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Noon begins with an explosion. Well, with the aftermath of an explosion, the shrapnel tracked all the way down from surgery to the ED.
“There is something clinically wrong with you.” A single red feather is caught on Garcia's sleeve. There’s a smattering of glitter—little pink hearts—stuck along her hairline and her eyebrows. Her arms are crossed over her chest, a scowl painted over her lips. “I don’t know what it is yet, but I’m calling psych because someone needs to figure out what your deal is.”
Trinity turns in her chair, heels braced against the floor. She tilts her head to look up at Garcia. “My deal?” she asks. Her attempt at stoicism is short-lived. A smile cracks across her face. “You have a little something right—”
“Oh, do I?”
“You didn’t like your valentine?”
“I could take or leave the tap dancing,” her eyes cut to Samira, daring her to laugh. Samira pretends she has never been more entranced by a chart in her life. “The glitter bomb, on the other hand.”
“The proper term is appreciation explosion.” Trinity looks down at her feet, faking innocence. “That’s what I’ve heard, at least. Your secret admirer came through earlier and—”
“Uh huh?” Garcia uncrosses her arms, places her hands on her hips. The two of them are seemingly always at a boiling point. Rubber band pulled taut. “Well, I have to go shower off all this glitter, because now I’m a contamination risk.”
Trinity sits up straighter in her seat. “Need any help?”
Garcia turns on her heels. Something plasticy and pink crunches beneath her sneakers. “Not a chance, Santos.”
“Think she liked it?”
“I wouldn’t say that’s the impression I got,” Samira says. “Tap dancing?”
“Complimentary with the Singing Silver Valentine Gram package.”
“I thought singing telegrams were something they made up for rom coms.” Samira isn’t even sure she’s seen them in rom coms. It’s one of those cultural artifacts that finds its way into your mind at some point, the outline of imagined context being the only thing that actually remains. But then, Samira hasn’t really seen many movies. Not classic, culture-shaping movies that her patients and her coworkers reference. She’s been watching some with Jack recently, but her attention hasn’t exactly been focused on the screen. Samira has heard the soundtrack of Back to the Future at least three times now. She could not tell you what anyone in that movie looks like.
“You haven’t seen the fliers everywhere? There are 12 in the break room. Some sort of fundraiser, I don’t know, I didn’t read that far.”
Every printout on the break room corkboard has melted into one big blob in Samira’s mind. Countless long-past picnics and advertisements for local babysitters. Potluck sign-up sheets from before the pandemic, back when a hospital potluck didn’t immediately make everyone wince. “Can’t say I have.”
“Guess it doesn’t matter as long as Abbot saw them.” Trinity waves her hand casually.
“Funny.” The word comes out clipped. Samira holds the syllables close to her chest.
“Bet he could spring for the Platinum package. Is Abbot a fan of aerial silks?”
“Will you keep your voice down?” Everyone is too busy to pay attention to the two of them, especially now that Garcia is gone, a trail of sequins and confetti in her wake. “I told you about that in confidence.” Mistaken, tipsy confidence, but what was she supposed to do when Trinity told her she’d seen Samira climb out of Jack’s car before the mandatory staff holiday party?
“Oh, I haven’t told anyone.” Trinity shrugs, brow quirking. “Well, other than Yolanda, but she already knew.”
“She already knew?”
“Walsh,” She offers as an explanation. “Despite what Huckleberry will tell you, I am an excellent secret keeper, Samira. Promise.”
Princess joins Trinity, her elbows propped against the countertop. “You guys trading secrets over here?” Samira learned once, at medical conference bar trivia, that sharks can smell blood from a quarter of a mile away, even when it’s diluted to one part per ten billion, but they can hear their prey from even further. Well over a mile. She imagines that Princess can hear the word secret from the same distance. That she could sniff out the gossip Samira has been hiding from the other side of the hospital.
Samira immediately shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Talking about Samira’s secret admirer.”
Princess’s eyes go wide, her face pulling into a grin. She nudges Samira’s shoulder. “Secret admirer?”
Trinity nods. “Someone is sending her a pack of tap dancing singing telegramers with a dozen red roses.”
“I saw the ads for those. Super expensive. Must have a very smitten valentine.”
“I can tell this is fun for you two, but I have patients.” Epic chooses that moment to completely shut off
Trinity nudges Samira’s chair, rolling her half an inch to the left. “Everyone has patients.”
“I’ve never been a big Valentine's Day person.” Samira takes a deep breath. She badges back in and lets go too soon. Her badge reel makes a squealing noise as it retracts. “And I’m not a fan of roses.” Big public declarations of love are almost never made with the person who is being declared at in mind. It’s a performance. A way to stake your claim. Trinity and Princess both look at her, skeptical but not interested enough to interrogate her further.
The day marches on. A candy colored crawl towards the finish line that just seems to get further and further away. Sometime after 4:15, she finds herself the recipient of nine valentines, all of them haphazardly folded and stuffed into the cardboard mailbox that someone else wrote her name on earlier this week. Most likely by Emma or Mel or Donnie. Someone with access to a glitter gel pen and an interest in using it.
McKay delivers the stack of Valentines to Samira at her work station. Along with a red velvet protein bar and a reminder that “The day’s almost over. We’ve got this.” Samira thumbs through them, her eyes flicking up to her screen every few seconds as she waits for labs.
There are two identical ‘You’re rawr-some’ valentines, one from Tanner and one from Penny, both signed by Langdon at the bottom.
Keep it up, kid. - Dana next to a cartoon heart-shaped balloon.
Happy Valentine's Day to a great senior resident! - Mel :-) beside a giraffe covered in kiss marks. Samira can’t imagine the theme of whatever pack of Valentines Mel found this in. She didn’t know they sold zoo animal kissing booth-themed cards.
I have made 12 reservations at every restaurant in Allegheny County - Trin Your Secret Admirer
Her valentines from Perlah, Emma, and Victoria are all variations from the same Minions themed pack, reading ‘Happy V-Day!’, ‘You’re Gru-tastic!’, and ‘Please please please please come visit me in Derm. Love ya!’ respectively.
Then, at the very bottom of the stack, the first Valentine that someone wrote her sometime this week, there’s a folded-over sticky note. One of the good ones from the nurses' station that Kim doesn’t let any of the doctors touch. ‘What a joy to watch you work. Yours, JA’
Samira holds the sticky note in front of herself, the pad of her index finger pressed against the strip of sticky adhesive. She reads it once, three times, twelve times, her eyes jumping back up to the first word every time she reaches the end. It’s odd to feel reassured by handwriting. It would be humiliating to voice it outloud. Still, it’s true. Samira scrunches her face, wincing at herself.
Trinity's voice cuts through the noise of Samira’s mind. “Hey, can I get a second set of eyes on the little girl in North 4?”
She refolds the sticky note, following the original creases, and shoves it in the pocket of her very “very practical” scrub pants. That’s what Jack had said when she first wore them, everyone else making lighthearted jabs that Samira was one step closer to wearing those cargo pants that are apparently mandatory for EM attendings. “Of course.”
It’s three more patients from chairs and a trauma before Samira gets the chance to sit down again. She watches, in both total surprise and abject horror, as a patient kneels down on the floor and proposes to his girlfriend right outside BH1, accidental peanut exposure be damned. Earlier today, there was glitter all over the floor, but it’s long been swept away or carried off on the tread of someone's shoes.
The day is drawing to a close, and all the manufactured holiday cheer is disappearing. Twelve hours of heart-shaped lollipops that will be followed by three days of concern about red stool, hyperactive children, and sex injuries. Candle wax poured where it shouldn’t be.
It’s not that Samira doesn’t like Valentine’s Day. It’s that she doesn’t like the emptiness that lingers afterwards, everyone's spirits crumbling, falling in on themselves like a deflated balloon. The crash after the sugar high.
Samira doesn’t need to look up from her monitor to know it’s Jack who’s standing in front of her. She knows him by the sound of his breath. She’s memorized the smell of the car air freshener that clings to him for the first few minutes of his shift. Truthfully, Samaria knows it’s him based on the way his presence makes her feel. Her shoulders relax as his shadow settles over her.
“Dr. Abbot,” Samira looks up at him. Smiles to herself as her suspicions are proven correct. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he says, already grinning. His teeth bear down on his bottom lip. Samira hadn’t noticed until recently that, when it gets cold out, Jack gets these near-perfect pink circles on his cheeks. It somehow manages to make him look boyish, or maybe like a Keebler elf. Today, she can’t help but think he looks a bit like Cupid. She must stare at him for too long without speaking, because Jack clears his throat. “Got something for you.”
“For me?”
“For you, Dr. Mohan.” One of his hands is in his pocket, the other clutches his folded jacket. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow. “It’s Valentine's Day.”
“You didn’t really have to get me anything.” To call their relationship new would be an understatement. Well, to even call it a relationship would be a stretch. They’re seeing each other. They’re in the talking stage, as Trinity says. He takes up endless space in her brain, but Jack Abbot is not her boyfriend. Samira does not have a boyfriend; she has a… well, she has Jack.
It’s fun and it’s nice and they’re both so busy with work—or with each other—that Samira hasn’t even had time to wonder if Jack is the kind of person who enjoys sending tap dancing valentines. If he’s the kind of person who is going to make her carry a giant bouquet of red roses through the department, along with one of those teddy bears holding a tiny balloon.
She’s wondering now.
“You don’t have to look so worried.”
“Why would I be worried?” Samira forces herself to smile, tendons in her neck straining. “I’m not worried.” She stands, hands reaching for her tablet.
“You have a terrible poker face,” he says. “You’ll like this. Promise.” Jack glances over his shoulder, leans forward until they’re nearly nose-to-nose. “Meet you upstairs when you’re done?”
Samira finds herself nodding. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Jack slips away, the tips of his fingers just barely grazing the small of her back as he leaves.
The day somehow trudges on. The clock is useless to her here. Samira doesn’t bother checking the time once she finally hands off to Henderson, all her patients updated and accounted for. It’s so cold on the roof that it steals all the air from her lungs. Forces her to take a sharp inhale the moment the access door swings open. Jack is in front of her, just off to the left. His bag is still slung over his shoulder. His hands dance along the cold railing.
He turns over his shoulder. If Jack was grinning before, he’s beaming now, unabashedly taking in the sight of her without needing to worry about their coworkers seeing. “I was starting to think that you forgot about me.” His arms extend as Samira approaches. He wraps his jacket around her shoulders, pulling against the zippered edges to tug her closer to him.
“The holiday rush has officially begun,” Samira says, allowing herself to be tugged closer, closer. The jacket's wool lining brushes up against her exposed neck. “Just in time for night shift, lucky you.”
“Save anything fun for me?”
“A plethora of foreign body removals await you.”
“Romantic.”
She thinks distantly about his car air freshener. About all the other scents that she can’t pinpoint but that amalgamate to him. Something all encompassing and warm. “I didn’t know we were doing gifts, so that’s all I have to offer.”
“I don’t need anything,” he says. His mouth quirks to the side, eyes tracing over the shape of her body again before he lets go of his hold on her. He slides the bag from his shoulder. It doesn’t take him long to find what he wants. Jack presents a file folder to her. “But you need to see this.”
Samira takes it, probably a bit too cautiously, but if he can read through her poker face, then there's no reason to pretend. She flips open the folder and doesn't find a couple's massage or some terrible poem, but an AJEM printout. Matters of the Heart: Case-Crossover Analysis of Myocardial Infarction on Valentine's Day is circled in yellow highlighter at the top of the page.
Samira can’t help but laugh, nearly drops the papers Jack has so carefully paperclipped for her. She finds herself beaming right back at him, the corners of her lips curling up in delight. “God, you are so…”
“So…” Jack tilts his head towards her, chin ducking as he tries to somehow make even more eye contact. His hands slide along her waistband, thumbs brushing over her hipbones. Samira follows suit, arms wrapping along either side of Jack’s neck, the article hanging in her hand limply behind him. “So what, Dr. Mohan?”
Samira leans forward, closing the small gap that still remains between them, and presses her lips against his. Quick, chaste. He tastes like coffee. “So obnoxious.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Jack closes the gap this time, a deeper kiss, heavier hands moving up her sides. His stubble is bristly, and Samira’s face is still sore from the last time they were here, breathless and hurried at shift change. “Peonies are out of season, so I figured this was the next best thing.”
“I think this might be better,” Samira manages against his lips. “I’ll have to get you something—” Jack drops a kiss along her jaw that makes her gasp, which, in turn, makes him chuckle against her. Goosebumps spread over her skin. “I’ll have to get you something to make up for this next year.”
“Planning on keeping me around that long?” He asks.
She looks him over, pretending to consider the alternative. “I think I might.”
“Happy Valentine’s to me.”
Obnoxious. Samira half-heartedly attempts to swat at him, allowing her wrist to be caught in his grasp.