Work Text:
Monday, July 5, 2026 - 7:00 AM
Samira didn't suspect Dr Robby would want to talk more about her potential future career, as seemingly set on shipping her off to geriatrics as he was—so when he immediately cornered them the day after, they was more than a tad surprised.
"Mohan, with me." He twirled his fingers until they pointed in the direction of the paeds room, a look of what Samira almost thought was embarrassment on his face. Although, she concluded, that had to be a trick of the light, as when they entered the room it once again fell into his usual patronising concern.
Oh, how they hated that look.
"Listen—" she began, but was immediately cut off with another hand wave from him. Baulking slightly, she ultimately decided 'well, do I care anymore what he thinks?', and carried on regardless.
"I thought you'd decided to leave on your little, uh... sabbatical?"
He gave her a stony look before conceding. "I have some other plans. That doesn't matter. What does matter, however," he said, eyebrows raising, "is what you end up doing at the end of your R4, and you seem to not have come to a conclusion yourself."
Samira crossed their arms, aware this action was probably regarded as out-of-order regarding workplace etiquette, but at this moment couldn't give a fuck less. "I thought you came to that conclusion for me. Geriatrics, apparently more my style? You seemed quite set on it yesterday."
He nodded, eyes downcast in a way that made her hackles instinctively raise. They seemed sympathetic at first glance, but Samira knew that look. It was same one given to her countless times, to most of the nurses too, and a vast proportion of the doctors, and some of the patients who came in here, and had the ability and gall to request a different method of care—Mohan had realised long ago that look had mostly been given to women, or people percieved that way at least.
The look was apparently meant to be sympathetic, but all Mohan could read it as was impatience. Discomfort, suffering, perhaps—even just pure frustration.
Fuck's sake, they wanted to snap, whenever they saw that look directed at them, how do you think I feel? You're so self-absorbed it's unbearable to look at sometimes.
But she didn't snap. Eventually he raised his eyes again to look back at her, ignoring what must have been a look of pure hatred being sent his way, and continued.
"I do think that you should… consider geriatrics, at least. Not only for the patients, but for—well, there's no way to put this lightly—"
"Put what lightly?" If you can't put it lightly, just blurt it out, or don't bother saying it at all. Luckily, Samira bit their tongue before the next part came out.
"Well—the Pitt is a family. Or like a family at least. Lots of people wandering around, interacting, being all buddy-buddy," he smiled, partially miming as he spoke, "generally getting along with each other. Or at least that's what we want, right?"
It took a second for Samira to realise he wasn't being rhetorical. She nodded abruptly.
"So when there are people who don't, well, gel with that buddy-buddy dynamic, that is to say, act a bit, uh, aloof, above it all, that kind of thing—it rubs people the wrong way."
"Al—I'm aloof?" They couldn't help themself from snorting, air bursting out of their mouth at the speed of a bullet. "You mean I'm too dedicated to the work instead of the workplace vibe?" She wiggled her fingers before crossing her arms again.
"Yea—well, no, uh—partially. Your dedication to patients is admirable—"
"Well, this is an emergency room—"
"But! But—your lack of connection to your coworkers will hinder you! You rarely turn up for out-of-work events. Your last one was, what, last year? You treat people cordially, that's true at least, but you very rarely hold conversations beyond checking in. You talk about your work, and your mom maybe once? Twice?" He shook his head, despairingly. "You don't view your coworkers as your friends, and people are starting to notice."
"So what—"
"It's not—" he bit off the rest of his sentence abruptly, and they chose the moment to jump in.
"So what if I don't treat my coworkers like friends? They're not! They're coworkers! God forbid I have some separation from my work and the rest of my life?" She shook her head, and continued. "Maybe I would be friends with some of them, if they asked, but really? If I can be honest? I'm just not interested. I want to do my job. Can I not just do my job? Without you and everyone else around here breathing down my neck?"
She stopped, surprising even herself with the outburst, and looked over in anticipation to see what Dr Robby thought of it. Not good things, mostly likely.
His only response was silence.
Samira sighed, wondering if this was the last straw—not for her of course. For Dr Robby. They wanted to keep working in the Pitt. He obviously didn't. They turned to the door, preparing for what was likely to be their last ever shift.
"Abbot wanted me to talk to you."
That caught her attention. She peered back at him, scrutinising his expression. He had the self-consciousness to look slightly berated, at least. Although she doubted it was all down to her—Dr Abbot had likely contributed a bit. Or most of it, actually, with how hesitant Dr Robby seemed to be with continuing.
She decided to prompt him. "Dr Abbot? What, uh, what did he want?" She chuckled, hoping to balance out the thump of dread in her heart. Was Abbot disappointed in her too? Was that what had prompted Dr Robby to begin his tirade anyway?
Had Abbot noticed her… her detachment? Her aloofness? Was that the way she acted around him? Some part of her kind of hoped so. It was better than the other, slightly more humiliating alternative.
"He—well, to put it quite simply, he wanted to make you an offer."
"An offer?" They were sure their eyebrows had raised a bit too far more than was typical in this kind of conversation, but they didn't really care at this point.
"An offer of a job on the night shift. Here. At the Pitt." His words were terse, sharp—frustrated, even. That same look was back in his eyes, but Samira was less bothered this time.
"…What other night shift job would he be offering?"
"None—just that, uh, well, I'm not sure night shift would be your thing either." His mouth curled up almost vindictively.
"You mean they're pretty—how did you phrase it?—buddy-buddy as well?"
"Samira—"
"Mohan," they snapped.
"Mohan—" he hesitated. "I don't think you're a good fit for working at the Pitt at all. However, I won't stop you if you choose to pursue it."
"…How gracious of you." They stepped back, prising the door open. Before leaving, they turned back to him. "And besides, I don't think night shift would mind my aloofness. They're all a bit weird on that shift, anyway. Less, uh, family, and more just supportive, from what I've seen. But even if they weren't—I don't really care. I don't care if they're buddy-buddy. I don't care if they dislike the fact I don't socialise as much as I apparently should. I just want to help my patients. That's it."
She made sure not to slam the door on her way out—barely.