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Jack had accepted that he was, in fact, a little pathetic where Samira Mohan was concerned. It didn't bother him, really. He'd known real love once before in his life–knew that, despite the jeering he'd often received from the men in his unit, there was nothing embarrassing about devotion. At least, there hadn't been the first time.
Still, he couldn't help but feel a little stupid sitting in a bar on his night off, surrounded by coworkers, only for the hope that Samira might make an appearance. It wasn't like anything was ever going to come of it–he'd also made his peace with that–but he didn't see the harm in brightening his nights with the prospect of seeing her.
She showed up later than the rest of her usual group, by the time she walked through the door of the dimly lit bar, Santos and Javadi already on what Jack guessed was their second round. The relief that usually accompanied her presence was short-lived.
She looked stunning, more dressed up than he usually got to see her, in jeans and heeled boots, a black blouse that exposed the deep curves of her collarbones. Jack caught his breath after a moment, enough to realize that she had not arrived alone, but with a man in tow.
Jack wracked his brain to remember the name of Samira's boyfriend of about two months but came up empty. He'd yet to meet the guy in person, and he was tall and handsome in a stock photo kind of way. He wore pressed khaki chinos and a blue button down and Jack had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.
From what Jack knew about the guy, he was perfect for Samira. Old Connecticut money. An Ophthalmologist, which meant he was smart enough to be a doctor and also, smart enough to choose a specialty with some semblance of work-life balance. If Jack recalled correctly, he was a first year attending, so only a year or so older than Samira. He couldn't have picked out a more perfect boyfriend for Samira if he'd done it himself.
Jack loathed him viscerally.
He knew it wasn't the kid's fault. By all accounts, he treated Samira well, but there was no chance of Jack approving of anyone who got to be with Samira in ways he didn't even allow himself to think about.
Samira made her way around the bar with her boyfriend in tow, no doubt making rounds of introductions, and Jack did his best to ignore the lead pit in his stomach. He almost felt bad for the ribbing he knew the guy got from Santos. Almost. He saw the two of them making their way towards where he was nursing a scotch at the bar, Samira bambi-footed on the heels he knew she didn't wear often enough to be coordinated in, and Jack inhaled and braced himself.
She came to a stop in front of him, and a smile lit up her face. Jack was well and truly fucked. "Dr. Abbot," she nodded in acknowledgement. "I don't see you at these things very often," she said wryly, and Jack couldn't help but chuckle.
"I could say the same about you, Mohan," he shot back. Boyfriend notwithstanding, Samira was not known for being a social butterfly. She worked almost as many hours as he did.
"Well, maybe I made an exception because I knew you'd be here," she teased with a roll of her eyes.
"Well, lucky me then," he answered. "Do you need a drink?"
A throat cleared, reminding Jack of the presence of Samira's boyfriend. From the way her already large brown eyes widened, it seemed like Samira had also forgotten he was there. "Right," she said quickly. "Dr. Abbot, this is Alex. My–boyfriend," she supplied, gesturing between the two of them.
"Nice to meet you, Alex," Jack stuck out his hand, and shook the other man's, only a hair more firmly than was necessary. "I've heard great things."
"Likewise, Sir," Alex returned with a composed smile.
"You're an optometrist?" Jack asked, trying to put the guy on the back foot.
"Ophthalmologist," he corrected, tight lipped.
"Right. My bad. Can I buy you two a round?" Abbot offered amiably, turning to address Samira, before gesturing to the bartender to make his way over.
"That would be gre–" Samira began, but Alex cut her off.
"Not necessary," he insisted, before turning to the bartender. "Can we get a vodka soda and a beer?" he asked, before pulling a clip from his pocket and handing the bartender a credit card. Jack had to suppress an eyeroll and not just at the fact that it was a black Amex. Samira drank white wine or gin, as a general rule, but her boyfriend didn't seem to know that.
The bartender made their drinks, and they both turned their attention back to Jack. "How are you liking the Pitt crew?" Abbot asked, gesturing with his glass to the residents and nurses around the room.
"Oh, they all seem great," Alex answered. "I can't believe Samira has never brought me 'round to meet everyone before. Everyone seems so nice."
Jack raised an eyebrow dubiously and turned to Samira, "Did you just avoid introducing him to Santos all together?"
Samira let out a loud laugh, the kind that sent shockwaves through Jack's heart, and the sound seemed to catch Alex off guard. He looked at her curiously, but he quickly composed himself.
"Oh, Trinity seemed harmless. I'm sure she was just joking," he dismissed easily.
Samira and Jack shared a look. "Sure, harmless," he agreed slowly, and watched as Samira bit back a smile. Alex looked between them, his expression suspicious, and Samira’s face betrayed a bit of panic.
"Dr. Abbot, I hadn't gotten a chance to thank you yet for that article on emergency service utilization by socioeconomic status. It fit perfectly into my research," she thanked him, but the formality of it took him by surprise.
It wasn't uncommon for him to send her articles or for her to thank him but, more often than not, he was 'Jack' to her. Occasionally 'Abbot' when she was putting him in his place. The full honorific was jarring. He raised an eyebrow, and she shot him a pleading look.
"Of course, Mohan," he agreed, steeling his expression to match her formality. "I'm always happy to help."
A moment of silence passed between the three of them before Samira spoke up. "I think I'm going to use the restroom, I'll be right back," she said, setting her drink on the bar in between Alex's beer and Jack's scotch.
But as she turned to walk towards the back, she wobbled, still unstable in her tall shoes, and the floor seemed to slip out from under her before she fell backward, her head making a resounding crack against the lip of the bar before collapsing on the ground.
Jack was on his feet immediately, crouching down to where she lay on the floor. Her eyes were closed and he patted at her cheek lightly, his voice frantic. "Samira. Samira, can you hear me?"
The entire world narrowed to a single focus as she lay, not responding. "Someone call 911. Tell ‘em a woman fell. Head trauma with LOC. Send a bus and route it to PTMC."
"Got it, boss," he vaguely registered Santos call out and he was momentarily grateful that of all the places she could have been injured, he was there–that a whole team of emergency practitioners were present.
"Samira, honey, wake up," he said, redirecting his attention to her. The sight of her unconscious had panic unfurling in his stomach, so much so that it took him a moment to notice that another person was crouched at her side.
"I got her man," Alex said, leaning over her. Jack had to resist the urge to stand to height and shove the guy away from her.
"No, I've got her, Alex. I'll handle it," he replied, tone a little impatient, fingers at her delicate throat, feeling her thankfully even pulse.
"I said I've got it. I'm her boyfriend and a doctor," Alex shot back.
"Yeah, and in the event she needs an eye exam, I'll let you know," Jack scoffed. "In the meantime, I'm a board certified emergency medicine physician with twenty years experience and trained combat medic, and she's experiencing head trauma. Step back."
Samira began to stir at that moment, mumbling, and interrupting whatever Alex was about to say in return. His expression was furious but Jack's attention was immediately redirected.
"Ahh–" she groaned. "A" she tried to get out, the flat sound of a short a all she could seemingly manage.
"I'm right here, Samira," Alex said, leaning over her. She furrowed her brow, eyes still closed.
"Ab–Abbot," she mumbled. "Jack," she finally groaned out.
Alex looked taken aback, but Jack barely spared him a second glance.
"I'm right here, Samira," he reassured her, laying a hand on her face.
"My head hurts," she whined, and Jack chuckled tightly.
"I bet it does, sweetheart. You took quite the tumble. Knocked your head pretty hard going down," he explained, feeling calmer now that she was conscious and talking, if only marginally.
He helped her into a sitting position, and raised his hand to the back of her head gently. He was grateful her curls hung loose rather than contained in their usual clip. He’d dug enough plastic out of skulls following MVAs. He was glad Samira wouldn’t suffer a similar fate. He could already feel a nodule where her head had made contact with the wood. She winced. "Sorry about that, honey. You got yourself pretty good. Can you follow my finger for me?" he asked, and she did as she was told.
"I need you to answer some questions for me," he prompted. "Do you know what day it is?"
"Thursday. And it's night, not day," she corrected.
"Do you know who the president is?" he asked.
"Am I not in enough pain for you? Do you really have to bring that up," she complained, and he let out a laugh. One more for good measure. "What’s my middle name?"
"Major John Patrick Abbot. Date of Birth January 21, 1978," she answered promptly, and his heart warmed in his chest, but he pushed it down. It wasn't the time.
"Still an overachiever even when semiconscious," he teased.
Somewhere over his shoulder he heard a noise of displeasure.
"This is un-fucking-believeable," Alex said from above where he was kneeling. "This is why she didn't want me meeting her friends," he huffed.
Jack suspected the kid was probably right, but felt irate at the reaction nonetheless. "Could you maybe have this temper tantrum another time? She needs emergency medical attention?"
"Whatever, man," Alex replied, standing and turning to exit the bar. Abbot's fury increased exponentially. "She's your problem now, I guess,” he dismissed over his shoulder.
What a fucking moron this kid was not to realize that Samira Mohan being his problem was the kind of think he dreamt about. A blessing he wasn't worthy of.
Jack returned attention to Samira. "We're gonna get you a CT, okay? You're gonna take a ride in the ambulance."
"Kay-" she answered weakly, surprising him by not fighting him on it. It worried him a little.
EMS arrived at that moment, and Jack waved them over, helping them get her onto the stretcher, and he watched as they rolled her out the front door. "Take her to PTMC, alright man?" Jack instructed Chris, a paramedic Abbot thankfully knew and trusted, someone he wouldn't worry about transporting Samira.
"You got it, Doc," Chris acknowledged. "You riding with us?"
"I'll follow," Jack said. "I'll be right behind, but I want to have my car with me," he explained, trailing Chris as they exited the bar.
"Sounds good," he answered.
"Hey, take good care of her, okay? I know it's just a couple blocks but–" Jack tried, unable to completely quash the anxiety he felt at the prospect of being separated from her.
"I got her, man" Chris answered earnestly, heading toward the ambulance.
Jack watched as they drove off before getting in his own car and booking it to the Pitt.
He walked as quickly as he could manage in through security, nodding to the officer with a little less congeniality than usual, mind too focused elsewhere.
He made his way through chairs and Lena seemed to be waiting for him as he approached the central desk at the hub. "Something I can help you with, Doc? What brings you to my ED on your night off?" she teased.
"Is she–"
"Already in CT. Pushed her to the front of the line," Lena interrupted.
"Her vitals–"
"Alert and oriented. Heart rate 78. Pulse ox 99. Blood pressure 126/81," she rattled off. Abbot breathed a sigh of relief. "Incident of emesis," she added. "How much had she had to drink?"
Jack tensed. "Barely a couple of sips," he answered, nerves evident in his voice.
"Okay. So she has a concussion," Lena supplied. Abbot scowled at her dismissive tone.
"Right," Lena added. "Yes. What a completely normal reaction to a coworker receiving a diagnosis you see five times a night."
Jack fixed her with a look. "Can we not go there, please?"
"You're the boss," she laughed.
"Is there someone we should call? Her mom or her boyf-" he paused, uneasy at the thought that he might have to call in a guy who had walked out on Samira the way he had. "Who's her emergency contact?" he asked instead.
Lena's eyes lit up, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. "Some guy named Jack Abbot," she read smugly over the top of her glasses.
The floor dropped out from underneath him. "What?"
"You're the person she listed on her form," Lena repeated.
"That has to be a mistake," he answered, trying to quash the feeling of hope rising in his chest.
"See for yourself," she told him, turning the screen so that Jack could read "Contact: Jack Abbot. Relationship: Friend," off the monitor. Words evaded him, a knot forming tight in his throat.
"You want me to call your cell or..." She trailed off, and Jack shot her an unamused look. "Still think you shouldn't go there?"
Jack felt himself flush but was saved from answering the question when he saw Samira being wheeled into north 6. Lena wagged her eyebrows, but Jack just turned and followed Samira into the room.
He thanked the nurse that delivered her and assured him that he could take it from there.
He looked through the imaging on the tablet, and he confirmed the best case scenario. "You've got blurry vision, fatigue, and nausea following head trauma, but imaging doesn't show any brain bleeds. Got yourself a nice concussion there, though, Mohan," he tried for teasing, but it came out more earnest, worry weaving its way through his tone.
"I can diagnose a concussion myself, Jack," she answered.
"There's the push back I was expecting at the bar. You were too cooperative getting you here. It worried me a bit," he admitted, only half joking.
"I wanted out of there. And I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm an emergency medicine physician. I know a bad fall when I see one." she explained. "Besides, I figured arguing with you was futile. If I didn't agree to leave on the stretcher, there was a non-zero chance you'd throw me over your shoulder."
"Smart girl," he acknowledged. "Still can if you want."
"Maybe some time when my head’s not throbbing," she teased in return.
"Name the time and place," he smiled back.
Jack took her in, both a medical assessment and a personal one. She still looked beautiful, maybe more made up than he'd ever seen her even if her eye makeup was a bit smudged and her dark curls were flattened from the fall.
He'd keep an eye on her as much as she allowed, but he was mostly relieved to see that she really seemed to be okay.
"So. Alex left, huh?" she asked sheepishly.
Abbot felt anger return in the pit of his stomach. "Any guy that would break up with you is clearly an idiot but leaving the way he did...That guy’s a dick."
"He's really not you know," she sighed, sounding resigned.
"Samira–" Jack began.
"I'm just saying. I was half-conscious and asking for someone who is not only not my boyfriend, but is, in fact, my boss," she explained. "I get why he was pissed."
"I'm not really your boss," he argued, though it was a moot point, before adding, "And I'm probably the most qualified person you know to treat head trauma. It makes sense that you would ask for me."
Samira looked at him like she saw right through his blatant attempt to make any excuse necessary on her behalf. It wouldn't be the first time. "Yeah. That's true. It's also not the reason I wanted you," she countered. "But I think you already know that, Jack."
He looked at her sheepishly but said nothing. She could cross any threshold she wanted, and he wouldn't mind, but he'd be damned before he took the step for her. Whatever was happening would be on her terms or not at all.
"So. Did you follow the ambulance in or did they call you when I got here?" she asked, a little too casually.
"I followed the ambulance," he answered truthfully. "Why would they have called me?" Less truthful, but he would give her any out he could.
"Please don't play dumb on my behalf, Abbot," she scolded. His heart warmed. She never let him get away with anything. It was one of the things he loved most about her. "There's no way Lena didn't tell you I put you down as my Emergency Contact."
His face warmed a little. "God. I suck at lying to you," he admitted. "And you're right as usual. Lena told me when I got here.”
Her mouth set into a tight line, and she said nothing.
"I'm not complaining–I'm happy you felt like you could put my name down. But why me? Why not your mom or Santos or even your boyfriend," he asked. He wasn't sure he’d ever wanted an answer to a question more in his life.
"I guess–" she tried, and Jack could see her struggling with being vulnerable enough to answer truthfully. But he didn't offer her an out this time, too selfish in his craving for her honest response. "I guess I just figured that if someone called you, you'd come no matter what. I think you're maybe the only person in my life that's true of."
She looked embarrassed at the admission but Jack felt comforted that whatever else, she trusted him.
"You really are the smartest person I know, you know that," he told her sincerely.
"Yeah? Why's that?" she asked, clearly caught off guard by his response.
"You call, I'll come running, sweetheart. Every time," he explained.
It hung heavy in the air between them, a declaration of devotion he couldn't take back. One he'd never want to.
Her warm brown eyes turned gentle, apologetic.
"I'm sorry about Alex," she said apropos of nothing.
His brow furrowed. "What do you have to be sorry about, honey?"
She took a deep breath in. "I thought it would make it easier. I thought, maybe if I tried to do the girlfriend thing with someone, it would... I don't know. Distract me. Put some distance here," she nodded towards him.
The thought churned his stomach.
"Did it work?" he asked, afraid of the answer.
"No. Not even a little bit. I don't think I even really expected it to, to be honest," she admitted with a sad smile. "But I had to try something. I could tell nothing was ever going to happen between–That you weren't ever going to–And I just thought. I don't know what I thought. But it didn't work. Obviously." She looked deeply embarrassed at the admission.
He eyed her questioningly. Nothing about this seemed obvious to him. "Obviously?"
"If anything, I think Alex made it worse. Everything he did just reminded me of the fact that I didn't feel...right. Sure. Seen. All the ways I feel around you." Her eyes were pleading in a way that wracked Jack with guilt.
He tried to see it from her perspective. He thought he'd been doing the right thing, not acting on or even acknowledging his feelings for her, letting it all be on her terms. But he'd put her in a position where she had to be the one to be brave enough to be honest with him about her feelings, with him offering no assurances in return.
"You don't need to apologize to me for having a boyfriend," he told her. "Regardless of your reasoning. I just–I couldn't stomach the thought of putting you in a position that made you uncomfortable or jeopardized your career. I thought I was protecting you, I think."
Samira surprised him by letting out an unstrained laugh and before wincing in pain at the movement.
At the sight of her discomfort, he shifted focus immediately, bringing his hand lightly to cup her cheek. "What's the matter? What hurts?" he asked, a little frantic.
"Breathe. I have a concussion. My head's going to hurt. I'm fine," she reassured. "It just made me laugh. I don't need protecting from you, Jack."
"You're probably right," he admitted.
"I almost always am," she countered, smug, but fond. He couldn't disagree.
"So where does that leave us?" he asked, his hand still cupping her face. He ran his thumb lightly across her cheekbone.
"Well," she responded, teasingly pensive, "Concussion protocol says I can't be alone for the next twelve to twenty-four hours, and I find myself freshly boyfriendless."
"I can take care of that," he smiled at her.
"Oh yeah? Which part?" she shot back with a grin.
"Whichever you're willing to let me," he admitted, unabashedly at her whim. "You want a doctor-on-call to perform hourly checks? I can do that. Here or at your apartment. You want a boyfriend to take you home and put you to bed and look out for you? Just say the word."
“And what if I want more than that?” she hedged, just a touch mischievously.
“How about this? You name whatever and I’ll do my best to give it to you?” he offered.
She thought about it exaggeratedly. “Acetemenophen. A nap. You. In as many ways as I can have you,” she finally told him. “No preference on the order by the way.”
He felt his heart surge in his chest. This girl. There was nothing she could have asked for that he wouldn’t have done his damnedest to make a reality, but her requests were easy.
“There’s a Costco sized bottle of Tylenol in my night stand. You can nap in my far too expensive bed for as long as you need–you’re not coming back here for at least two days,” he nodded sternly.
She smiled wryly. “Sounds okay. What about the third thing?”
Jack leaned down, keeping eye contact until her eyes fluttered closed, their noses almost touching. He brushed his lips against hers, briefly–kiss that didn’t ask for anything in return. She sighed as he pulled back, a contented sound, a little wistful.
He smiled down at her gazing up at him, an expectant look in her dark eyes, so he answered her question.
“I’m already yours.”