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The first time hadn’t been on purpose. Sure, he’d wondered in weaker moments what it would be like to be Samira Mohan’s patient. To be on the receiving end of that intense focus, that purposeful, compassionate care. A man can dream. He’d confined himself to trying to make her smile and showing her all his cowboy tricks. He got to bask in the Mohan glow while still getting to feel like he hadn’t stepped over an absolutely insane boundary. So no, the first time had very much not been on purpose. Contrary to popular belief, Jack Abbot did not enjoy getting shot at. Much less did he enjoy the fallout of actually getting nicked.
Ordinarily, it would’ve been a lot harder to sneak past Dana’s sharp eye to tend to himself. Thank God everyone was busy worrying about Robby’s soon-to-begin mid-life crisis to worry about the uniformed man disappearing into South 15. It was refreshing, for once, to not be the middle-aged man being watched like a hawk--to be the slightly-less-active suicide risk on everyone’s radar. And on the fourth of July, too. No one had even thought about asking how he was handling the fireworks. Small mercies. Today would almost be blissful if it wasn’t for his shoulder feeling like it might be on fire. Being shot at was much worse than fireworks and he was immensely grateful he’d somehow found an empty room in the middle of the chaos.
Samira had been considerably more upset than he was to find that room not exactly empty, but with a very different occupant than she had been expecting. The thrill that always went through him when she was around was cut short when he realized she had little to no interest in his current predicament. At least, not initially. He shouldn’t have expected any different, not when there was an actual patient on her mind. God, she was perfect. He kept his gaze very carefully away from her as she explained Mr. Diaz’s problem. She didn’t need to see the unbearable fondness that was flooding his chest. His offer to pay for the Uber was sincere, but if he’d known that’s what it would take for her to step close and help out with the shoulder, he probably would’ve blurted it out the second she’d walked in and made an absolute idiot of himself. He’d never been one to lack finesse but it went flying out the window--hell, it basically got on an international flight with two checked bags--anytime Samira showed her face. As it was, he had a difficult time maintaining his practiced nonchalance when her fingers brushed the skin around his wound. Lord help him but he was a goner.
And that’s how it all started. Jack Abbot, who had never once injured himself on the job (besides that one time he stepped on a landmine, but that hardly counts), suddenly was starting a collection of inconsequential cuts and scrapes that required just a little bit of help to address. Just enough to take up about five minutes of Dr. Mohan’s time. If Dana noticed that these incidents only ever happened when Samira was near enough to help, only whenever there was a quiet moment when no patient was going to be put at risk, she didn’t say anything. There was, however, a small pool running on when Samira would make the connection, and Dana had her whole vacation riding on it.
Samira was not in the least bit unaware. The first time was a clear occupational hazard. If the man insisted on running around playing soldier, he was liable to get hurt. She’d been distracted and disappointed by the loss of her patient, then utterly charmed by his quiet offer of help. She hadn’t expected him to let her treat him, had seen the way he brushed off the care of others, so she’d taken the swab from his hand without asking. The second time, a clumsy slip of the hand with a scalpel, was certainly surprising but not impossible. Even the unflappable Jack Abbot had to have off days, she supposed. The fact that Dr. Abbot wasn’t the least bit bothered by the fact he’d been careless with a sharp instrument was her first hint. The man practically beamed at her while she cleaned the one inch gash, the burn of the antiseptic didn’t even make a dent. By the third time, she was on to him. Who manages to burn themselves on a coffee pot? She’d walked into the break room and he’d whirled to face her, eyes twinkling, brandishing his reddened forearm with something akin to glee and she’d had to bite down hard to keep from smiling.
Then the news of the bet reached her and Samira had an idea.
“Mel,” she said to her friend’s back. “You know that bet about Dr. Abbot?”
“Yes!” Mel spun in her chair, charting forgotten, absolutely ready to discuss. Her smile dropped when she realized who she was talking to and she cleared throat. “I mean--no? Bet, what--uh, what bet?”
Samira raised an eyebrow and Mel lifted the corner of her mouth in an apologetic half-smile, half-wince. “Dana started it,” she stage whispered, pointing behind her hand so Dana wouldn’t see.
Samira hummed. “I need you to do me a favor and bet on it for me.”
“Bet on it for you?” Mel stuttered. “I don’t--wouldn’t that be cheating?”
“Consider it payback for everyone thinking they can bet on my love life,” Samira rolled her eyes. “What’s the pot up to?”
Mel exhaled. “Dana’s got a solid five hundred riding on Valentine’s Day.”
That was more than she expected, but it meant a great pay day for her. She did the calendar math. Valentine’s was a solid three months away. Jack was going to run out of things to mildly hurt by then and she was more than a little concerned he’d amp up his efforts. She’d made a side comment yesterday about needing to practice her crics and he’d piped up as a volunteer. She’d laughed it off but she got the feeling he might have been a little serious. God, he was perfect.
“Make a bet for six hundred. For Christmas Eve,” Samira couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. She had an absolutely brilliant, foolproof plan.
The thing about working in an ER is that there’s no such thing as foolproof. The plan had been brilliant, but hadn’t accounted for the number of foolhardy things people got into on Christmas Eve. Between hands stuck in jars and jars stuck in--well, you know, Samira had hardly seen Jack and the clock was ticking. They were nearing the wee hours of the morning and the end of their shift. She supposed she should be grateful it had been a q-u-i-e-t shift, without any harsh losses. But those six hundred dollars would be a harsh loss, she grumbled to herself. And there was the tiny, infinitesimal problem that she was more than a little head over heels for the idiot. The first time she’d met him she’d been more than a little impressed--in awe, even. She’d be lying if she said that watching his hands perform complicated procedures didn’t do something to her. He was a tough, competent, compassionate doctor. And he was also an adorable idiot. She sighed, watching him start the hand-off to day shift. New plan.
As Dr. Al-Hashimi walked away to take over Jack’s patients, Samira crossed the room on a collision course. This was going to be the single most embarrassing thing she’d ever done and she wasn’t sure she could pull it off convincingly, but--fuck it. As she neared her target, she did her best to stumble, trip, and twist, rolling her ankle underneath her. She let out a little yelp when it worked better than she thought, a sharp pain shooting up her leg. On cue, Jack’s hands were helping her up. She put a little weight on the ankle and hissed (maybe for effect), leaning heavily on Jack’s arm.
“Okay?” he asked, a line of concern between his brows.
“Yeah, yeah,” she said, hopping for balance. “Yeah, just--I think I just need to wrap it so I can walk out to my car.”
“I can do that,” Jack waved off Al-Hashimi. “Think you can hop to a gurney?”
Samira could do better than that, she already knew there was an empty room ready for her. She pointed to where she wanted to go and he moved with her. Her new brilliant plan was working. Who said she couldn’t work on the fly? Robby could forget about this Slo-Mo business. She was on fire. And also her ankle kind of burned. Good thing she was off for the next two days.
Jack sat her down on the bed, infinitely gentle, and turned to grab a bandage. “Never took you for clumsy, Dr. Mohan,” he said, rolling over a chair and patting his thigh.
She put her foot up on his leg and raised an eyebrow at him. “Me? What about you?”
He peered up at her in that way that’s wholly his as he unlaced her shoe. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean. I’m beauty and grace all in one, one-and-a-half-legged package.”
Samira laughed at that and began ticking her fingers. “Let’s see, there was the bullet, the scalpel, the coffee pot, sprained fifth finger, the other sprained fifth finger--shall I go on?”
A flush spread up from his neck as she made the list. “I do seem to have become accident prone recently.”
His fingers were warm on her ankle and she sighed, leaning back on her hands and closing her eyes. Did she imagine that he brushed his thumb over the top of her foot?
“If I were a suspicious person, I might think you were doing it on purpose, Jack.”
He cleared his throat and started wrapping the ACE bandage around her ankle. “And why would I do that, Samira?”
She shivered at the sound of her name and his hands hitched for the barest of seconds. “Maybe you need a vacation,” she murmured. This was harder than she thought. She could just say it, if she wasn’t such a coward.
“A vacation,” there was amusement in his voice, no doubt thinking of his empty house and a police scanner. “And what would I do with a vacation?”
“I can think of a few things,” Samira whispered under breath.
His head snapped up, eyes narrowed. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Samira smiled a too bright smile, eyes wide. God, this was horrible. She was confusing the hell out of this poor man. She suddenly wished for Dana’s blunt presence. She would solve this instantly. You like her and she likes you. Mazel tov.
Jack finished his ministrations and patted her knee. “Good as new, Dr. Mohan.”
The clear signal to move her foot off his thigh. She blew her bangs out of her face with a harsh exhale. New plan.
“Aren’t you forgetting a step, Dr. Abbot?”
He quirked an eyebrow at her, hesitation in the line of his shoulders.
She wiggled her foot. “I think it would speed up the healing process if you kissed it better.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. The fingers around her ankle twitched. Then slowly, as if he was expecting her to take it back, he pressed his lips to the white cloth, his eyes never leaving hers. The heat spread from that single point of contact, sending a fuzzy feeling up her leg. Finally. She grinned at him and the corner of his mouth slowly climbed upward, his cheeks flushed.
“A vacation sounds nice,” he said, his tone mild, eyes still disbelieving.
Samira pulled him towards her, fingers wrapped in the collar of his scrubs. “I just won a lot of money,” a kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth, one to the corner of his eye, “how do you feel about a cabin in the mountains?”
“Oh, godammit,” Dana snapped from the doorway. “You couldn’t wait two more months? Ahmad, clear the board!”
Neither Samira or Jack looked up, more than a little busy and Dana sighed to herself, muttering as she turned away. “I gotta call Robby, tell him he lost. Again. Poor broke bastard.”