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Samira’s just about to leave when it occurs to her that she’s been left behind.
Disappointment hits her right in the gut, rendering her immobile as she glances around the hub. She assumed someone would wait for her—Parker, perhaps, since she invited Samira to breakfast only an hour ago, or Dr. Abbot—Jack—who’s made a habit of waiting for her since Pittfest. Her shoulders sag when she finds neither.
“Of course,” Samira mutters, fishing her phone out from her tote bag. She thinks of sending a “where are you?” text to Parker, but to her relief, there’s a message already waiting for her.
Dr. John Shen: come up to the roof before you leave lol
It’s a little ominous, but Samira follows his instruction regardless. She passes Cassie and they exchange a polite smile on her way to the elevator. Garcia slips in at some point, makes small talk, and slips right back out when the doors open to her floor.
The elevator takes her all the way to the top floor. Samira exits, turns the corner, and walks up the remaining flight of stairs to the roof.
Since Robby left for his sabbatical, Abbot’s been more open about the space, offering it first to Samira, and then to everyone else. The first time she went up was the Monday after Fourth of July, hoping to find him so she could finally ask for both a letter of recommendation and to be switched to nights. Apparently, Dr. Henderson’s been requesting to work days for a while anyway, so it worked out for both of them.
Sometimes, she thinks about how she’d found Abbot on the other side of the railing that morning. It reminded her of his side gig on the SWAT team, and she promptly decided that he’s an adrenaline junkie at best and an inactive suicide risk at worst.
It’s not like she was surprised or anything. She caught wind of this bad habit early on in her residency, overhearing a conversation between Robby, Dana, and Lena one morning at handoff about two weeks after her first ever shift. She didn’t know him then.
But, she knows him now. Ever since Samira joined the night shift, she’s only ever found him on the safer side, away from the ledge. Sometimes, he’s sitting on one of the lawn chairs Santos brought up. Sometimes, if she has time, she’ll join him. That’s how their shifts usually go—beginning with her seeking him out, and ending with him waiting for her.
As Samira approaches the door, she wonders what Shen’s doing up here, and if Jack’s with him. Thinks maybe Parker’s here, too. Hoping, really, that she didn’t get left behind after all. Just before she pushes the door open, she hears a muffled grunt.
“C’mon, big boy, a little longer,” Shen goads, and Samira’s thoughts come to an screeching halt. Her eyebrows pull together, and instead of opening the door, she presses her ear against it in bewilderment.
“Fuck—” A deeper groan, and then deep, shaky panting. Samira wracks her brain, trying to recognize the voice, but coming up empty. “I can’t!”
“You can and you will,” Shen demands, using a tone that she’s never once heard him use until now. It’s almost authoritative. Even when he’s teaching, there’s an air of casualness wrapped around his words, as if to not overwhelm anyone. Now, that casualness is completely gone, and is replaced with sheer determination. “Hold it, brother, hold it.”
Oh, no.
Horrified, Samira takes a step back. Part of her wants to crack it open, see exactly what’s going on out there, directly above their place of work, but the other half wants to sprint down the stairs and forget this ever happened. She decides that the latter is the safer, less traumatizing option, and is about to turn around when she hears a third voice.
“Mateo, you cannot let the old man win,” says Parker.
“I’m still your superior, Ellis,” Abbot grits out, which is the wrong thing to say. Samira’s lips curve upwards, knowing what’s coming.
“Why?” Parker prompts, completely monotone. “What do you mean by that, white man?”
“Walked right into that one,” Mateo says, and whimpers again.
Belatedly, Samira registers her own relief. Now that she knows there’s nothing salacious happening on the other side of the door, she finally pushes it open, only to reveal Mateo and Jack, side-by-side in plank position. Victoria stands between them, arms crossed over her chest like a stern Pilates instructor, while Shen sits cross-legged nearby, coffee in hand, as usual. Parker has her foot propped up under Mateo’s abdomen, maintaining the gap between him and the ground.
Behind them, Pittsburgh is radiant in the afterglow of sunrise, the city below awake and buzzing with energy. Samira is taken aback by the sight, like she always is, but her appreciation of it is interrupted by another whine.
“Do I even wanna know what’s happening right now?” Samira says, dumping her belongings next to Shen. She pops a squat, folding her arms over her knees to observe the scene in front of her.
Jack shifts, readjusting his stance so that his prosthesis is a little more secure against the padded exercise mat beneath him. Mateo does the same, as if it’s a trick to prolong his stamina.
“Dr. J’s filming a TikTok,” Shen says. “Apparently, there’s a plank-until-failure trend circulating around right now.”
She’s heard of it. Against her will, naturally. It all makes sense now.
Three weeks ago, she was woken up at three in the morning by the sound of her phone buzzing, the natural consequence of forgetting to turn on do-not-disturb mode before she passed out. Victoria, out sick for the week, had been doom-scrolling and came across said trend. There was nothing comprehensible about the string of messages following the many, many links forwarded into their group chat.
Said group chat was Trinity’s idea—aptly named ‘Paging Dr. Down Bad’—and consisted of Samira, Victoria, and Mel. That first conversation had been enlightening, to say the least.
Samira was adamant that she did not belong in there, but every time she doth protest, Trinity would wax poetic about how lovelorn she looked when she tended to Abbot’s bullet graze—which she denied, of course, but to no avail. Eventually, she got over her initial annoyance, and it fizzled out into a fond exasperation.
She likes having friends. She likes being in the group chat, for the most part anyway. She can tolerate—and even sympathize with—the near constant whining and complaining about charting and misbehaving patients. She’s more than happy to gush about their co-workers and attendings, now that Dr. Al Hashimi successfully made the ED a positive and harmonious work environment. She’ll even dabble in the occasional gossip and or vent sessions, which were usually initiated by Trinity.
What she cannot handle are the late night spam texts exchanged by Trinity and Victoria when she’s trying to fall asleep. This was why she started turning on DND every night in the first place. The random bursts of energy only ever seem to occur at the most ungodliest of hours.
If she had to jog her memory, she can vaguely recall Trinity’s three a.m. suggestion of enlisting their co-workers to do this challenge, though Samira thinks she just had the ulterior motive of wanting to hear Parker at her weakest and most vulnerable. Mel pleaded with Victoria at length to leave Langdon out of this, and in hindsight, maybe she should’ve done the same for Jack.
She shoots Victoria a look and receives an innocent smile in return. Innocent, her ass.
“So what are you and Parker doing, then?” Samira asks Shen.
“Well, I’m here for gentle encouragement,” he answers, “gently encouraging” Mateo some more when the latter starts trembling again.
For some reason, his tone triggers something in Samira that could only be described as a fight-or-flight response. A vivid memory comes to mind—Amma sitting next to her at the kitchen table, looking over her math homework as she struggled not to cry.
She snaps out of it and frowns at him, but he pays her no mind. Her thighs lift so she can peer over at her fellow senior resident expectantly.
Parker rolls her ankle, then angles the toe of her shoe a degree to the right in a half-hearted attempt to adjust Mateo’s form. “I tapped out a minute before you got here.”
Samira glances at the camera and knows that Trinity will be elated when she watches the footage. Elated, and something worse. Much worse.
“Y’know,” Abbot says with a grunt, catching Samira’s gaze, “it would be nice to get some gentle encouragement over here for a change.”
“That’s your cue, Mohan,” Parker teases, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. In her peripheral, Samira sees her turn to face the camera. “Men used to go to war.”
Victoria giggles, shaking her head, but the sound of her amusement sets off Mateo’s own laughter—and consequent downfall. He cries out, dodging Parker’s foot and rolling onto his side. Shen and Parker simultaneously erupt into jeers, while Victoria crouches down to tell him that he did good.
It’s official. Trinity’s successfully corrupted Victoria. It’s become clear that she had no intention of posting this in the first place, and was doing this solely to be close to Mateo—not that he minds, judging by the way he grins up at her. Samira sighs, shaking her head.
It dawns on her then that everyone else is collateral damage.
Jack’s collateral damage.
Feeling a little more sympathetic than her peers, Samira crawls over to where he’s situated, careful not to block the camera.
Wrong choice, she thinks belatedly, when she hears a soft grunt emit from his throat.
And then, heavy breathing.
Just heavy breathing.
Definitely not collateral damage.
In the back of her mind, she can see Trinity’s aggravating smirk, an I told you so ready to be used against her. Trinity’s going to be worse, and Samira won’t even be able to blame her because they’ll be worse together. She sneaks a quick, shameful glance at the camera and clears her throat.
“Mateo lost,” she tells him, crossing her legs as her eyes trail over the trembling of his shoulders, the twitching of his back muscles. “You won. You can rest now, Dr. Abbot.”
When he looks up at her, hazel eyes sharp with stubborn focus, she knows that he’ll only rest once he can’t hold himself up anymore. Plank until failure, not plank until everyone else fails.
“Okay,” Samira pivots, after a moment of contemplation. “Come on then, Jack, you got this. Keep going.”
Something crosses over his face—an expression she can’t decipher. He ducks his head, the tips of his ears reddening.
“Ugh, don’t encourage him, Mira,” Parker complains, standing up from her spot. “He could do this all day. He’ll probably throw his back out, but he could do this all day.”
Samira looks up, about to shoot her an exasperated look, only to be met with a knowing grin that she hates to see. Behind Parker, Victoria helps Mateo to his feet, and a thrill runs up her spine at the knowledge that when Jack finally taps out, she’ll get to do the same.
“Have it your way,” Parker says with a sigh. “Come join us when he’s done.”
Mateo takes a swig of Shen’s coffee, presumably to refuel. His face twists with disgust and he quickly returns the cup to him. “What the fuck is in that, dude?”
“Pure sugar and dreams,” he answers cheerfully, brushing past Samira with a hand around the strap of his duffel. “Don’t get into too much trouble now, you two.”
Mortification expands in Samira’s chest at the realization that they’re playing Cupid. She scoffs, averting her gaze to watch Victoria pick up her phone. It doesn’t tamper the gnawing feeling; in fact, it makes things worse when Victoria notches another arrow, hers in the form of a wink.
“See you later!” she calls over her shoulder before the door shuts behind them.
And now they’re alone. On the roof. With no one else here. Not unusual, to be fair, but under these circumstances, she feels a little restless. It’s not like she’s going to get on her hands and do a plank with him.
She’s torn out of her thoughts when Jack lets out another shaky groan—a whimper, more like. Her vision almost whites out, and her brain fares no better, turning into an echo chamber for the sound.
“Now you’re just showing off, Dr. Abbot,” she says with a nervous laugh. Her mouth is dry. “What are you trying to prove?”
Her self-control is weaning by the second. If he lets out one more noise, she’ll have no other choice but to ask Victoria to send her the video, too, “for research.”
Or, the greedier part of her brain interjects, just ask him to record it himself. Which would be insane because what kind of sick freak asks for a whimper audio? Her, if she were brave enough.
“Santos keeps calling me peepaw.” She can hear his pout. “Don’t laugh, Samira.”
“I’m not.” Biting back a smile, Samira tucks her legs under her and leans forward into a crouch. “She’s just pushing your buttons. It doesn’t mean she thinks you’re old.”
He raises his chin to look at her, visibly perking up. “Really?”
Samira nods with enthusiasm, grateful that the distraction has caused him to stop shoving her mind into the gutter. “Just last week, Javadi said you have the spirit of Gen Alpha.”
Jack chortles, and just like Mateo, collapses onto the ground. Finally. He rolls onto his back, covering his face with a bent arm. “I can’t decide whether or not that’s a compliment.”
She hums in response, and moves so that she’s hovering over him. “In this case, let’s go with compliment,” she murmurs, swiftly dodging his elbow as his face comes back into view. “Good morning.”
A soft smile spreads across his face. “Good morning,” he says, gruffly. “I feel achy.”
“Well, planking until failure will do that to you,” Samira responds. “Some breakfast will help.”
Jack leans up, and she has to be impressed by how he does not struggle to kiss her despite being upside down. The Spider-Man kiss, her brain supplies, only they’re not exactly upright. When she pulls back, he chases after her, but relents upon seeing that she’s stood up.
Samira hauls him to his feet, but doesn’t have to do much work. Now, she can kiss him properly, and does, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him closer. His hands come to rest on her hips, warm even through the waistband of her jean shorts. For the next twelve or so hours, he is not her attending, her mentor, her superior, but her boyfriend—of two weeks and counting.
It’s new, but she thinks she might love him. That’s a can of worms for another day.
The kiss manages to sate the desire still lingering in the corners of her brain, though just barely. The quiet grumble of her stomach reminds her that there are more urgent matters at hand.
“I’m so hungry,” Samira whispers against his mouth, swallowing his answering chuckle.
“Well, we can’t have that for our best and brightest, now can we?” he murmurs back.
She shakes her head mildly, and opens her eyes. “No, we can’t.”
Jack pecks her cheek, then goes to grab her bag from the ground. As he lifts it to his shoulder, she considers fighting him for it, but knows she’ll only end up losing, so she lets him carry it for now. He likes doing this stuff—being useful in tangible ways, especially for her. She likes that he likes it. It makes her wonder what else he would do for her. It makes her think he’d follow her all the way to Jupiter, if not farther.
“How’s the leg?” she asks, noticing his wince.
“Also achy, but I’ll manage,” he answers.
Samira loops an arm around his waist anyway, providing him with extra support and soothing her touch starvation at the same time. Turns out Victoria’s not the only one with ulterior motives.
When Jack gives her another kiss, this time on the crown of her head, she makes her decision. After breakfast, she’ll ask him to come over, maybe bat her lashes a little, twirl her hair. Watch as his resolve crumbles into nothing when he finally realizes the real purpose of the plank challenge, and why he was asked to be apart of it.
As she pries the door open, he spares her a teasing grin. “You gonna carry me down those stairs, Mohan?” he asks, settling a little more of his weight on her.
She huffs out a laugh, and bears it all the same. “In your dreams, Abbot.”