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Night at The Pitt doesn't arrive so much as it's declared. The fluorescent lights hum softly, the monitors blink insistently, and time stretches into some amorphous thing where hours fold around one another until there's no beginning or end.
But for Jack and Samira, a shift ends the way it so often does now, without ceremony and without discussion. They go along in parallel motion, side by side instead of together, completing charts, getting cases signed off, running through details one last time with the practiced precision that feels like reflex. One need not ask what comes next and they definitely don't need to confirm anything at all.
It’s instead understood and if they're honest with themselves, it has been for a while now.
They walk out of the hospital next to each other, not touching but aligned in that comfortable intentional way. The parking lot is more subdued than the chaos that they’ve just emerged from, the air becomes cooler and the city before looks less urgent. The noise is there, just not a necessity for them anymore.
Jack's apartment greets them with the same silence. He flips the switch beside the door as a warm, unoffensive glow pools in the living room with paltry shadow elsewhere. The city filters in odd pieces through the windows, passing headlights, distant traffic echoing away, that soft muted drone of life carrying on somewhere out there.
They get into the habit of doing so, often without even realizing it.
Shoes are left by the door. Jackets are hung in their usual place. Samira moves through the apartment with quiet familiarity, not claiming ownership, but no longer feeling like a visitor either. She knows where things are. She knows how the space breathes.
Jack vanishes into the kitchen as the sounds of glass clinking follow him. He comes back a moment later with two beers. He passes her one without a word, their fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary when she grabs it.
She pretends to like it and he pretends not to notice.
They plop on the couch, keeping an intentional gap between them. An old habit more than an interest, the television is on but muted, forgotten. An unassuming speaker quietly hums music in the corner, something slow and ambient that diffuses the room without attention.
Samira reclines slightly, her posture relaxing, her eyes wandering to the far wall as if there's something there that needs studying. Her brain is moving through a multitude of thoughts, reaching the next part of it before she can really get a full blown thought formed.
Jack steels himself to watch her without being too obvious about it, his gaze going between the rest of the room and her. This much he knows of her, she speaks when she’s ready to and definitely not on anyone else's time.
“Can I ask you something that might be considered a big question?” she asks eventually, with a small sip and even smaller grimace.
Jack turns to her instantly, his focus shifting without skipping a beat. There’s something open in his expression, something placid.
"You can ask me anything," and it’s not hyperbole. He means it.
She takes a slow breath and grounds herself, her fingers tightening just the slightest around the neck of the bottle. In the moment she thinks about retreating, steering their discussion into something more frivolous, easier. But she doesn't.
“Did you think about kids?” she asks. The question arrives without fanfare, but it has a gravitas to it.
Jack stills, not in surprise, but in recognition of what it asks of him. There’s an impulse, a brief fleeting thing where he wants nothing more but to deflect, add humor, hell, anything to help him answer without opening up too much. Instead, he sits with it.
Samira looks at him, still, focused. She sees it immediately, the cogs in his mind working in overdrive, that slight change in poise and soul, and when she looks shes merely behind his eyes. She doesn’t interrupt. She gives him space.
“I thought about it,” he continues, his voice measured. “A long time ago.”
His hand shifts slightly, his grip tightening for a brief moment before easing again. “And then I stopped.”
The simplicity of the statement doesn’t lessen its weight. He doesn't say her name because he doesn't need to. The absence fills the space between them, understood without explanation.
“That thought died around the same time she did,” he adds, his tone even, controlled in the way it always is when he’s navigating something that still carries sharp edges. “It didn’t feel right to keep it alive. It felt like… holding onto something that didn’t belong to me anymore.”
Samira feels that settle somewhere deep in her chest. She shifts slightly closer, not enough to make it obvious, but enough to close the distance in a way that feels intentional.
“And now?” she asks, her voice softer now.
Jack doesn't answer immediately.
This is something he thinks about, as he does with anything that matters, he examines it and deliberates over it and makes sure the answer is a genuine one.
“If it were to happen now, I think I'd be going in arms wide open.” For a moment he looks down at his hands, back up to her. "And if it didn't," he says, "I'd probably be okay with that too."
The words are steady and sound certain, but Samira sees beyond them.
She sees the flicker of something else beneath the surface, something quieter, something that he hasn't fully allowed himself to name. Its subtle, but its there, and once she sees it, she cant ignore it.
Hope.
She swallows, shifting slightly, gathering her own thoughts.
“I used to think about it too,” she says.
Jack nods, giving her the same attention she gave him, his focus entirely on her now.
“When I was younger, it felt like part of the plan,” she continues. “You grow up, you build something, you have kids. It wasn’t something I questioned. It was just… expected.”
A faint smile crosses her lips, though its more reflective than amused.
“Then med school happened.”
Jack lets out a quiet breath, something close to a laugh. “Yeah. That’ll do it...”
“It does,” she says. “It changes how you see everything. What matters. How much of yourself you’re willing to give.”
She pauses, her fingers tracing the curve of the bottle absently. “Which was that if I gave it all to that then, I wouldn’t need anything else.”
That's more true than Jack will ever say even out loud, and he knows it. “And was it?” he asks gently.
“For a while,” she says. “Yeah.”
She leans back a bit as her shoulders relax. But then she pauses and says, "But lately…”
Jack waits.
She says, “My mom kept asking if I was dating anyone."
Jack's brow lifts slightly, something approaching amusement flickering there. “Recently?”
She nods. “I told her about you.”
He stills, just slightly. “And?” he asks.
“She asked if you had kids,” Samira continues. “And I said no. Immediately.”
She looks down briefly, replaying it. “And I saw it,” she says. “The way her face changed. Not disappointment before. Just… something that came back the second I said no.”
Jack’s chest tightens slightly, though his expression remains composed. “Hope,” he says quietly.
Samira nods. “Yeah.”
There’s a pause. A heavier one.
“How did that feel?” he asks.
She meets his gaze fully now.
“Like maybe I decided too quickly,” she says. “Not because I didn’t want it. But because I thought I had to choose.”
“Choose what?” he asks.
“Who I was going to be,” she says. “A doctor who gives everything to her work… or something else. Something that needs a different kind of attention.”
Jack considers that, letting it settle.
“I don’t know what that looks like yet,” she continues. “Or if it happens. But I realized I’m not as closed off to it as I thought I was.”
The word hangs there.
Open.
Something inside Jack quiets, he exhales slowly. "Well," he says, "I guess that could be enough."
She smiles softly. “I think so too.”
But then silence comes back and the silence is different. Fuller and much more grounded.
Jack reaches for her hand, his fingers coming to rest, smooth over hers without pause. Her palm instinctively turns under his, and their hands envelope themselves like they've done this a hundred times.
“If it happens then it happens. And if it doesn’t —”
“That’s okay too, of course,” she finishes.
In the moment they lock eyes, and this time neither one looks away. Something shifts, not dramatically, not in a way that demands anything immediate, but enough.
Jack runs his thumb across the knuckles of her fists, voice lower. “I’m glad that we're able to talk about this.”
“So am I,” she replies.
She leans into him then, laying her head on his shoulder. Jack moves automatically then, putting his arm around her, head laying carefully against hers.
The documentary continues in the background but outside, the world around them pulses on, oblivious to this small but meaningful shift happening inside.
Eventually, Jack looks down at her and the weight of her presence grounds into something permanent.
“Someday,” he says quietly.
Samira closes her eyes, and hums quietly. “Someday,” she echoes.
For the first time, these words don't seem far away.
It feels real.
It's one of those few days off from the relentless grind that is The Pitt, where Jack and Samira have chosen to take advantage of their time. The apartment feels almost too quiet at first, the sun streaming through the blinds with no pager or monitor beeping away at an ungodly hour, or footsteps rushing around outside their door. They almost seem to tiptoe around their own little space, enjoying the lack of caution, but there's a tinge of excitement, there's a plan and it involves people they both love.
By mid morning Jack is chopping vegetables in the kitchen, eyes forward and concentration fierce with his apron tied tightly around his waist and hands slick with olive oil. Samira moves behind him, brushing against his shoulder every now and then, a silent observer of the picked up rhythm hes quietly built up. There's an easy familiarity that neither the hospital nor duty are able to disrupt, only a quiet intimacy forged over shared shifts and mutual trust.
Sliding a bowl toward him, Samira says, “I can help.”
Jack just shakes his head. "Absolutely not, but you can watch," he says with a smirk and a wink her way, causing her to laugh and shake her own head in mild disbelief. “Just make sure that no one stops by and sees me in my element. Oh and can you do me a favor?"
"Sure," she says already moving forward.
"Can you just... stand there and look beautiful? Oh wait, look at you being an over achiever."
Samira halts herself and smiles in his direction, "Very funny."
He gives himself a smirk, and she lightly chuckles, warm and airy. A rare moment of banal domesticity, a near minuscule act of rebellion against the craziness of their lives.
The apartment smells of roasting herbs, garlic and searing chicken by noon. The table is set, a casual configuration of plates and glasses, each in its own spot, with some forethought behind it. Invites were sent out, most via text, and by early afternoon the first of the crew starts to arrive.
Robby, Dana, Dennis, Cassie, Javadi, Santos and Frank with Mel in tow start trickling in with pleasantries and laughs, the effortless banter between coworkers who have supported each other through crises for years.
The room fills with energy instantly. Overlapping conversations, some low, some high, the way a hospital staff always seems to be talking about something. Every time someone walks in, Jack looks at the door to make sure that the space is opening up and filling with people as planned. Samira floats close, an anchor in silence, hand grazing his here and there.
The first bites are almost in reverent silence after everyone is seated. The scent of Jack’s cooking hangs heavy in the air, understated but omnipresent, and murmurs of appreciation, race across the table.
Dana sits there, spoon hovering before her mouth, eyes round, “Oh. Well damn... who do I gotta pay to cook for me this way?”
“This is… really good,” Cassie murmurs as she goes in for another bite.
Mel barely has the sense to even put words to it as she says, “I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s… perfectly seasoned. It's so good. Oh my god...”
Javadi, ever dramatic, sets her fork down. “I never eat,” she declares with a stunned look around the table, “But damn, let me get a second plate once I'm done with this one.”
The room chuckles, a mix of disbelief and amusement, and Samira seizes the moment. She stands as well, voice carrying over the chatter just enough to capture attention.
“You all have to know,” she says, and the group quiets expectantly. “Jack cooked all of this.”
The reactions are immediate. Eyes widen. Some jaws drop in genuine shock. Frank laughs and looks around. “You? Cook like this? I'm carrying the same sentiment of damn.”
Jack shrugs, a small smile at the edge of his lips. "Sometimes," he says plainly, though the pride is clear in his eyes.
Samira smiles and looks at him with a warmth that is unrelated to the food. But she also knows, voice just as steady and pumped with excitement, that food isnt the sole reason for them getting together. “And while we’re at it, we have some news."
With that some of them exchange glances towards each other, before Samira says, "We’re pregnant.”
There's a beat of silence in the room, then the weight of what she announces settles lightly but firmly. Their reactions vary from cheers, clapping, and laughter interspersed with shock. In every direction, people get up from their chairs to hug Samira, and clasped congratulations on Jack's back. Dennis beams, slapping Jack on the shoulder harder than he realizes. Mel’s voice wobbles with joy before embracing Samira in a solid hug that lasts a few too many seconds before Samira too detaches, watches her face and reembraces her once again. Robby and Dana share looks that are half amusement, half pride, as if they suspected but never hoped.
Across the room, Jack and Samira exchange a fleeting glance, quiet in the chaos, fingers grazing as jubilance swells around them. Javadi nearly bounces, plate in hand, light in her eyes. Her voice is a little breathless, and the words of, 'No wonder you were eating bagel bites in the morning the other day... you never eat bagel bites...' drifts out of her. She places the plate down, and hugs her, followed by, "You two are going to be incredible."
After the excitement dies down and people get back to eating, Jack heads to the kitchen to leave some plates in the sink but leans against the counter, watching the energy around him. He observes Robby being amused by something Dennis has said, Mel talking amongst Frank as their own little smiles grace their faces and Cassie making a dry joke that Javadi instantly shoots down. The warmth in the room has little to do with the food but more to do with how they connect, and how they all take care of one another despite the hells unleashed on a daily basis.
It's Robby who appears with more plates that he sets into the sink besides Jack, that stops to watch the people in their lives along the counter as well. “So,” he says, voice hushed in a private manner, “she has you cooking again?
Jack subsequently looks to him, a small smile on his lips. He gives his head a slight shake, with the smile broadening as he watches Samira, laughing at some comment just made by Javadi. The laughter rings out, thick and real, and he can’t help but not watch the way she throws her head back and immediately starts to defend herself in the best way possible.
“I did it on our first date. Everytime, I was reminded just how much I enjoyed doing it. She'd mention some of her favorite food and I knew then that I wanted to know all the recipes that made her smile."
Robby follows his gaze, watching Samira toss her head back with amusement, eyes sparkling as she teases Javadi about some nonexistent grievance. Jack turns back to him, expression softer now. “She made me want to pick it back up.”
Robby leans back slightly, exhaling, hands resting on his hips as he surveys the room with a small, private smile. “She reminded you. And now… you guys have a kid coming.”
Jack laughs. “Yeah,” he says, still smiling. “We sure do.”
Both of them are silent for a moment, eyes drifting to the crew together as it always does, the room abuzz with delightful chaos. Robby pats him on the shoulder, his voice a little warmer now, “Well, congratulations man. Really.”
“Thanks man.” Jack tucks his chin in as he feels a quiet pride and excitement he hasn’t felt in years.
“Life,” Robby says, after a moment, more to himself than anyone else. “It just… continues on, doesn’t it?”
Jack nods. “Yeah,” he says. “And sometimes it gives you exactly what you didn’t even know you needed.”
Robby smiles. “You’ve earned it. All of it.”
Jack scans the table once more, at all the laughing, and talking, the sideways glances he knows so well, the most minor of synchronizations that bind them as one. He inhales, feeling his chest crackle with gratitude. “We have,” he says quietly. "and I hope…I'll be a good dad..."
Robby chuckles softly. “I have no doubt you will.” Again, with the shoulder clap, he backs away to regroup with all of them, Jack remaining at the counter with arms folded and a searching eye across the room just as he makes his way back to the table.
Samira catches him across it and she holds his gaze for a beat.
The weather of the future sits lightly against Jack's chest like a heavy blanket, neither worrying or unsettling. The baby, the laughter, the cooking, the stillness and constant pandemonium, to the people around the room and with Samira, a woman who has shifted every single thing for him and he for her.
He catches her eye again, smiles, and lets himself think of all the days that lie ahead especially the tiny footsteps that will soon trail behind him. And he knows that this is where life has been taking him all along.