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Samira is tired.
Her chest still feels uncomfortably tight, and the buzzing in her ears hasn't completely dissipated, but she needs to get away from the ER, from Robby, from her coworkers who saw her so weak. She'd beelined to the roof about ten minutes ago, draping herself over the hot metal railing. Her eyes are closed, and she tries to focus on the warmth of the metal through her scrubs, slowing her breathing.
Its not easy though. Her skin feels itchy and wrong, and she hears Robby's words in her head still, hears him fucking laughing at her. Mohan the fuck up, Mohan with her stupid mommy issues, Mohan the liability. She had wanted to scream at him, tell him he was wrong, jump up and run out – but she was tied to the bed with leads and wires, her coworkers watching her fall apart, and she could do nothing but take it.
He'd sort of apologised, some half-assed crap that she thinks was forced out of him, but there's still a sick feeling of betrayal in her stomach. She's aware that Robby has his favourites, his golden students - Langdon, Whittaker, Mel. There's a softness there, compassion. Samira had felt none of that earlier.
Her heart beats fast in her chest. She scrubs her hands over her eyes, focuses on her breathing. She's felt anxiety before, but she's never had a panic attack, and she's not sure if these aftershocks are normal. She's coached patients through them before – patted the bed and told them it’s normal, to take a moment to feel better. She sort of wants to go back in time and smack herself.
There's a small sound behind her, and Samira realises she's not alone.
She turns, embarrassment creeping up her neck, hot and ugly. She's slightly surprised to see Santos there, sitting on the floor, back pressed against the wall. She looks tired in the way that all R2s do, snapping a rubber band against her wrist, again and again.
"Sorry," Santos says quietly. "Didn't mean to surprise you."
"No, it's okay. You didn't."
She absolutely did.
Samira wasn't sure if Santos was there when she'd come up, hadn't heard or seen her. There was a sheen of sweat on her forehead, like she'd been sitting in the heat for a while, and her eyes were bright.
"I heard about what happened."
She doesn't particularly want to see Santos up here, and Samira definitely doesn't want to talk about this with her.
"Excellent," Samira says flatly. “So glad that spread around the entire floor.” She looks back out at the skyline, hoping that her body language makes it clear that she doesn't want to talk.
Santos shrugs but seems to get the hint. She shuts up, making no sound except for the snap, snap, snap of the rubber band against her skin.
Samira sighs. "Why are you doing that?" She doesn't look at her, but she thinks Santos knows what she means because the snapping stops. She hears shuffling behind her, and she stays quiet as Santos settles herself next to Samira on the railing.
"You doing okay?" Santos says, ignoring her question. "Panic attacks suck."
Samira snorts, ducking her head, and Santos huffs out a small breath, which might be a laugh.
"Yeah, sorry. Understatement."
She hums in agreement but doesn't say anything else.
She's not close with Santos. She doesn't think anyone is, really, maybe outside of Whittaker and a few nurses. She thinks there's a good doctor underneath that brashness, possibly a good person even. She remembers what Santos did for her all those months ago, remembers that sick feeling as she watched her be berated by Langdon.
She'd reached out to her a few times at first, but Santos could be difficult, and working in an ER is hard enough without having to manage the moods of coworkers. Most days Samira just didn't have the energy. If Santos wanted to sulk around the hospital, then that was her issue.
Up close though, Samira can see the dark circles under her eyes and can see that her bottom lip is bloody, like she's been chewing on it.
"Are you good?" she asks, surprising them both. Santos blinks at her, and for a second something flickers in her eyes – but then her expression shutters, and her perpetual smirk is back.
"Oh yeah. Living the fucking dream."
Santos looks down and starts fishing for something in her pocket. She eventually pulls out a slightly crinkled packet and offers it out to Samira.
She blinks, once, twice, at the familiar neon yellow.
"Are those... Warheads?"
Santos’ mouth twists into a smile as she shakes the bag until Samira gives in and plucks a wrapped hard candy from the packet. She hasn't had one of these for years, she doesn't think. "Didn't peg you as a sweet tooth."
Santos shrugs, picks a candy out of the bag and fiddles with the wrapper. "S'good for anxiety. Distracts your brain and shit."
"And what, you just carry them around with you all day?" she says, voice skeptical. Santos shrugs, putting the candy back in her pocket.
Samira thinks she has heard that fact before, actually – putting your hands under cold water, holding ice cubes, smelling something strong. Something to distract your system and shift the focus from the internal to the external.
She glances down at Santos' wrist. There's a bruise under the rubber band, she notices idly.
"Thanks, I guess." Samira tucks the wrapped candy into her pocket.
She feels a little guilty for being surprised. She forgot Santos could be kind like this, too used to her sarcasm and sharp edges. She wonders what else is buried underneath her shell. Wonders what else people miss.
She gets it. Some days she isn't sure that anyone here truly knows her. She sees these people every day, but none of them are friends, not really.
"I just hate that people saw." she admits quietly. "The med students, the attendings." Robby.
Santos nods, rubbing her thumb along the railing. "It's hard. Being seen like that. But they're mpstly just glad you're okay."
She isn't sure thats strictly true, but she chooses not to comment. Its a nice thought though.
She doesn't say anything, just lets the quiet wash over her. She feels calmer, she realises. Still oddly achey and weary, but she doesn't feel like she could crumple again.
There's a quiet chime, and the soft buzz of Samira's phone against her thigh. She pulls it out, sees she's received test results she was waiting for, along with a message from one of the med students.
She sighs, realises her reprieve is over. She closes her eyes as she prepares herself to get back. She doesn't feel quite ready for this, she thinks.
"Hey." Santos nudges her shoulder to get her attention, and she suddenly looks more earnest than Samira thinks she's ever seen her.
"Fuck 'em," she says, quietly and seriously. “You're a good doctor. Don't ever let any asshole tell you otherwise. Especially not middle-aged white dudes taking their shit out on you.”
Samira does smile at that, surprised at the genuine compliment. She pushes herself off the railing, rolls her shoulders, and turns to go back in. “Thanks for the candy.”
Santos smiles and throws up a mock salute. “Anytime, Mohan.”
Samira turns, prepares to walk away. She still feels a little raw, but her talk with Santos had helped, surprisingly.
As she pulls the door open, she turns back to look at Santos one last time – watches as she unwraps a candy, pops it in her mouth, her hand drifting back to the rubber band around her wrist.
Samira turns away, closing the door firmly behind her.