Chapter Text
The squire, Annie, was trying to help Samira back into her helmet for the end of the show. It was mid-August in Pittsburgh and Samira was sweating bullets, so she took the reprieve from her armour when she could.
Annie stood on her tiptoes on the top step. She still wasn’t tall enough to settle the knight’s helmet in place, so Samira bowed her head for Annie to set the armour on her shoulders. It was heavy, thick steel that muffled the roar of the crowd to a hum.
Godiva reared when the squire moved the steps out of place, her front legs wheeling. Samira patted the side of her neck, trying to soothe the horse.
She was tough to wrangle near the end of the show, but Samira was an expert at it by now. This was her third time back in the ring for this afternoon alone, and the stands were loud. Her mare was raring to go. She held the reins tight as she waited for Annie’s green light. She could barely hear the announcer through her helmet, but she knew the rhythm of the show by heart.
John was claiming victory, his hand pledged on his gilded crest as the King narrated his triumphant win over ‘Lady Madlyn’ from his perch. Samira had been defeated in hand-to-hand combat after challenging the throne, and taken back to the stables under a cloak of smoke after she was ‘killed’ in the ring.
Until it was time for her to reemerge in the last act.
Annie waved her forward on cue. Samira pressed her heels into Godiva’s side and they took off in a canter.
“Lady Madlyn?” John turned on his horse, his helmet open to reveal his theatrical shock. “Is that a phantom? I thought you’d-”
The crowd gasped. Lady Madlyn should be dead.
Samira raised her sword, cutting John’s protests short as she aimed his shoulder, and Godiva picked up speed.
This was her favourite part of the show. Samira was supposed to knock the other knight askew, and John would take a practiced tumble onto the sand. His squire would call his horse away, and Samira would stand above him on her black mare and kill the winning knight by driving her sword into the ground near his neck.
Supposed to.
Godiva reared when she neared the other knight, and the weight of Samira’s wielded sword pulled her to one side. She crumpled onto the ground as her horse cantered to the other side of the ring.
Her ankle twisted underneath her, her foot splayed in the wrong direction.
The crowd’s cheer quieted when the paramedics came into the ring.
***
“Dr. Abbot? One of the knights fell from their horse.”
Jack stood, brushing crumbs from his uniform. He’d taken a shift at the renaissance faire because Robby had been up his ass about his work with the SWAT team.
You get shot at one time and suddenly, everyone loses their mind.
Jack had raided the staff cookie box when the show started, not expecting to treat anything beyond heat exhaustion or bug bites this afternoon in the medic’s tent.
He’d watched the first two shows from the sidelines, impressed by the showmanship of the knight on the black mare. She was the only woman among a dozen men, and he couldn’t tear his eyes from her when she came into the ring.
“Which one?” he asked, prepping the exam bed as the paramedics jogged out with the stretcher.
“The evil one.”
“Really?” He raised an eyebrow, not quite believing their report until two paramedics returned to the tent with the injured knight between them on a stretcher.
“I’m fine, honestly I-”
The paramedics cut the knight short, lifting her helmet from her shoulders and setting it aside. The steel was streaked with sand. Sweat broke out across her forehead, plastering hair that had freed itself from its ties onto her skin.
“Good afternoon, Lady Madlyn, I’m Dr. Abbot. I hear you took a tumble. Did you hit your head?”
“Samira,” she corrected quickly. “I didn’t hit my head. I twisted my ankle, but I think it’s a sprain.” She fell silent when the paramedics transferred her onto the bed, wincing at the turn of her ankle.
“We’ll take a look at that. Do you know where we are?”
“Yes, in the good King’s town of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.” She rolled her eyes. “Really, I didn’t hit my head. I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m very sure.”
“Alright. Mind if I…?” He gestured to the steel plates fastened to her shins.
She nodded, and he started unbuckling her armour and rolling up the leg of her pants. There was a bruise darkening on one side of her skin, the area around her ankle already swollen. He lifted her heel and turned her foot an inch to the left, then an inch to the right.
“Any numbness?” he asked, running a capped pen along the bottom of her foot. She jerked her leg back, frowning.
“Felt that.”
“That’s good.” Jack paused, waiting for her tensed muscles to loosen. Her brown eyes were fixed on him, her expression difficult to decipher. He finished the rest of his exam silently, feeling his cheeks turn pink under her gaze.
“I think you’re right, Samira,” he said, meeting her eye again.
“I know I am.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I would call this a ‘grade one’ sprain. I’ll put a brace on it for you, but you should stay off of it for at least a week. I don’t want to see you back on that horse tomorrow.”
“Are you back here tomorrow?” she asked.
“No. Dr. Carmen will be in the tent.”
“Then you won’t see me on it,” she said.
Jack sighed. He couldn’t make a patient listen to him, but he wished he could at least knock some sense into the knight. He could have handed her off to the nurse now, but he didn’t have anything else to attend to.
Samira’s features were still a puzzle: her eyes were bright, but she held her mouth in a firm line as he stepped away to get a brace.
“I’ll have you sit up for this,” Jack said, his hand hovering at the knight’s shoulder as she adjusted herself, her injured leg hanging off of the bed. He pulled his stool over, opening the brace on his lap and adjusting her heel.
He finished the last wind of the bandage, turning her foot to the left and the right. “How is that feeling, Samira?”
She shrugged. “Better than it was five minutes ago. Got a valium or anything?” she asked.
Jack pressed his mouth into a line to stop from laughing.
“Diazepam?” she tried.
“Best I can do is an extra-strength Tylenol.”
“Fine.”
He tipped one into a cup and stepped away to fetch her a glass of water. She’d already knocked the pill back when he returned, standing gingerly on her injured foot and unbuckling her armour from her other leg.
“Need a hand?” Jack asked as she stacked her stripped steel plates on the crinkling paper of the exam bed, starting on the cuffs circling her forearms.
“Nope. Thanks Dr. Abbot.”
“Take it easy, Samira.”
“Will do.” She mocked a salute as she left the medic tent with a subtle limp.
“Odds she’ll be back on the horse tomorrow?” the nurse asked.
“Oh." Jack laughed. "One hundred percent.”