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The medical world runs on a different calendar than the rest of the planet. Their years are measured by residencies and fellowships, which start in July and end in June. Depending on the year, Jack Abbot heralds in the medical new year with varying levels of enthusiasm. Some years, he felt the department was desperate for some new faces, some fresh blood to remind the more veteran doctors why they chose this field of medicine in the first place. Other years, he dreaded the final week in June, knowing the department was losing good hands and minds to a better funded, better staffed fellowship at a different hospital.
This year, Jack’s feelings fell somewhere in the middle. On the one hand, in four days, Samira Mohan would no longer be the chief resident of the PTMC emergency department, and would instead be beginning her fellowship at Presbyterian on the other side of the city. Better resources, more funding – Jack couldn’t blame her for making the choice.
On the other hand, in four days, Samira Mohan would no longer be under his direct authority. Unlike Robby and his inadvisable predilection for dating coworkers or subordinates, Jack had refused to entertain his budding feelings for Samira beyond acknowledging their existence before promptly tucking them away in the back of his mind. He had allowed himself to indulge in their friendship, sharing case studies with her, learning her favorite coffee order, occasionally suggesting a group dinner before their shifts.
It was enough for him, to watch her bloom into a confident, sharp emergency medicine doctor, to be a small part in helping her grow into it. If occasionally he found himself struck stupid by how beautiful she was, well. He couldn't really blame himself, so long as he kept it to himself.
There had been moments, though, where Jack thought maybe Samira was playing the same waiting game he was. Times he caught her eyes straying to his arms. Times she lingered in his passenger seat, talking while his car idled outside his building. Enough incidents that Jack pieced together the way he pieced together symptoms in a patient, looking for the bigger picture in the details.
And today would be the true test of his hypothesis. Tucked in his backpack is a Patagonia fleece, identical to the one he wore throughout the winter months, with Dr. Samira Mohan embroidered on the sleeve. In February, on one of those mornings where she had lingered in his car after he offered to drive her home from their shift, seemingly not quite yet ready to face the solitude of her place, she had made an offhand comment about how she liked the fleece he was wearing.
Jack, in a bout of insanity, had purchased the one currently in his backpack the next day.
Passing through security and chairs, Jack badges into the secured area of the emergency department, eyes scanning for familiar dark curls twisted into a claw clip. He glances into the hallway towards the South bank of rooms on the way to the lockers, but onlycatches a glimpse of Al-Hashimi. In the west rooms, he spots Santos and Kwon bent over what looked like a leg lac. As he moves through the department, there’s no sign of Samira anywhere.
After dropping his things in his locker, he makes his way back to the hub, spotting one of the med students at a computer. His black scrubs are rumpled, a surgical mask hanging off one ear like he started to take it off but got interrupted halfway through. He doesn’t look up as Jack approaches, even when he comes to a stop next to the monitor. Jack thinks his name might be Jason Ogden, or maybe Jackson Oliver.
“Hey,” Jack says, satisfied when the kid jumps a little, then immediately annoyed when he doesn’t look up. “Have you seen Dr. Mohan?”
Distractedly, head turning even while his eyes stay fixed on the screen, the med student replies, “Um, which one is– Oh. No. She's off today, I guess. I think she's getting married or something.”
Jack blinks at Orville (Otis? Owen?). Did he just have a stroke? Did this med student just have a stroke? Someone must be having a stroke, because- “Sorry, did you say married?”
The kid still doesn’t look up from his monitor, eyes intent on the screen as he shrugs, like they’re discussing the weather. “Yeah. Married.”
Married? Samira Mohan is getting married? Impossible, Jack thinks, even as something acidic turns in his stomach.
“Who told you that?”
“Uh, Princess? I think? Wait, maybe Perlah?”
Scrubbing at his face, Jack tries and fails to make sense of this. As far as he knows, Samira Mohan isn’t dating anyone. Surely, it would have come up at some point over the last several years where he would have considered them friends. How many times had he dropped her off at her place, or watched her walk off in that direction? She had spoken at length about the weight of her father’s death, her mother’s hope. Surely, at some point, an engagement would have come up.
“Married?” Jack repeats, waiting for it to make sense.
Exasperated, the med student bites back, “Yes, married,” before finally lifting his head to where Jack looms over him. “A verb meaning–” His retort dies in his throat as he takes in who he’s talking to. “Oh, Dr. Abbot. I didn’t realize–”
“It’s fine,” Jack says, not meaning it, but not caring. He's about to press more, because clearly one of them must be mistaken, when he spots a familiar head of dark hair coming out of the hallway to the south rooms.
“Princess!”
The nurse looks up, skeptical as always, but dutifully strides towards Jack, glancing at the med student as she comes to a stop in front of them both. “What's up?”
Jack leans over the counter towards her, bracing on his forearms, trying to appear casual. Princess raises an eyebrow at him, seeing straight through his facade. Dropping his voice, he asks, “Do you know where Sa– Where Mohan is today?”
Her shoulders fall, and Jack idly wonders what she was worried he was going to ask her to do. “Oh, she's at the wedding.”
The sick feeling in his stomach spreads, crawling up his throat until he has to swallow around it. “The wedding?”
“Yeah. She requested off like a month ago.”
“Wedding?”
She raises her eyebrow at him, clearly getting peeved. “Is that all you needed? Or…?”
Perlah appears at Princess’s elbow, opening her mouth to ask something, but pausing as she takes in Jack. “Everything alright?”
Princes responds in rapid Tagalog, gesturing to Jack and then over her shoulder towards the ambulance bay. He’s picked up bits and phrases over the years, but nothing helps him now. The only word he recognizes is Mohan, caught between unfamiliar syllables. Perlah clicks her tongue at something, but Princess just shrugs with a smirk.
After another brief exchange, Perlah turns to Jack. “City Hall.”
“What?”
“Mohan’s at City Hall.”
“What do you–” Jack stops himself, blinking as her meaning sinks in. “Oh.”
“Unfair,” Princess mutters under her breath. “Ogilvie, get up. I've got an extraction for you.” Jack blinks again, thinking she’s accidentally slipped back into Tagalog, until he realizes it was the med student’s name. She turns without waiting for him to acknowledge her, simply stalking off in the direction she came from.
Ogilvie shoots up from his chair, a meek, “Excuse me,” as he slips past Jack, leaving him alone with Perlah.
Ignoring the heat on the back of his neck, the flaming of his ears, Jack says, “So Mohan’s at a wedding. At City Hall.”
“Mhm.”
Jack drops his head, pinching at the bridge of his nose. It’s fine. He’s fine. Unexpected, sure, but he's a grown man, and this is just a crush. Probably. Mostly. He admires Mohan, wants the best for her. He’s sure whoever she’s marrying must be great, because they're marrying Samira Mohan.
“You're looking a little flushed.”
Jack looks up, finding Perlah still watching him, a weird little smile on her face. He gets the distinct sense there's a joke he's not privy to. “Huh?”
“You're supposed to call in sick, if you're not feeling well. Hospital policy.”
“I’m not–”
“No one would blame you, you know. For going home sick. City Hall is on your way home, isn't it?”
Jack stares for a beat, before it clicks. “How did you know?”
Perlah throws her head, releasing a belly laugh, before shaking her head at him. “You doctors think you're so smart. I’ll tell Lena to call in another attending.”
City Hall would be a beautiful wedding venue, Samira thought to herself, as she did her best to tune out the nuptials currently happening four feet in front of her. Her mother looked lovely, in a rich orange dress, her face relaxed and happy as she looked up at Viraj. Viraj, who she had met two years ago in the local pickleball league. Viraj, who had a robust retirement and maintained a separate residence and, on paper, was probably perfect for her mother. Viraj, who was kind and thoughtful and always asked Samira about her work and her thoughts on the state of the medical field and listened well. He was a good man, admittedly. Samira wanted her mother to be happy, of course.
Samira just didn't get why her mother needed her to be a witness to their marriage ceremony. She had thought she'd gotten out of it, because she couldn't possibly take enough time off at the tail end of her final year of residency to go to New Jersey for a wedding. But it should have occurred to her that wouldn't be the end of it – she knew she had inherited at least some of her tenacity from her mother, a woman who had endured the death of her husband and raised her daughter alone for years and made it work. And yet, Samira was still surprised when, a month ago, her mother had called her to inform Samira that she had scheduled a marriage ceremony at the Pittsburgh City Hall, so Samira would only need to take one day off.
And that’s how Samira found herself in a stuffy City Hall courtroom, wearing her singular, good dress, which she had only bought after Trinity had threatened her grievous bodily harm when she suggested she didn't have an occasion to wear it. . Samira had envisioned different circumstances for the first time she wore it when she purchased it. Or, rather, one very specific circumstance. One that seemed to be straying further and further from reality as the time on her residency ticked down.
As she watches her mom pull Viraj into a kiss, sealing their marriage, she tries not to be bitter that she was sacrificing one of her last shifts with Jack Abbot for this, too. There was not a chance in hell she could have explained why, exactly, she was so pissy about missing a shift with an attending to her mother, because she was barely willing to admit the feelings to herself. Jack Abbot was… something, to her. A friend, definitely. On a bad day, a crush, maybe. There was something about his frankness, his sweetly ridiculous metaphors that had disarmed her, until one day she had looked at him from the passenger seat of his car and thought to herself, Is this what being in love feels like?
It doesn’t matter though. Her time at PTMC is coming to an end, and Jack Abbot has given no indication to her that he’s interested in anything more than friendship. Which is fine. Better than fine, really. It’s not like she needs the complication of a boyfriend going into her fellowship.Even if sometimes she daydreams about coming home at night and talking with someone who gets it about her upcoming research.
So, she does what a good daughter would do, and claps as her mom and Viraj are announced man and wife, and carries her mom’s small bouquet and holds her purse as they sign the documents, and snaps photos on her iPhone as they walk out of City Hall hand in hand.
Trailing behind them, Samira wonders if she could maybe pick up a half-shift at the hospital, fill in for someone once they were done with their celebration dinner. They’re always shorthanded.
In the warm June air, her eyes trail down the stone stairs, before quickly averting them from where her mom and Virag are kissing a little too enthusiastically for Samira’s care. Instead, her eyes land on an SUV parked on the street, the black bright in the evening sun, a familiar figure leaning against it. Cargo pants, a black scrub top, greying curls glinting in the sun.
“Jack?” she says reflexively, half raising her hand in greeting. After a beat returns the gesture, but stays where he is, eyes drifting to her mom and Viraj, then back to Samira. Even at this distance, she can make out the way his eyes drag up her body, starting where her unpainted toes stick out of her sensible, heeled sandals, over her bare shins, catching on the smocked, cinched waist and sweetheart neckline, before finally returning to her face. Despite the heat, goosebumps break out across her arms.
She makes her way towards him, trying to steady the sudden irregularity of her pulse. She comes to a stop on the second step from the bottom, so Jack has to tip his head up a little to meet her gaze.
“Aren’t you on shift tonight?”
“Was,” he says, voice rough in a way that makes Samira’s fingertips tingle. “I thought you were getting married.”
A laugh startles out of Samira. “You– I– What?”
Jack shrugs at her, finally pushing off the car to stand at his full height. “Jason said you were getting married, and Princess said you were at a wedding, and–”
Samira raises her hand at him, and he stops himself midsentence. “Who's Jason?”
“The med student. The tall one?”
“Jack,” Samira says on a laugh, dropping down to the bottom step, heels clicking on the stone. “His name is James. Ogilvie.”
Jack rolls his eyes, taking another step forward, stuffing his hands in his pockets. That’s when she notices the oatmeal colored fleece he has stuffed under his arm, tucked into his side. He’s not wearing his badge, so he must have clocked out, or called off for the entire shift. “Well, James said you were getting married.”
Shaking her head at him, Samira still can’t quite make the math on these statements work. Jack doesn’t just call off work – she’s seen him do a 12 hour shift with a broken finger. “Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”
“I heard you were here.” He takes another step forward. He’s in reach now, and she can make out the freckles along the collar of his shirt.
“Jack.”
“Samira.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
He smiles, then, chuffing a laugh as he pulls out the fleece from under his arm before handing it to her. As she takes it from her, he says, “Ogli– Whatever his name is– He told me you were getting married when I asked where you were.” She unfurls the fleece, blocking Jack from her view. It’s one of the fancy Patagonia ones, one like the one Jack wears in the winter, that once, in a fit of insanity, Samira had considered stealing. Unlike his, this one has Dr. Samira Mohan embroidered in white thread over the left breast. Behind her sternum, her heart twists. He remembered.
Jack is still talking, explaining in that calm, unhurried way of his. “Princess said you were at a wedding, which technically isn’t lying, but I’m deeply suspicious of some sort of bet I’m not privy too. And then, Perlah convinced me to fake sick and reminded me City Hall was on my way home and–”
Samira drops the fleece, finding Jack standing directly in front of her, eyes bright, face serious. “A bet?”
Jack ignores her question, instead saying, “I was going to ask you to dinner on Saturday. But then you weren’t there. And I thought– I thought maybe I had waited too long.”
In her ears, her pulse thunders. She just blinks at him, stunned, as she murmurs, “Oh. Well, yes.”
He nods once, head falling as his right foot drops back, the start of a retreat. “Right. This doesn’t have to affect–”
“Jack.” Samira grabs at his arm, trying to ignore the thrill of the strength of his forearm beneath her palm. “I meant yes to dinner. On Saturday. Not… You didn’t wait too long. I was waiting, too.”
His face breaks then, into a smile somehow fond and shy. Stepping back into her, he has to tip his face a little to look up at where she’s still perched on the step. “Yeah?” The gravel has returned to his voice, but this time he doesn’t clear it away. He twists his arm in her grip, until he grasps her hand in his. “Yeah?”
She nods at him, unable to stop her eyes from glancing down at his mouth, the silver of his stubble. Never, in her life, has she wanted to know the feel of something against her skin so acutely. But… “My mom is right there. And Viraj. They just got married.”
“You probably have to go to dinner, huh?” His breath fans across her face, still minty from whatever he brushed his teeth with when he got up. Deliriously, she wonders if she will learn what toothpaste he prefers. She can’t wait until Saturday, she decides. Placing a palm to the center of his chest, she pushes him back, so she can drop down off the final step.
Turning, she spots her mom and Viraj pointedly not looking in their direction. “Amma!” Her mom turns so fast, Samira is worried for a moment she’ll fall, but Viraj has a steadying hand at her elbow. “I’ll meet you at the restaurant, ok? My…" A whole existence waits in the brief pause in her words, one she thought was just a daydream, but realizes she may actually, finally, get to have. "Jack is going to drive me.”
Beneath her palm, Samira feels the vibration of Jack’s silent laugh, soothing her racing thoughts and heart as she braces to argue with her mom over this change in plans. But, no argument comes. Instead, Samira watches as her mom presses her palm to her mouth, blowing a kiss in Samira’s direction. “Reservation is at seven. We can get an extra chair, if you want.” Dumbfounded, she watches as they turn, Viraj throwing a wave in Samira’s direction, and walk towards their car.
“Wow, that was–”
Jack never gets to finish his thought, because Samira curls the hand resting over his heart into a fist, and uses the leverage to pull him in a kiss. When he grunts against her mouth, wide palms sliding to fit into the dip of her waist, Samira takes it as permission to open her mouth against his, luxuriating in the scrape of his stubble. He’s so solid under her hands, she can’t believe she’s denied herself this for so long.
“Samira,” Jack murmurs on a groan as she nips at his lower lip. He indulges her for a few more moments, before gently pressing her back. When Samira blinks her eyes open, she finds Jack already looking at her, eyes hooded, cheeks flushed. It makes her feel insane. It makes her feel brave.
“You want to go to dinner with my mom and her new husband?”