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It’s a rainy day at PTMC.
One of those days when it starts raining pretty steadily, but no one’s really concerned about the storm. It’s a typical summer washout, one that grows quickly and dies just as fast. They’re all busy, all focused on the work, stepping carefully around small puddles near the ambulance entrance of the ED.
Jack goes out to help unload a patient, breathes in the scent of rain on the air, rolls his neck, and then —
c r a c k.
The clap of thunder is so sudden, so fucking loud, that the earth feels like it’s shaking. It startles all of them, pulls a gasp from the EMT next to him, and Jack —
— the ground is shaking and his ears are ringing and the air no longer smells like rain, it smells like the exhaust of a diesel engine and the copper tang of blood, and his chest is tightening and he can’t fucking breathe and he can’t be buried here, he won’t stay stuck down here, he needs to get to the surface so he can breathe, he just needs to breathe —
he runs toward the stairwell, wet shoes squeaking against the floor the entire way.
//
(Jack’s always insisted that noise isn’t much of a trigger for him. He can handle it — perks of being an emergency medicine doctor, perhaps. Accustomed to the unknown, able to explain away sudden sound or unexpected shouts.
Maybe it’s just been a long day. Hell, maybe it’s just an off day.
The thunder rolls and leaves in seconds, but Jack keeps playing it on a loop in his head.
It starts to sound like the detonation of a bomb.
It starts to feel like being buried under rubble.)
//
Robby tries.
“Jack, c’mon. Let’s get you back inside. I’ve got dry scrubs, man. We’ll go slow.”
Dana tries.
“You’re gonna get yourself sick, Abbot! Come in outta the rain, yeah?”
Trinity even tries.
“Dude, you’re standing on the edge of a rooftop in the rain. Staring out over the city. It’s giving Batman in the worst way. I’m gonna send Ellis pictures if you don’t come back in.”
Samira’s the last to try.
She walks out onto the roof with him. Stands next to him. Pushes her flyaway hairs behind her ears, slicking them there easily with the rainwater.
“You’re safe,” she says quietly, looking up at him.
His jaw finally unlocks. He’s still staring straight ahead, but it’s more movement than anyone else has managed to get out of him.
“You’re safe here,” she says again. “I’m standing next to you, Jack. We’re on the roof at work. It’s raining.”
His voice is thick. “I know.”
“I know you know,” she replies. “But you need to hear it. You need to say it.”
Jack lets out a ragged breath. “Go back inside, Mohan. Robby has dry scrubs.”
“Where are you, Jack?”
“You’re gonna get sick — ”
“Where are we standing?”
“Did Santos call me Batman?”
Samira turns toward him. Looks up, blinking against the rain. “Look at me.”
He keeps staring straight ahead. Breathes out a maniacal laugh. “They want me to go downstairs and I can’t go downstairs, Samira. I can’t, I just…”
Samira’s hand curling over his wrist is gentle, but her voice is decidedly not. It’s the tone she takes with difficult patients, with patients who dismiss her, who refuse to listen to her.
“Look at me right now, Jack, and tell me where we are.”
He will never be the type of patient that dismisses someone like Dr. Samira Mohan.
“The roof,” he whispers, glancing over at her. “We’re on — we’re on the roof. At work. There was — there was. Fuck. There was thunder and it’s raining and — fuck, you’re getting soaked, please, just — ”
“You’re safe,” Samira says again, her thumb brushing over the inside of his wrist. She rests her other hand over his arm, soft skin sliding against his. “It’s raining, and we’re on the roof, and we’re not going to go downstairs.”
“We’re not?”
“No. We’re going to sit underneath the doorway and get out of the rain, but you’ll still be able to see the sky. We’ll stay there as long as you need.”
Jack lets out a soft noise, something that’s a mix of anger and relief. His shoulders visibly relax. His hands start to tremble as the adrenaline dumps. “Jesus fucking Christ, Samira. How do you do that?”
Samira dips her head until he finally looks over and meets her eyes. “How do I do what?”
Jack shakes his head, turning his wrist in her grasp so he can tangle their fingers together instead. “How do you manage to always figure me out?”
One side of her mouth tips up; a little wry, a little proud. “It’s a gift,” she says. “Or maybe you’re just not entirely as mysterious as you’d like to be. Come sit with me.”
His steps are slow, but he makes it back to the doorway with her. Watches as Samira props it open so they can sit inside the entrance, huddled together on the floor to watch the clouds rolling above them in the sky.
“You’re safe here,” she says again, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek. There’s a towel being wrapped over his shoulders. “We’ll stay up here as long as you want.”
“You have patients,” he says, but leans his head on her towel-covered shoulder.
She kisses his wet curls. “So do you.”
“I just need a few minutes,” he insists.
Samira threads their fingers together. “I know, Jack. I know.”