Work Text:
Jack's invited to Trinity's birthday party because, as she puts it, he's her 'favorite old man.'
He's in the middle of mentally preparing to write her up for insubordination when she adds that there's a theme and he's required to look 'fancy as fuck.'
Jack's jaw clicks, postponing his retribution to respond, "Define fancy."
"Look nice, Pops," she insists, patting the side of his arm. "You've got a suit jacket or something, right?"
"Obviously. I've been to a lot of funerals."
Trinity lets out a gagging noise. "My God, dude. Just show up looking hot and leave your trauma at the door, okay?"
"You do remember I'm your boss, right?" Jack's back to pulling up the HR portal on his computer screen.
Trinity cracks her neck. "Yeah. I'm terrified. I already checked the calendar and you're off, so you'd better show."
Jack glances over, rolling his eyes at the expectant grin on her lips. "I will do my best, Santos."
"Yay!" she replies, clapping once. The genuine response has him rethinking the whole 'writing her up just to delete it' thing. She really is his favorite of the young guns.
"And don't forget the dress code. Everybody's dressing up, including Samira."
Trinity takes off from the nurses' station with a lazy two-fingered salute. Jack sighs, looks to the heavens, and starts typing again.
Dr. Santos often forgets the appropriate boundaries that should exist between work and personal life.
//
Jack arrives a little late, but is able to find Trinity's apartment easily. The music echoes down the hallway with each opening of the door, and he recognizes a few of his coworkers on his way up. Donnie greets him when he gets to the door, holding it open for Jack to step inside and pointing him toward the kitchen to find a drink.
Everyone did dress up. It is nice, he has to admit, to see everyone in their fanciest looks without being forced to sit through one of the hospital's galas. He's so used to blocky scrubs, muted colors. Trinity's apartment is lit with warm lamps and the glow of string lights all through the open kitchen and living space. He sees a small collection of gift bags on the kitchen island and pulls the unsigned card from his pocket — a gift card to Trinity's favorite sushi place and a crisp pair of fifty dollar bills — and then pushes his way toward the living room.
There's a cooler on the corner of one counter with drinks and he grabs one of the local beers inside, popping the tab just as his eyes find Trinity in the corner of the room. She's there with several of the other women from work, taking pictures and complimenting each other incessantly, and Samira —
Samira's there, too, facing the wall and looking back over her shoulder as Trinity cheers her on and snaps a few pictures. Jack feels someone bump into his arm and wonders if he's standing right in the walkway, but doesn't really care. He can't fucking move. Samira's a brilliant pop of glittery pink that shimmers in the lighting. Her hair's down, her cheeks are flushed, and her smile is fucking — effervescent.
Jack, despite the jacket and button-down he's in, suddenly feels incredibly fucking underdressed.
"You made it!"
Trinity's voice pulls him back to the present, eyes finally tracking away from Samira. "I did," he shouts back, raising his beer can in greeting. "Figured you should have an adult present to apologize on your behalf when you get a noise complaint."
"Uh-huh," Trinity replies. "How chivalrous of you. You see Samira?"
Jack shoots her a look. "You think it's possible to miss her?"
"Right?" Trinity agrees. "She looks so fucking good. For the record, old man, you do, too."
"I'm not even fifty, you know."
"And you're shit at taking compliments. Help me and Whitaker get this furniture out of the way for the dance floor."
//
Eventually, Jack shrugs off the suit jacket and tosses it onto the growing pile of clothes in one corner, sweaty from poor ventilation in a crowded room and the rapid rhythm of his heart from every stolen glance at Samira. He finds a bottle of water in the kitchen and tips his head back to down half of it in one gulp, back of his thumb wiping away the droplet at the corner of his mouth.
When he looks down, Samira's standing right in front of him with bright eyes and a knowing grin.
"Dr. Mohan," he greets, setting the bottle on the counter behind him.
"Abbot," she replies evenly, tipping her head to one side. "I think that was the first time all night you stopped looking at me."
One corner of his mouth quirks. "Well. Hydration's important, Mohan, especially after alcoholic intake. Speaking of, have you had any water lately?"
"I'm not drunk," she assures him, curling one hand in the open V of his button-down. "Just pleasantly tipsy. And you haven't danced all night long, so we're fixing that right now."
The backs of her fingers brush against his bare chest beneath the fabric of his shirt and he swallows reflexively — wants her to open her hand, wants to feel her scratch blunt nails directly against his skin. Wants to know what it would feel like to touch her the same way, to drag his fingers through the sweat glistening between her breasts.
She leans in close, swaying slightly to the beat of the song. When she speaks, her lips are so close to his ear that he can feel them moving against his skin, sending a shudder all the way through him. "You can touch me," she says, guiding his hands to her hips. "Touch me, Jack."
Samira presses at his wrists until his hands slide lower, around to the curves of her ass beneath the thin, glittery fabric. He turns his face towards hers, nosing at her temple as they move together. When her hands splay wide over his back, he squeezes at her flesh in response and smiles to himself at the hitch in her breathing.
The song changes moments later, the beat different enough that it pulls their focus, and she leans back, dark eyes meeting his instantly.
Abbot just nods once, one hand lifting to cradle her jaw. "You wanna get outta here?" he asks, thumb brushing over the middle of her lower lip, right where the color of her flesh matches the hue of her dress.
Samira's grin is a slow, easy thing. Her fingers curl into his shirt again, deftly opening one of the buttons over his chest. "Yeah," she says, teeth just barely grazing over the pad of his thumb, casual enough to have been an accident. "Yeah, I do."
"Yeah," Jack agrees, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and tapping the corner of her lips. "Let's go, then."
"I only live a few minutes away," Samira tells him.
Jack smirks. "I bet I have a nicer mattress."
"Who said anything about needing a mattress?" Samira asks, all doe-eyed innocence. "The seat in your truck slides back, doesn't it?"
"Holy fucking hell."
On their way out the door, jacket forgotten, Abbot's certain he hears Trinity yelling you're welcome!
//
He finds a 'thank you' card in his locker next shift.
i know the gift card and cash were from you, weirdo. thanks.
glad you showed up.
you can sign the card next year as 'mr. samira mohan.' ❤
- reboa