Chapter Text
At 6:23 pm on Wednesday, July 8th, Doctor Samira Mohan and Student Doctor Joy Kwon brought 24-year-old Clarice Le, who had a 4 cm laceration on her left hand, and her roommate in from chairs. Samira peeled back the non-adhering gauze Clarice had been given while she waited and injected lidocaine before she started her physical examination.
“Yeah, I was cutting up an avocado. I usually slap the pit with a knife and twist it out. But, my roommate here just sharpened our knives and it went clean through the pit and into my hand.”
“This is the last time I try to make myself helpful unprompted,” the roommate, Adrian, if Samira rememberd correctly, vowed sheepishly. He had the decency to look ashamed for his actions. But the pair of roommates carried themselves casually, as if shenanigans like this were a common occurrence in their household.
“Well, I’ll prompt you to make yourself helpful by doing dishes for the next week.”
“Good deal, roomie. Shake on it?”, Adrian asked with a smirk.
“Very funny joke from the guy with two good palms,” Clarice flatly retorted.
Samira palpated the hand and asked Clarice to perform a series of poses with her fingers and wrist. “Alright, Clarice. It seems that the cut isn't arterial and you still have full range of motion in all fingers. So, it doesn't look like any tendons were damaged. I'm going to have Dr. Kwon irrigate the wound before she closes it up."
After Joy irrigated with saline, Samira instructed her to suture with the one handed knot. “You’re awfully calm for being in the ER with a cut this deep, Clarice,” Samira remarked while keeping her eyes on Joy’s needlework.
“Yeah, I was diagnosed with germ cell cancer when I was 16. I spent a lot of time in the hospital for five years and I’m pretty used to it. That’s also why I have a buzzed head, not just because I’m on LexaPro,” Clarice explained with a chuckle.
“Oh, shit. I’m on LexaPro, too. I’d high five you, but my hands are a little tied with tying your hand up,” Joy added.
“Sick! Anyways, the doctors and nurses were always nice to me. That’s why I want to go into oncology.”
Samira decided Joy had it under control—after all, Donnie had been teaching her well and Samira just wanted her to get more reps in—and looked up at Clarice warmly. “Aww, that’s sweet! And, congrats on being cancer-free.”
“Thanks! What about you, Dr. Mohan? What do you want to do after your residency?”
“Oh, I’m not sure anymore,” Samira begrudgingly admits. “Since we’re on the topic of childhood trauma, my dad died from a heart attack in the ER when I was thirteen. I used to want to make a difference in emergency medicine and not let patients slip through due to negligence like how he did. But, I’ve gotten a lot of notes about my slow pace and I don’t know if I belong in the ED anymore.” Samira’s eyes fell down to Clarice’s purple t-shirt with a wine glass and “Mama, needs a drink!” printed on it. That sounded like a great idea after the week she’s had.
“I know I sure as hell don’t want to go into emergency medicine,” Joy supplied in her ever present nonchalance.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you've both been great to me. And you remind me of my favorite doctors as a kid, Dr. Mohan. Thank you.”
"I'm happy to help," Samira replied, because she was. Still, she would be happier if her chief attending saw the value of her empathy as her patients did.
Samira didn't drink often. During undergrad, she figured that going to two parties to bookend each semester would give her sixteen nights out and more than enough social time. Since then, she hadn't been any less focused on her career or research. But tonight was one of those rare nights that she allowed herself to slow down and let her thoughts catch up to her.
That was how she ended up changing out of her scrubs and into an old t-shirt and linen shorts before walking fifteen minutes from her apartment to a dive bar. The bar was a bit more crowded than expected for a week night. A group of friends celebrated around a pitcher of beer. A handful of patrons were scattered along the bar. Four more took turns around a pool table.
Samira sat at a table facing a TV showing a soccer game. She let her thoughts drift away from the match and towards the shit show of a situation she's in. She missed Victoria's birthday party the day before and decided to make up for the drinking by her lonesome. After all, tomorrow would be her first day off in a week.
As she sipped her drink, she mulled over how lost she felt. Her mom planned on selling their home in New Jersey. Thus, uprooting her plans to move back, starting the job she had lined up there, and leaving her without a clue of where she'd go or what she'd do. Just days ago, her chief attending mocked her for having a panic attack over it before he disappeared on a sabbatical no one was sure he'd come back from. Although Dr. Al-Hashimi was much more compassionate and gentle than Robby, she didn't exactly reassure Samira that she belonged in the ED. And for all the comments she's gotten about her slow pace, she lost a patient with a triple A the one day she was distracted and worked too quickly, neglecting to ask an intern if he had checked the patient's aorta.
She was halfway through her second Dirty Shirley when she heard a familiar voice call out to her from behind.
"Dr. Mohan?"
Dread and sugar and alcohol filled her stomach. Did a patient recognize her while she was deep in her cups and teeing up a nasty hangover for her day off? She took a breath to steady herself before turning around.
"Dr. Walsh?" It was even worse than what she imagined.
The attending trauma surgeon stood in black boots and dark washed straight jeans. She had rolled up the sleeves on her dark green button up. They sat snuggly around her forearms, highlighting the tendons as she held her whiskey glass. "Emery, please. We're outside of work," she corrected with an easy, confident smile. Even outside of scrubs and with her dark curly hair down, she still looked calm and cool.
"Samira," she offered in return.
"Well, Samira, what brings you here?"
"A long shift brings me here. A long week, really."
"Want some company or do you prefer to drink alone?"
"Oh, uh, sure!" Samira was suprised to see Emery talking to her so cordially. "Have a seat."
"So, what tragedies have you faced this week?" Emery asked as she slide into the seat across from her.
"Aside from the cyber attack, I have no idea where I'm going or what I'm doing for my fellowship. I was planning on moving back to New Jersey with my mom and I had a job lined up there. But she suddenly wanted to sell the house and galavant around the world with her new boyfriend. And I was considering sports medicine, ultrasound, and toxicology. But Dr. Al-Hashimi suggested geriatrics. But since my applications will be so late, I doubt I'll have a good chance at anything."
Emery's eyebrows shot up. "Geriatrics? That's a left turn."
"Yeah, she noticed that I do well with older patients." Samira sighed. "I don't see myself in geriatrics. But I don't know what I see myself doing anymore."
"What makes you say that?"
"I'm sure you've heard how half of the ED calls me "Slo-Mo". Robby's always been on my ass about how I don't see enough patients in an hour." She downed the rest of her drink before she continued. "It didn't use to bother me as much. But July 4th was a shift from hell and I missed a triple A that I should've caught. Robby ripped me a new one, of course. He went out of his way to show Dr. Shamsi that Victoria belongs in the ED and had her glove up to work on it with her mom. But he didn't say anything when I said I don't feel like I belong there anymore."
She hadn't even mentioned her panic attack or how Robby mocked her "mommy issues" and called her a liability. It seemed too vulnerable to share with a colleague who was barely more than a stranger. Samira had been staring at her empty glass as she slid it back and forth in her hands, fidgeting as she finished sharing her woes. When she looked back up, she found Emery with her jaw on the floor and wide eyes.
"That's fucking stupid."
"I'm sorry?"
"No, not you. Samira, I've worked with you enough to know you're a great doctor. You're thorough, you're methodical, and your sutures are immaculate. Ever since you got here, you've been one of the best residents I've seen in that ED."
It seemed that Emery talked herself dry because she downed the rest of her whiskey. Samira followed the bob of her throat as she swallowed without a flinch. It was Samira's turn to be speechless, but she managed to keep her jaw off the floor. Emery stared off to the side for a moment, contemplating before asking, "He really didn't say anything when you said you don't belong?"
Samira shook her head.
"I'm getting another drink and you deserve one, too. What are you having?" Emery stands up and collects their glasses.
"What? No, that's ok—"
"Don't be ridiculous. It's one drink. Now, what are you having?" Emery shut her down.
Samira looked at her skeptically. Finally, she relented. "Another Dirty Shirley would be great."
"Now, was that so hard?" Emery quipped before turning on her heels, leaving Samira to gnaw over a paradigm shift.
Besides Dr. Abbot writing a letter of recommendation for her, this was the most support she's seen from an attending in a while. It was delivered angrily and crudely, but it was support nonetheless. But Walsh wasn't even in her department. Sure, they've been on some cases together since Samira started her residency. But Walsh was always quick and precise whenever she came down for consults, throwing orders before getting back to work on the surgical floor. They've probably talked more tonight than they have in the past four years in the hospital combined. So, why did Samira's biggest source of support come from the mean surgeon who might not actually be so mean?
"I saw the bartender reaching for the Skol and told her to switch it to Grey Whale. I hope you don't mind, but I can't hand anyone a glass of Skol in good consciousness," explained Emery as she returned. "I can't believe you would do that to yourself."
"It's really not that bad, but I appreciate the concern," Samira scoffed.
Emery placed the upgraded drink before Samira and slid back into her seat across the table. "I think you should send me your applications. I can forward them to my contacts at different hospitals. I'll put a word in if you're worried about how late your applications are."
"What are you talking about?" Samira asked, nothing short of baffled. "You don't even work in EM."
"No, but I'm old. I still keep in touch with people from pre-med, UPenn, the five fucking years I spent in residency, and my two-year fellowship. I've got some years and some contacts."
Samira hesitated. "I don't know. Wouldn't that give me an unfair advantage?"
"For fuck's sake, Samira. For a doctor so smart, you sure are dense."
"Excuse me?" Samira leaned back and crossed her arms. She really couldn't decide of Walsh still hated her or not.
Emery tilted her head and gave her a cold stare. The one she would give when she's silently begging her colleagues to rub two brain cells together and form a thought. "We are both women in medicine. I'm sure you have had to go through a thousand more hurdles than those entitled pricks and their boy's club. Are you getting an unfair advantage or a chance to level the playing field for once?"
Samira didn't relent, keeping her brows furrowed. She hated being wrong. She hated admitting that Emery had a point. A rudely and sarcastically delivered point, but a good one nonetheless.
"Look." Emery leaned forward onto the table, reducing the distance Samira had created. "You don't have continue with EM. But, I don't think you should rule it out just yet. You're a good doctor. Of course, you've still got a lot to learn. Pop quiz: what's nipples to navel?"
"No man's land."
"Still got it." Emery observed how Samira visibly relaxed at the praise. "Anyways, I don't think you should make this decision based on fear or lack of confidence."
In lieu of a response, Samira unfolded her arms and took a long sip of the drink Emery got her. Why was she being so generous tonight? "Are you sure you don't mind looking at my applications?"
"I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it. Besides, I work at teaching hospital for a reason. I want to be a good mentor, especially since your attendings won't do the job."
"Not too much on Dr. Al-Hashimi now," Samira playfully countered. "I liked working with her at the VA and we both went to Stanford. I only went for undergrad, but still."
"Sure, bond over your bargain brand Christmas tree school mascot. Come on now. She's only seen you actually work in the ED for less than a week, right?"
"Didn't you go to Dartmouth?" Samira asked, ignoring the question.
"For undergrad, yes."
"Isn't your mascot literally a beer keg?"
"Ok, and? At least my school's name isn't tied to a prison experiment."
"Touché," Samira laughed and watched as Emery's eyes lit up, probably because she won the argument. No other reason. Why else would she look elated? Why was she being so nice? Why was she even here? With a sudden sense of guilt and self-consciousness, Samira realized how much she had been monopolizing the conversation. "I'm sorry I've been talking all night. What about you? What brings you here?"
"Don't apologize. I asked, didn't I?"
"Are you dodging the question?"
Emery's eyebrows shot up before she glanced away, rubbing the back of her neck. She looked…embarrassed? Didn’t know she could do that. “Well, I had the night off,” Emery slowly started, “I matched with a girl on Hinge. Conversation was going fine, I guess. I asked to meet here. I was sitting by the bar when you walked in. I hung around until I was convinced she stood me up and figured I might as well say hi."
“Someone stood you up?”
“Huh?” Emery blurted dumbly and endearingly.
“Sorry. I mean, you’re a successful surgeon. You’re, what, maybe 37 and a senior attending already. And, you clearly work out because you didn't get those arms by transporting patients from gurneys.” Samira totally hadn't been checking her out all this time. She also totally should not have cheaped out on the vodka in her first two drinks. Trash went in, and, clearly, a landfill of word vomit was coming out. She would probably actually vomit the following morning.
Emery chuckled sardonically. “You don’t have to make me feel better about being stood up.”
“I know I don’t,” she states matter of factly. Samira catches herself before she can say something else alarmingly blunt. She considers how far she’ll test her bravery tonight. “Can I see your profile?”
Emery fixed her with that cold stare, the one that said, "Don't try me.” Samira was fucked and over served. Anxiety pools in Samira’s stomach, or maybe it was the puke, but she tried to put in a brave face. Soon enough, Emery was unlocking her phone and passing it over. “You know what? What the hell, sure.”
Needing to calm her inquietude, Samira looked away from Emery’s face to down at her hands, which were, of course, holding a picture of Emery’s face as she stood amongst flowers in the Phipps Conservatory. Samira willed her remaining brain cells to swipe through more pictures of the surgeon with big biceps. She had a couple of pictures in a rock climbing gym with said biceps on full display, which Samira felt very normal about if the moths fluttering in her stomach were anything to go by. There was another one with her smiling in a Pirates cap, squeezed in the middle of a group of friends at PNC Park.
She scrolled down to read her short bio. Trauma surgeon at PTMC. Hobbies: rock climbing, video games, watching historical documentaries. “You play video games?”
“Yeah, it helps me get out of my head after work.”
Samira hummed in consideration. She tried to imagine Emery in an ergonomic gaming chair and a headset like a typical gamer.
“What kind of games do you play?”
“All sorts. I like multiplayer games so I can play with my brother and catch up with him when our free weekends line up. But recently, I’ve been really into surgeon simulator.”
“Really?" Samira asked teasingly. "You get out of your head after a long day of being stuck in the OR by playing surgeon simulator?”
"It's not real surgery and I can mess up," she defended.
“Can I be honest?”
“I hope so.”
"I don’t blame the girl for not showing up. You have a barebones description of yourself. And judging by the messages, I don’t think your sarcasm came across. Which doesn't help, considering you're already kind of scary and I thought you hated me."
"You’re looking through our messages?" Emery asked with mild shock. She did, after all, hand her phone over and let Samira have free reign.
"I'm doing a primary survey and patient history."
Emery blinked. "You thought I hated you?"
"Well, during PittFest last year, you looked like you wanted to stab me with a ten blade. And between me not knowing about no man’s land and the pigtail catheter, I thought you’d hate me forever."
Emery groaned at the memory. She probably was stuck on the surgical floor for days after Samira left that night, stabilizing patients and making sure they stayed that way. "I wasn't mad at you as much as I was mad at Abbot. He's the one who insisted you do that banana pants procedure, even though you don't have the tenure or protections his old White male ass does if it went wrong. Also, I get disgusted when he flirts with you."
"Dr. Abbot does not flirt with me," Samira denied with a roll of her eyes.
"He absolutely tried to right after that happened," Emery countered flatly.
"That was flirting?"
"Yes, and I almost threw up in my mouth because of it."
Samira giggled, prompting a smile to quickly grow across Emery's face. A warm, genuine smile, not the sarcastic ones she forced as she glared daggers at Abbot. But she quickly hid it with another sip from her glass.
"What about you? What do you do with your free time?"
"Oh, uh, I don't really have hobbies. If I'm not in the hospital, I'm usually doing research. Maybe I'll take a warm bath and read a novel. And if I'm too tired, then I put on Adventure Time until I pass out." Usually when she admits that, she's met with various expressions of shocked and appalled. But Emery just looks disappointed, almost concerned.
"Samira, are you aware of how high burnout rates are in our fields?"
"Yes," she sighed. She'd heard this lecture a thousand times. Santos and Ellis would often invite her to go out with them. But more often than not, the last thing she wanted to do after a busy week was to be crammed in a sweaty club with strangers and loud music. Besides, there was always too much work to be done and she'll rest when she gets to where she's comfortable in her career. She just had to keep her head down and keep pushing.
"I would hate for such a competent doctor to become another statistic." Emery leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. She looked at Samira like she was assessing another case and it made her want to fidget. She's not used to being on the other side of an examination. "Why don't we make a deal?"
"Please don't tell me you're gonna drag me into a hot and sweaty club," Samira pouted.
"What? Ew, no. I'm too old for that. I'm pushing 40."
"You are not that old. But let's hear it."
"My brother is busy getting ready for some conference he has in a couple of months, which means I won't have a player 2 for a while. Why don't you let me look at your applications and, in return, you can be my player 2?"
Samira squinted at her. Did she hear her right? She had got to be cut off. "So, you forward my applications and put in a good word for me. And I pay you back by playing video games with you? That sounds like it just benefits me."
"So, it's an offer you can't refuse, right?" Emery asked, already looking triumphant. "And it doesn't have to be video games. I just think you need a hobby."
"Your solution to burnout is coercing me into having a hobby?"
"Well, yes," Emery shrugged. "Do we have a deal?"
Samira couldn't stop the amused smile that spread across her face. Extending her hand across the table, she agreed, "Deal."
With a smirk, Emery shook her hand. Samira was surprised at how warm and calloused the surgeon's hand was. She supposed the rock climbing pictures weren't just for show. She was forced to withdraw her hand to cover a yawn. "Sorry, I think my shift is catching up to me."
"No worries. Do you live far from here?"
Samira shook her head, already fighting another yawn. "No, it's just a fifteen minute walk away."
"Let me walk you home."
"No, that's ok. You've already done more than enough."
"Didn't you say I was scary? Let me use my scary surgeon privilege and walk you home."
"Fine. Let's get out of here," Samira said with a chuckle. She was having a pretty fun time letting Emery boss her around.
They closed out their tabs and headed out the door, which Emery held for her. It was a simple act, but a surprising one when it came from Dr. Walsh who looked like she got a kick out of making new interns scramble. The sticky summer air clung onto their skin as they walked side by side.
After they passed a few blocks in silence, Samira said, "Thanks for not letting me drink alone."
"Anytime. It certainly makes up for getting stood up," Emery said disparagingly. But her eyes were warm and genuine. It was subtle, but she almost looked pleased.
"She doesn't know what she's missing out on," Samira reassured simply.
Emery continued looking at her with gentle consideration for another beat. "You're good company, Samira."
She didn't get that often. She didn't hang out with too many people for the opportunity to arise anyways. And those who stuck around long enough usually found her to be brusque or stubborn. She had a great bedside manner because she had rehearsed that dynamic in med school a thousand times or mapped out possible scenarios with her textbooks. Outside of a doctor-patient dynamic, she was rather socially inept. But she didn't tell Emery any of that. She just gave a small smile, shoved her hands in her pockets, and faced forward.
That strategy proved to work just fine because they eventually stop in front of her walk up apartment. Samira stared up at her fourth floor unit. For the first time in a long time, she dreaded the solitary walk up those stairs and the quiet of her apartment. "Well," Samira started.
"Give me your number," she interrupted as she fished her phone out and handed it over.
"No wonder you became an attending so fast. You love to boss people around." But Samira obliged and sent herself a text from Emery's phone.
"I'll let you know the next time I'm off. Good night, Samira." She pocketed her phone and her hand stayed there. She didn't move a muscle.
Neither did Samira for a couple of moments. Later, she would blame it on the alcohol. Surely, it must be because she was over served because no one in their right mind would have the guts to do what she did next. She suddenly hugged Emery with enough force that the surgeon has to take a small step back to steady herself.
"What?" she questioned dumbly as her hands flew up to steady herself.
"Thank you for tonight," Samira explained with her cheek resting on her shoulder.
Her hovering hands slowly landed on her back and she gave on awkward pat. "Don't mention it."
Deciding her courage had run out, Samira released her. "Good night, Emery." She almost skipped up the stairs, throwing a smile back over her shoulder before disappearing into her building.