Work Text:
The day his wife died he coughed up a single, tiny purple lilac. He’d been in emergency medicine long enough to recognize what was happening to him. Hanahaki. No cure, no treatment, at least none that he would seriously contemplate. Just a slow progression culminating in certain death.
The disease could take days up to months to reach fatality depending on the severity. In the next few weeks it would continue like that for Jack: he would cough up one, maybe two, lilacs a day. Sometimes in the morning before getting out of bed, sometimes later on in his routine. The day of the funeral was the worst day, having had to lock himself in the bathroom at the wake after the ceremony hacking up a whole cluster, pulling it from his throat and wiping off the tears before heading back in to continue greeting people. Of course no one questioned the teartracks on his cheeks.
He told no one. Ended his bereavement leave early and decided that if his time on this earth was finally at an end he would go doing what he felt most useful at. As the days went by the lilacs were joined by forget-me-nots. All in all, it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. After three months he was still only getting attacks once a day, twice on the bad ones, and the amount of flowers had plateaued at around ten assorted blooms per episode. Thankfully these had not come out in a branch since the day he put Sarah in the ground, which meant that his condition was very manageable and easy to hide from his coworkers.
And then, something estranged happened. One morning in July, around 6 months since the first cough, he had to excuse himself from handoff. Robby had been introducing him to the new cohort of residents. Well, resident. It seemed there would only be one joining them this semester. She carried herself so steadily and with such poise that one might mistake her for an attending. He was intrigued by her immediately, especially considering the research Robby was mentioning and how her face lit up when it was mentioned. Unfortunately, the moment he held out his hand to shake hers he felt a Hanahaki episode coming. He ran to the bathroom as fast as he could and locked himself in a stall. He coughed and coughed until all the petals were out of his system, his chest hurting as it always did. But as he looked at the toilet he realized there were only nine flowers in there. Weird.
He had thought his time was winding down, the grief dragging him to his grave, but as the year went on and he continued to work alongside the bright new resident he felt the pressure in his chest diminish. By September he was only expelling seven blooms and his attacks had gone down to once a day, only ever happening in his home. He never coughed at the hospital anymore, especially on days when his shift overlapped with that of one Dr. Samira Mohan.
He had thought it strange, had known the way things were going to end the moment he tasted that first petal on his tongue. But now, as he stood on Sarah’s grave a year after her passing he realized he hadn’t expected to make it to the anniversary and somehow he had. Somehow, he was back to a single flower coming out of his attacks. Forget-me-nots usually. And so he stood there and cried as he told her all about this doctor he had met, who was so smart and was definitely the future of medicine. He apologized without fully understanding why and he told her how much he missed her. He sobbed until his lungs coughed up one last flower. A single white rose.
He did not cough up any more flowers again. The pressure in his chest disappeared and the slight rattle of his breath was gone. Nowhere in the literature could he find evidence of this happening before. He could be wrong, in fact probably was as he hadn’t looked that hard at all. He felt reinvigorated, like he had a new lease on life. The love he had had for his wife was still there but the grief did not feel as all consuming as before. And there was something else there. He hesitated to name it, but it was clear as day. There was nothing to do, except keep living, keep practicing medicine, keep working with Samira.
She was a resident and he would never jeopardize her future in any way, but their connection never wavered. Not even when they worked opposing shifts and not even when she did out-rotations at the VA. Samira found ways to remain in his mind. They shared articles and sometimes even meals. They stood by each other in difficult moments like mass casualty incidents and idiotic lapses in judgement that tested her ability to stay quiet about his chosen pastimes. And then, before he had realized 4 years had gone by and she was not a resident anymore.
On her last day at PTMC, as they were both leaving he turned to her and handed her a printed case study. It was the first one they had ever shared, back when she was an R1. And tucked between the pages was a pressed flower: the white rose from that cold January. She looked at it in confusion and then looked back up at him.
“This is the first article we ever discussed! I can’t believe you remember that! But what is this?”
“That is a reminder.”
“Of what, Jack?”
“Of how long I’ve known you were put on this earth to change my life.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. So, I can finally tell you, although I have a feeling that you know and have known for a while. Samira I am so fucking happy you are staying in Pittsburgh for your fellowship. Yes, Mercy West is lucky to have you, but I am even luckier that I still get to have you close by. Because I love you, Samira Mohan. I love you and I would follow you to the end of the earth, I would follow you to Jupiter and back. And knowing you saved me in ways you cannot even imagine. So, if you would let me, I want to be with you.”
They both had tears in their eyes, and soft smiles grazed their lips.
“Jack, of course I’ll let you. I’ve been in love with you for so long it felt like the only certain thing in my life at times. And yes, I suspected how you felt and I am so unbelievably grateful to you for your restraint. But I am also looking forward to walking the rest of my life by your side.”