had seen him through good times and bad times, but Robby had never seen Jack smile as often as he did lately. Robby exhaled a heavy sigh, knowing he would be responsible for removing that smile from his friend's face in mere moments.
"What do you got for me this morning, brother?" Jack asked, pulling up to the computer at the hub Robby occupied.
"It is... " Robby glanced at his watch. "6:48 p.m. So, while you are early, it is most definitely not morning," Robby ribbed, but Jack did not appear to be paying attention. Robby knew the reason for his inattentiveness was the same reason he had come in early. Jack was glancing around the room, eyes clearly searching for someone. Robby also knew he wouldn't find the someone he was searching for. It was the whole reason he was dreading this conversation.
Jack turned his attention back to Robby. "We got a BH boarder, sedated and waiting for a permanent bed. Sent a couple from an MVA up about three hours ago, and they're both still in surgery last I heard, but it looks like both of them are going to make it. And the Steelers play the Ravens today so we've had a steady influx of drunks since about noon, which I only expect to get worse for you as the night goes on."
Jack chuckled. "Pittsburg will be Pittsburg." Robby swallowed, knowing Jack's laissez-faire attitude towards intoxicated sports fans would not survive this conversation.
"About that. About an hour ago, we had a guy come in with a B.A.C. of 0.28. Got physical with one of ours trying to debride a lac from a fight. They got banged up pretty good. They're waiting on a head CT."
And there was the crux of the problem. Because this drunk asshole had no way of knowing what a bad choice he had made, what a bad day he was about to have. That the resident he had chosen to put his hands on was the one person the usually controlled, regimented Jack Abbot, the man they called to break-up fights before they began, would gladly put every ounce of his Army ranger training to good use for–would gladly burn this hospital to the ground for. And as the chief of this emergency department, that presented a big problem for Robby.
Jack's expression soured. He was always protective of his staff. A holdover from his time in the Army, Robby assumed. Abbot felt responsible for his reports, took care of them. "Motherfucker. Did security handle it? The police?"
"Taken care of. He's handcuffed to his bed. Charges will be pressed. It's handled. I've got the incident report almost finished. You shouldn't even need to talk to the guy," Robby provided, knowing that his suggestion would not be taken.
"Yeah. We'll see," said Abbot, skeptically. "You didn't say who got hurt. Which one of ours?"
Robby braced himself. He couldn't help it. This was going to be bad. "That's the thing. It's Samira."
—
Jack Abbot prided himself on being a man not easily rattled. He'd survived three tours in Afghanistan. He'd lost half his leg. He'd lost a wife. He spent his nights handling the never ending stream of absurdities and horrors that seemed to roll into emergency departments. He spent his free time listening to police scanners. His threshold for what it took to shake him was, ordinarily, alarmingly high.
But the second Samira's name came out of Robby's mouth, he felt the world shift off its axis. He knew all the blood was rushing to his face, his pale complexion never able to conceal when he let himself feel too strongly. His eyes went wide.
"Where is she? What's wrong with her? You said she needed a CT? Did she hit her head? Were there other injuries? What room is this fucker in?" Jack rattled off, in rapid succession, already on the move, even if he wasn't sure where he was headed. He couldn't just stand there. He felt himself pulled in two directions. Part of him wanted to find Samira–to see for himself if she was okay, if there was anything he could do to fix whatever had happened to her. The other part of him–half-murderous-needed to find the man who had put his hands on her–needed to put his fist through the guy's face.
"I'm not telling you where he is until you've calmed down. She's in 6. I'll take you to her. Take a breath, Jack. She's fine. Her ribs are a little bruised from the push, and she's waiting on a CT for her head. She clipped it on the counter on the way down, and I figured you'd appreciate the abundance of caution."
Jack turned to make his way towards 6, knowing that Robby would follow. "Why the fuck didn't you call me?" Jack demanded, his voice a mix of panic and rage.
"There was only an hour and a half until shift change. I knew you'd be in soon enough, and I didn't want you breaking traffic laws and causing an accident on your way here," Robby explained following Jack into the room.
His eyes found Samira's face immediately. She was sitting calmly on the exam table, a butterfly bandage just above her temple, eyes closed. Her hair clip had been taken out at some point because her waves hung loose past her shoulders, something they never did when she was on shift. Even under the hospital fluorescents, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
She opened her eyes when she heard their arrival. Her eyes met Jack’s and flashed with what looked like relief, before indignation settled across her face. She looked over Jack's shoulders to Robby. "It's not even seven, yet. You swore you wouldn't call him!"
"I didn't call him. He got to shift early. Wonder why that might be, Mohan," Robby retorted.
"He should have called me," Jack interjected, moving to stand in front of Samira, irritated to be spoken about as though he weren't in the room.
"I knew you'd overreact and try to get here as fast as possible, and there was absolutely nothing to worry about," Samira reassured him, eyes boring into his.
"I'm just gonna..." Robby trailed off, slipping out of the room, but Jack paid him very little mind.
"Tell me what happened," Jack demanded, his voice soft but pleading.
Samira sat up straighter. "Patient presented with multiple facial contusions, severe bruising to his jaw, and a contusion to his knuckles. Obviously intoxicated, B.A.C. came back 0.28. I attempted to debride-"
"Sweetheart," Jack interrupted. "I'm not asking you to present a case as my resident. I'm asking you to tell me what happened to you as my girlfriend."
Samira's posture relaxed somewhat. Her face softened. "I really am fine." Something she saw in his face must have convinced her to put him out of his misery. She reached a hand out and placed it against his jaw, her thumb brushed his cheek. Jack felt himself exhale for what felt like the first time in minutes under her touch.
"Drunk Steelers fan came in. Big guy. He'd obviously gotten into a fist fight. I was just cleaning out a gash on his face. His jaw was pretty badly bruised, but I don't think it was broken. I pressed up too hard against it while cleaning, and he pushed me. I think it was mostly reflexive to the pain, but he was already irritable."
Jack was certain her recounting was somewhat inaccurate when it came to the motives of the man, either to keep him from flying off the handle or because she genuinely couldn't help her empathy, giving the benefit of the doubt even to those who didn't deserve it.
"Felt it in my ribs mostly. Clipped by head on the counter on the way down. I'm fine. It was more embarrassing than anything," she explained with a shrug.
"Nothing about that is embarrassing," Jack said, through gritted teeth. The rage he felt towards the drunken man returned as Samira's words painted the image of another man's hands on her in his mind. He felt hot and constrained, like his skin was stretched over more than it could contain.
"It's embarrassing to be the patient. Embarrassing to be caught off guard like that. I should have been more careful. He was obviously not my first drunk patient," Samira huffed. "And a little bit embarrassing that everyone knew how you'd react. I think Perlah is taking bets on whether you break the guy's jaw for real."
Jack grimaced. He knew the protectiveness he felt towards Samira was right. She wasn't some helpless damsel that needed saving but she was his . And he was hers. That meant something to him. But he did feel guilty that people knowing about them–about how he felt about her–meant embarrassing her.
"Sorry about that part. This is not me being a caveman, you know. I just worry about you. It's my job to worry about you."
Samira glanced at the clock on the wall. "Right now, it's your job to worry about the patients of this emergency department," she replied, matter-of-factly.
"Well, luckily for me, that includes you right now. How's the head?" He asked. He brought his hand to her face, thumb brushing as gently as he could manage above the place where a butterfly bandage held her skin together.
"Hurts," she admitted. "The CT is completely unnecessary, but I know you and Robby well enough to know I'm not getting out of here without one, and getting out of here is priority numero uno for me right now."
"Smart girl," he murmured, and then tried to conceal his grin as a small shiver ran through her. He couldn't see the blood pooling in her cheeks at his soft praise, but he felt her face heat beneath his hand. He may have been predictable but so was she.
"Alright, arms up. Let's see your ribs."
She shot him a look but complied, raising her arms above her head, wincing a little as she did. He gently lifted the hem of her scrub top, careful not to bump into her sides, and pulled the shirt over her head, leaving her sitting in a black sports bra.
"This is the most profoundly unsexy way you've ever gotten my top off," Samira complained.
"I'll make it up to you later. Promise," Jack replied, offhandedly. He examined her ribs, where the russet of her skin was darkened and splotchy with red and purplish bruises. "They check for breaks?"
"No broken ribs. The bruising looks worse than it feels." Jack wasn't sure if he entirely believed her. He knew she would try to downplay her own pain, both to assuage his worry and to prevent her from being kept off the work schedule.
"Okay. Well. I'll get an order for some Tylenol in case you do have a concussion. I will try to get you out of here expeditiously but without jumping you in line for the CT." This was, strictly speaking, a fib, but he knew the special treatment would embarrass her further.
"I still have a full shift ahead of me. Do you have someone to take you home?" he asked, regretfully. There wasn't much he wouldn't give to be the one to drive her home and tuck her into bed.
"Yeah. Trin's gonna take me. It lets her stay on shift a little longer while I finish, so she can flirt with Ellis. Two birds. One Stone," replied Samira, rolling her eyes but not bothering to conceal her grin.
"Have her take you to mine, okay? Use the tub. It'll feel good on your ribs." Jack had a large soaking tub that Samira felt borderline covetous towards. It wasn't playing fair to bring it into this, but if she was going to be out of his sight, he at least needed her in his space. "No chance Robby lets you work your shift tomorrow so just relax."
"Aye, aye, captain" she replied, sarcastically.
"Major, actually," he corrected.
"Get out of here!" she laughed, slapping at his arm. The sound of her laugh, one of his favorite sounds, was enough to center him. She really was fine.
"Okay. Fine! Don't leave without having someone grab me to say goodbye. Be good," he winked, exiting the room.
Robby was waiting for him at the hub again. "You look substantially calmer than the last time I saw you," said Robby, grinning.
"She'll be fine. She’s tough. Just some bruising. I really don't think she has a concussion," Jack shrugged.
"I told you that when you got here, man."
"You do have to tell me what room he's in, you know," Jack argued. Robby looked unconvinced. "It's a security risk for the attending not to know where a threat is."
"He's in 4 north," Robby conceded. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid."
"I can't promise absolutely no stupidity. How about I promise nothing that will rise to the level of you having to fill out more paperwork?" Jack offered.
The look on Robby's face told him he knew it was the best offer he was going to get. "I'll take it," Robby replied with a sigh, turning to head out.
Jack took stock of the board. Chairs was filling up the way it always did on nights of rivalry games. He caught up with Ellis, sending her to a tibial fracture that needed an ortho consult before stopping to talk to Bridget.
"Keep an eye on her?" Jack requested, not bothering to explain who he meant.
"Already on it. CT came back fine. I had someone print her discharge papers. She should be out of here in under an hour," Bridget replied, knowingly.
"Couldn't do this without you," thanked Abbot. And he couldn't. Abbot was a man who went to bat for his nurses every time.
Abbot strolled towards 4 north, taking a deep breath to settle himself. He had calmed down substantially, but he knew this interaction would require more than a little self control.
He pulled back the curtain to the exam room and saw a man cuffed to the railing of his bed. Samira had not been exaggerating. The man was easily six-foot-three and large on his frame. A buzz cut and dark eyes made him look severe, and Abbot felt some of his anger return. Jack was not a large man, but he knew from experience that those with the ability to do real harm to others had a responsibility to keep themselves in check.
Jack clenched his fists at his sides, as the image Samira had painted of the assault was filled in with the details of this man. He unclenched his fists, years of strategies developed in countless therapy sessions helping his cool head to prevail.
He grabbed a pair of gloves, putting them on before walking over to the man. "I'm Dr. Abbot. I heard there was an incident with you and one of my doctors," Jack said, keeping his expression as neutral as he could manage.
"That nurse was manhandling my broken jaw. It hurt like a bitch so I pushed her off."
"Well Dr. Mohan didn't seem to think your jaw was broken. And she's pretty banged up for her trouble. Why don't I take a look at your x-rays."
As usual, Samira had been right. The guy's jaw wasn't broken. Jack took the man's face in his hand, a little rougher than was necessary, taking some small pleasure in the man's wince of discomfort. "It's not broken. I'll get you some ice and some ibuprofen for the pain."
"Can't I get something stronger? This shit hurts like hell."
Jack was grateful that the protocol didn't call for anything stronger than Advil. "No can do, man. It's not indicated, and we wouldn't want it mixing with the alcohol in your system anyway."
"We'll get you discharged in time for you to have a nice little chat with law enforcement about your felony assault of a healthcare worker," Jack replied, keeping his voice even.
"Ah. Come on, man. I'm drunk. It's gameday. It fucking hurt. It's no big deal," the man whined, nervously.
Jack held the man's gaze, stealing him with a look he knew could cow men much more dangerous than the oversized drunk in front of him. Abbot was not a large man, but there were moments when it was truly apparent that he had seen some shit and done some shit that might make someone want to tread very carefully.
"It is actually a very big deal. And if I were you, I would feel lucky that your chat is going to be with the police and not me." Abbot leaned in close, pressing a thumb to the man's mandible. "And by the way, if you put your hands on another member of my staff before you leave, your jaw will be broken. Am I clear?" Abbot asked, cool but menacing.
"Crystal," the man gulped.
"Glad to hear it," chirped Abbot, pulling off his gloves as he dipped out of the room.
Ellis gave him a questioning side-eye as he exited the room but said nothing. Jack knew that with the way gossip spread through the PTMC, tomorrow nurses would be telling tall tales of his confrontation with the man, but for now, he had a shift to get through and a girl to get home to.
—
Samira heard the alarm go off across the house as the front door to Jack’s house opened and closed. The alarm clock on his bedside table read 7:28. Jack must have handled the handover in a hurry and driven home at full speed.
She stretched her arms and legs out, feeling her sides protest as she did. She hadn’t truly been asleep for a while now, just laying there waiting for Jack to come home to her.
“Mira, baby, you still asleep?” Jack asked softly as he walked into the room.
“No. Just too cozy to move,” Samira replied, stifling a yawn as she did.
“You don’t have anywhere to be today. You can go back to sleep, you know,” Jack said as he came to sit at the side of the bed where she laid, careful not to jostle her. “It would be good for you to rest.”
The light coming in from the curtains was enough to see his face. He looked tired, his brows knit together with worry, his eyes crinkling at the sides, but even so he was so handsome it made Samira’s mouth go a little dry. Or maybe it was just her morning breath. “How are you feeling? Ribs? Head?” he asked, bringing his hand to her face and ghosting his thumb across her bottom lip.
This was something Samira was still getting used to. In the six months since she had finally kissed Jack on the rooftop, she had been adjusting to being the sole focus of someone’s attention. Whether it was Jack bringing her chai to exchange at shift change or stocking his bathroom with the expensive moisturizer and curl cream she preferred but wouldn’t splurge enough to buy for herself or just making sure there was always vegetarian food stocked in his kitchen and reminding her to eat when she got buried beneath research and pulling doubles. No one had ever worried about her or doted on her with such intensity. She still struggled with being the center of so much someone’s energy, but it never failed to fill her with warmth.
“I’m fine. Head’s still a little sore. So are the ribs, but I’ve definitely had worse.”
She felt Jack’s eyes roam across her body. She had thrown one long leg over the comforter. His gaze traveled from her face, to the worn Army shirt of his she put on to sleep in, to where the shirt rode up as she stretched, revealing her stomach and her plain black panties. She knew he was mostly checking for her injuries, but the heat of his gaze was poorly disguised.
“Come here,” she murmured, pulling him down to lay beside her.
“Don’t want to hurt you,” he replied, resisting being pulled to her side. “Besides, I smell like hospital. I need to shower. Just let me check in on you.”
Samira wrinkled her nose. As much as she wanted to curl into him, she truly didn’t love the thought of him getting outside germs, particularly ED germs in bed with her.
“How about this? You bring me something for the pain, Tylenol or Advil, doctor’s choice, and you may have thirteen minutes to wash the night off of you before you climb into this bed with me?” she offered, putting on a faux-stern voice as though these were serious negotiations.
“How is a man supposed to say no to an offer like that?” Jack replied, grinning, before bending down to brush his lips against hers.
Jack stood and reached into his nightstand, grabbing two ibuprofen, and placing them in her palm before handing her a water glass. She took the pills and watched as Jack undressed for his shower, removing his scrubs, then his cargo pants. He released his prosthetic before pulling off the silicone sleeve and then his boxer briefs. It was a sight she never got tired of, watching this huge force of a man strip down, to be totally vulnerable.
He turned to look at her as he reached for one of the hand-crutches he needed to maneuver to the bathroom. When he saw her gaze trained on him hungrily, he flushed. Though his hair had long gone more salt and pepper than its former auburn, he still blushed like the ginger he had once been, red from his cheeks all the way down his sternum.
“Eleven minutes left,” she chided, and he hurried towards the en suite.
As she waited for him, she thought about the events of the previous day. She couldn’t lie to herself. It had shaken her. It wasn’t the first time a patient had gotten physical with her but it was certainly the worst she had gotten banged up from such an encounter. The feeling of being shoved to the ground by a man his size for just doing her job was not one that she would soon forget. Truthfully, when Jack and Robby had entered the exam room she was placed in afterwards, she had been box breathing deeply, with her eyes closed, trying to ground herself.
Though she had asked Robby not to call Jack, knowing how he'd react–or overreact as it were–how many traffic laws he'd break to get there, she had been unconsciously waiting for him to arrive.
When she’d opened her eyes and saw him standing in the room with her, saw his eyes wild with worry, she’d felt safe and solid for the first time since she was pushed. Something about Jack's face, even layered with obvious panic, told her immediately that everything would be okay. If he was there, there was no possibility of her being anything but safe.
Safe and cherished and doted on. There was a word that encompassed all of the things he made her feel. She’s been too nervous to put the word out there. She knew he was waiting for her. Knew he felt it and was waiting for her to say it, so as to not scare her off or push her too far too quickly. Like with their first kiss, she had to take the first step. It had to be her choice.
“Budge over, baby,” Jack said, bringing her out of her reverie.
Samira scooted her body to make room for Jack to lay down at her side. He hadn’t bothered to put on any clothes other than a pair of boxers, and he pulled her in so that they were laying forehead to forehead. She let the familiar smell of his peppermint soap mixed with something that was just Jack fill up her senses. Fill her up with courage.
“You need anything? Anything I can do?” Jack asked, hazel eyes warm and full of affection.
“I love you,” she said softly, eyes meeting his, feeling brave and safe and home.
Jack closed his eyes. She saw his chest rise as he took a deep breath then nuzzled his face into where her neck met her shoulder. Felt him press his hips to hers, hard through his boxers. “Say it again,” he whispered.
She giggled, ticklish, “I love you, Jack Abbot.”
“I love you, Samira Mohan," he said into her throat. She could hear the smile in his voice.
“Thank you for making me safe. For taking care of me. For loving me enough to give me time to get there,” she said, earnestly.
“I’d give you anything you needed, Samira. Anything you wanted,” he offered, pulling his face up to meet her eyes.
Samira felt her whole body go warm at his words, heat pooling between her thighs. She didn't try to disguise the grin that spread across her face.
“Anything I want?” She asked, impishly.
“Say the word, and it's yours,” Jack replied, voicing dripping with sincerity.
“In that case,” she said, lifting the worn shirt she was wearing over her head, savoring the way his eyes darkened, roaming over her chest. “I believe you promised yesterday to make up for the last time you got my shirt off.”
He looked like he couldn't believe his luck, couldn't believe she was real.
“Well,” he answered, his voice light. “I’d hate to break a promise.”
And he pulled her in.