Work Text:
Samira wasn’t used to having time off. She wasn’t technically “in-between” jobs, because that was very obviously a euphemism for not having a job, but that’s how she felt right now, tethered between two forces that were slowly growing further and further apart. She still woke up at 5 AM every morning, still sometimes opened her closet to put on scrubs that she didn’t have anymore, but she told people that she was enjoying herself. It was nice to have some days off for the first time in four years.
But she was antsy. Her mom had moved out about two weeks ago, saying that her new lover boy had convinced her to have a weekend getaway at the Hamptons, so Samira didn’t really have anyone to wake up for anymore. She made scrambled eggs for two, then sat to eat them alone.
There was too much of a transition between the Pitt and her new job. She still didn’t feel comfortable with the idea that she wasn’t working there anymore. Their faces were engraved in her mind, and even though the hospital was tainted with the stain of blood and vitriol and pure anger, she missed it more than anything.
She even followed Javadi’s TikTok, for Christ’s sake. She was actually dying.
So here she was, trying to keep up with a hobby. Abbot had mentioned, all those months ago, that his therapist had recommended getting a hobby, and she wasn’t sure if he had been joking or not, but she figured that a hobby wouldn’t be a half-bad idea. She was a doctor, and since she wasn’t walking around all day in a hospital anymore, she figured she might as well do something for her health. So, she picked up running.
Samira actually wanted to strangle herself.
Today was maybe her first week of running, and she could feel the blood pool up in her mouth, spit curdling from her lips as she bent over, out of breath. She heaved and hoped that whatever was coming up her throat wasn’t vomit. Madonna was crooning in her ear, saying something about being a material girl. She found herself leaning heavily against a lamp post and closed her eyes, trying not to think about all the kids that were staring at her and the fifty year old woman who was outmogging her on a bike. Jesus, outmogging---she needed to stop talking to Javadi.
A break. A break might be good.
There was a bench about two feet away from her, so she collapsed against it and lulled her head back towards the sky. She panted and hoped that no one saw her completely reddened face and heaving chest.
After catching her breath for a moment and wanting to procrastinate running some more, she pulled out her phone from her leggings and stopped Madonna. She checked Instagram, and when she saw some random white guy kissing her mom on the neck, she closed the app and moved on to her messages.
She winced when she saw all of the unread messages. The only group chat that she had been removed from when she left PTMC was the ER one. Samira assumed that her colleagues felt too awkward to remove her from the groups when she had left, and she didn’t want to insult anyone by leaving herself, so she was an empty presence watching Joy send bad pictures of everyone and Whitaker try to explain away wearing Robby’s clothes.
Mel had messaged her a few times since last night, asking if she might be interested in karaoke, and Samira was about to respond when she received another notification.
She almost dropped her phone.
Shit. Abbot.
She couldn’t explain why she felt such hesitancy contacting Abbot. It felt different when she was still at PTMC, different because they were professionals discussing medical anomalies and weird horror stories. Now, it felt…
Samira opened his message before she could chicken out.
- Abbot: Are you the one responsible for this?
It had been sent yesterday, probably at the end of his shift. Attached was a picture of Abbot, sticking out his tongue as he raised some blurred-out documents to the camera. Samira narrowed her eyes and zoomed in to what he had circled before seeing the tiny smiley-faces with sprawled notes around the document.
Samira found herself smiling, just a little bit.
She bit her lip. She typed out a response before shoving the DELETE key twenty times, then retyped it before deleting it again.
Jesus, since when had texting been so hard?
You: Shifts got boring sometimes. Figured the doodle could make someone’s day.
She closed the phone, looking at the sidewalk ahead of her and thinking she should probably get back to running. But before she could put it back in her pocket, the phone buzzed.
- Abbot: Well, mission success: you made my day 😛
You: What are you doing there, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be jumping in front of bombs or something?
She bit her nail, an old habit that she had started up again after transferring from PTMC.
- Abbot: whitaker needed help on a patient. guess he inherited the guy from you when you left.
You: Is that allowed?
- Abbot: well, when you have a cute face like mine, people let you get away with things.
You: A little much to call yourself cute, isn’t it?
She could practically see him shrugging his shoulders.
- Abbot: you saying it’s not true?
For a moment, her hands paused. She worried her lips between her teeth.
This was what was different. Between the curtains of patient beds, Samira felt safe to say whatever she wanted; he was her boss, a colleague, someone who wouldn’t take her seriously unless a patient’s life was at stake. They took care of each other, but they weren’t friends.
That must have been what was different. She could say whatever she wanted, now, but it would matter.
You: You have to work harder than that.
The bubbles stopped. Samira froze.
Then, they started again, and another text popped up.
- Abbot: can’t blame a girl for trying
It was another picture of himself, this time not in scrubs and now throwing up a peace sign. His curls fell delicately over his head, his grin utterly boyish and immature.
Samira almost laughed.
You: Go back to work.
- Abbot: whatever you say…
Samira shook her head with a grin on her face. Abbot’s status went from online to LAST SEEN AT 11:32, and she exited the chat, figuring that she might as well catch up with someone else, too.
She reopened Mel’s chat and read, “Hey! Not sure what you’ve been up to lately, but if you’re free, I know that the gang would love to catch up :) We’re doing a karaoke night on Friday and would love it if you’d come. It’ll be me, Whitaker, Santos, and Javadi. LMK!”
A GIF of a baby kitten with a speech bubble saying “please come!” followed, sharing such a striking resemblance to Mel that Samira’s heart almost melted.
She said yes before thinking twice and took a breather. She stood up, and as she ran, she felt a strange energy come back to her. She met her goal before finally walking home.
--
“You are such a stereotype,” Santos said, yanking the karaoke book away from Whitaker and throwing it down on the table.
“How is Ethel Cain stereotypical?” Whitaker pushed, his nose wrinkled and eyes narrowed. He nursed a cheap beer bottle in his hands and looked a little flushed, his nose tinted pink and his eyes slightly glazed over.
“Um, hello? Of course the farm boy from Nebraska wants to sing Ethel Cain,” Santos spat. She took the book back and started flipping through the pages. Samira almost laughed; Santos’ eyes were only ever this focused when she was performing on a patient. “Pick something actually fun. Ethel is such a downer.”
“Fuck you!” He said, and as he said so, the beer in his hands wobbled a little.
“She’s right, though,” Javadi piped up from the corner, covered by so many pillows that Samira almost couldn’t see her. “I can’t name a song that’s actually, like, uplifting.”
“Thank you, Crash,” Santos sing-songed as Whitaker sputtered.
This time, Samira really did laugh, leaning against the weird mosaic panes of glass that surrounded them. Mel chuckled beside her, covering her mouth just barely to hide from Whitaker.
“C’mon, let’s sing something actually fun,” Santos said. Her eyes gouged out as she saw a song title on a page, and she slapped her index finger against it before saying, “This one. We have got to sing this one.”
Whitaker leaned over, his eyes squinted and mouth curving around the words as he read them aloud, before slapping the back of Santos’ arm. “You wanna talk about stereotypical? You actually wanna talk about stereotypical?”
“We have to celebrate Javadi’s queer awakening!” Santos insisted, grabbing Javadi’s arm.
“And another one bites the dust,” Whitaker murmured.
Javadi flushed furiously, gripping the pillow in her hands tighter. “When I told you that, Santos, I told you that in confidence.”
“You spam the group chat about her literally every day, Javadi, so shut up,” she said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her out of her side of the couch. Javadi protested, pushing against Santos’ arms in something reminiscent of a cat fight, before Samira’s brain actually caught up to the conversation.
“Wait, queer awakening?” Samira said. She turned towards Javadi, who was still blushing furiously and arguing with Santos. “Congrats, Javadi. I didn’t know.”
“See! Mohan didn’t know,” she said, pointing at Samira, still trying to get out of Santos’ arms.
Santos stared deeply into Samira’s soul. “I am so disappointed in you, Mohan. I consider this a hate crime.”
“Are you out yet, Victoria?” Mel asked gently, a small smile on her face.
Javadi sighed and finally got out of Santos’ grip. “I mean, yeah, I am to you guys. Everyone in the group chat knows, anyway. I just…don’t want anyone from PTMC to find out yet. You know, with my mom and everything. It’s just nice to have something that doesn’t have anything to do with her.”
Santos’ arms were crossed and she tapped her foot against the ground, but something in her voice was soft when she said, “Do you want to sing tonight, Javadi?”
Despite all her hesitations, Javadi nodded. “Yeah. I mean, might as well, right?”
“What song are you guys singing, anyway?” Mel asked.
Whitaker groaned as Santos said, “Katy Perry.”
Samira laughed, and she felt her stomach hurt as she did so, cheeks aching from the smile she had kept on all evening. It was nice to be around them again; nice to pretend like she was still part of this group of people that had kind of changed her life.
Santos set up the mics and shoved one in Javadi’s arms, a grin cracked across her face.
“Tonight, we dedicate this song to the beautiful, gorgeous, phenomenal Dr. Cassie McKay!”
Samira’s jaw dropped, and if she didn’t know any better, she would be medically concerned about the shade of purple that Javadi turned. The violent strums of a guitar began, and as Samira mouthed “McKay?” at Javadi, Santos started the first verse at full volume and already jumping.
Samira whipped her head around to Mel and Whitaker. “McKay?”
Whitaker shook his head and laughed. “We have some serious issues about sleeping with our superiors, don’t we?”
Mel flushed and fiddled with her thumb. Samira frowned at her, but didn’t question it.
“We?” Samira asked.
“I mean, come on, we all know about—” He coughed. “Um, nevermind. Man, you really haven’t been reading the group chat, have you?”
Samira flushed a little. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” Mel insisted, placing a hand on Samira’s. “We were just worried that we had insulted you or something.”
“Insulted me?” Samira said, her eyebrows raising. “Why would you think that?”
Mel and Whitaker shared a look. Santos kept jumping at the chorus, singing with her whole heart out. Javadi hesitantly began catching up to the energy, her voice going from meek to excited in a few moments.
“We were just worried is all,” Whitaker said gently. “After you left PTMC, you barely texted us, and we figured that maybe you just wanted to… I don’t know, leave the Pitt behind.”
“What?” Samira coughed, feeling saliva catch in her throat. She hit her chest, leaning over slightly, and Mel patted her back.
“I mean, no one would blame you,” Whitaker rushed out. “Even Robby took a sabbatical, and we all know that he’s not the only one who’s had a rough time. The ER is a heavy place for everybody, and I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to forget all of the shit that happened there.”
Samira, still coughing, saw Mel nod.
“No, no, no,” Samira said, shaking her head aggressively. “No, that’s not what’s happening at all.”
“Then… what is happening?” Mel asked.
Samira hesitated.
She couldn’t exactly say that she was completely ashamed of her work at the hospital. That she went over mistakes in her head, over and over again, every night before falling asleep. That she couldn’t stop hearing Robby’s words reverberate in her ears, that she couldn’t stop thinking that even Al-Hashimi thought that her skill set might be better suited to geriatry. No one thought that she had belonged there, and she didn’t really fit. She was slow, she was too connected to patients, she was everything a person wouldn’t want in a doctor. Samira figured that everyone would have been happy that she left.
She cleared her throat.
“I… didn’t mean to make you guys feel that way,” she said hesitantly. “I don’t want to leave you guys behind. At all. The transition was just hard. You know, you’re working for twelve hours a day, blood on your hands constantly, everyone always needing your full attention, and then suddenly, everything is so… quiet. I guess I just didn’t know what to do with myself.”
Javadi was screaming, now, Santos’ arms thrown around her and the pair tearing the house down with their vocals. They were completely unaware of what was happening on the table, their world only kept to themselves.
Whitaker’s eyes softened, his eyebrows knitting together, and Mel’s smile grew ever lighter.
“I get that,” Mel said, circling her hand against Samira’s back. “I honestly couldn’t imagine just dropping PTMC. It’s such a huge part of my life. I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”
Whitaker sat in his corner of the couch, taking another sip of his beer. When he finally spoke, it was so soft that Samira almost couldn’t hear it. “Just don’t ghost us again, okay? You have no idea how much Santos has been complaining.”
Samira laughed again, and it was hearty, full of everything she had been keeping inside this past month. She saw Whitaker and Mel grin alongside her.
The Katy Perry song ended, and Whitaker dropped his bottle and clapped his hands mercilessly, whistling at a volume that actually hurt Samira’s ears---and by the look on Mel’s face, hers, too.
“Thank you, thank you!” Santos said, bowing. “We’ll be here every week.”
“Absolutely not,” Javadi said. She pushed a piece of her hair behind her ear and hid a small grin behind her hand as she did so. Santos smiled at her and shoved her playfully.
“That was a great performance,” Mel said genuinely.
“McKay?” Samira said.
Javadi’s confidence immediately shrunk back down to her meager self, her ears a bright red. “I am actually going to kill you, Santos.”
Santos kicked her legs towards the table and leaned back against the couch, stealing Whitaker’s drink and taking a fat sip despite his protests. “You can’t kill this pretty face.”
“Who lied to you?” Whitaker muttered, and that instigated a glare so full of merciless vitriol that Whitaker actually scooched back on the couch.
“Seriously, though, when did this happen?” Samira asked.
Javadi shrugged. “I dunno. It was pretty clear at some point that Matteo wasn’t really interested in pursuing a relationship, and I was totally okay with that. And, y’know, McKay is my attending, so it’s not like we don’t spend a lot of time together… anyway, after Matteo totally shut me down, she was there for me a lot, and I don’t know, she’s super gorgeous and competent and so good at her job and…”
Javadi realized that everyone was staring at her and covered her face in a pillow. “This is why I don’t tell you guys anything.”
Whitaker laughed, but Santos just stared at Javadi.
Samira smiled. “No, Javadi, I think that’s really sweet. I don’t think anyone would blame you for liking McKay.”
“She is gorgeous,” Santos muttered.
Samira furrowed her eyebrows at her, but Mel cleared her throat before she could say anything.
“What’s the company policy about dating, anyway?” Mel asked.
Samira shrugged. “Dating isn’t a problem. It’s the whole “you’re my superior” thing that’s a problem.”
The room went quiet, and Samira looked up to realize that absolutely every eye in the room was staring at her.
“What?” She asked. “It’s good to know company policy.”
Santos snorted. “Yeah, but who made you want to look it up?”
Samira chuckled, but even as she tried to brush it off, she could feel heat pile up in her cheeks and create a tint of red. “No one, Santos. I figured it might just be good to know.”
Even Mel looked skeptical, but no one questioned her as the rest turned back to the original question.
“It’s not like I’d have a chance with McKay, anyway,” Javadi said, and everyone rushed to say something, the overlay of voices overwhelming for Samira.
She smiled, watching as they all debated the likelihood of McKay sleeping with an R2, before feeling something buzz in her jeans. She frowned, thinking that she was out with all the people who might have been texting her, before seeing who the notification was actually from.
- Abbot.
She bit her lip and opened the app.
- Abbot: u up?
Samira snorted, so loudly that she thought someone might have caught her, but everyone was too busy arguing about McKay’s ethical duties as a resident to pay any attention.
She bit her lip before typing out a response.
You: you’re crazy, you know that?
Abbot responded almost immediately.
- Abbot: whadidido?
Samira laughed underneath her breath and typed out a response.
You: Those words have a rather infamous reputation… pretty sure you were around when it was invented.
- Abbot: ouch
- Abbot: what kind of reputation
Samira frowned, trying to figure out how to word it in a politically correct way.
You: That’s the kind of thing you would text a booty call, Abbot…
The bubbles popped up, then disappeared. Then they popped up again, and disappeared.
- Abbot: this is why joy says i need to keep up with internet culture
You: Why would you listen to Joy about internet culture? Pretty sure she taught Al-Hashimi the word “sigma”
- Abbot: you can’t deny that she’s pretty sigma
Samira smiled.
You: She is pretty sigma…
There was a pause, and Samira was ready to call time of death on the conversation before her phone buzzed again.
- Abbot: what are u up to rn
- Abbot: that’s what i meant before
- Abbot: “u up” in a “catching up” way
Samira refused to make another joke about booty calls.
You: At karaoke with some friends. What about you?
- Abbot: without me?
- Abbot: you KNOW i kill at karaoke knight
You: I can see you killing something, alright
- Abbot: woah
- Abbot: uncalled for
- Abbot: respect ur elders mohan
Samira grinned again.
You: Nothing’s uncalled for in love and karaoke.
You: So if you’re not at karaoke with me, then what are you up to right now?
Bubbles, no bubbles. Bubbles, no bubbles.
Samira had never hated bubbles more in her life.
- Abbot: idk, watering fake plants i think
You: Fake plants?? Elaborate.
- Abbot: pretty sure robby tricked me. i’ve forgotten to water these stpid things at least four times and they haven’t changed one bit.
You: Sounds like Robby.
- Abbot: sounds like robby.
Samira’s hands stiffened against her phone. She knew that, technically, Robby had only ever given her constructive criticism. He was her superior, and that was just his job. Robby was just doing his job.
It didn’t stop her heart from dropping whenever he came up in a conversation.
You: sounds to me like you should buy him some real plants
- Abbot: ohhh, i see. how mischievous of you
You: I think it’ll be funny to see how he reacts when he doesn’t water them and they die
- Abbot: i think he’d figure out some way to get back at me
Samira chuckled again, and she was just typing out another message, hoping to get a laugh out of him, when she noticed that the whole table had gone quiet.
“Who ya texting, Mohan?” Santos asked.
Samira felt herself pull her phone into her chest, hiding the glow of it between her arms. “No one in particular.”
Whitaker and Santos exchanged a look. Samira could swear those idiots were telepathic.
“Come on. If I’m getting humiliated tonight, at least let me enjoy the focus on someone else,” Javadi said, her lips forming a little pout.
Samira wanted to roll her eyes, but figured it might not distract from the gentle flush on her cheeks. “Seriously. No one. It’s just a new work colleague.”
She wasn’t sure why she lied. But she figured it wouldn’t be a big deal. It was just Dr. Abbot, and after all the teasing that had gone on with McKay, she knew that the rumors would start and the conversations would die as soon as they began. She didn’t think Abbot would be dispelled by a couple of rumors, but she wasn’t looking to make herself an easy target.
“A new work colleague you’re interested in, perchance?” Santos pushed.
“No,” Samira insisted. “He’s just informing me about the onboarding process. I start in less than a week; he’s just checking up on me.”
Santos grinned. “Then why are you smiling at your screen so much?”
Samira shrugged. “He sends cute pictures of cats.”
Mel paused. “I think I like this guy.”
Santos rolled her eyes. “Fine, don’t tell us. But I’m expecting new details the second that something happens.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Whitaker said. “She’s just thirsty for a distraction from her own love life.”
“You actual son of a—” Santos shoved Whitaker, and peels of laughter shot out of his mouth; he rolled over and out of the couch, causing Javadi to laugh in surprise and Mel to giggle at their mischief. Samira found herself smiling, too, thinking of all the nights she had spent without this.
Another buzz from her phone. She unlocked it.
- Abbot: whered u go?
---
Samira got set up at her new office the next week. It was strange to not be working in the middle of a bustling room, to speak to patients as long as she wanted instead of rushing through them to meet more deadlines. When she would go without a patient for too long, she started buzzing in her seat, patients’ problems flashing through her mind and distracting her from the tedious insurance paperwork she had to get through.
Regardless, she was happy. Her patients were all sweet, lacking the malice that she experienced from many patients at PTMC, and would always emit pools of gratitude as they thanked her for her work.
“I am so glad to see a beautiful girl like you as a doctor,” Mrs. Putnam has once said, grasping Samira’s hands between her own and patting them gently. “I was a nurse once, y’know. They wouldn’t let me be a doctor.”
It pained Samira to hear these types of stories. She knew that she was lucky, that she was a special case in millions of girls who never got to achieve their dreams. But the smile on Mrs. Putnam’s face as she spoke made her melt in response, pulling her patient close and into an embrace.
“You would have been an excellent doctor, Mrs. Putnam,” she said into her ear.
Sometimes, things would remind her of PTMC. When she had to refer a patient to their cardiology department, she felt the same pulling in her heart that she had when a patient died. When she had to inform a family that there was nothing else she could do, she still hid in closets to cry herself out.
Sometimes, things reminded her of PTMC in a good way. Sometimes, she would meet a patient who had Mel’s gentle tone; her boss often reminded her of Dr. Al-Hashimi. There were twins that had walked in with their grandparents who fought like Whitaker and Santos, and Samira resisted the urge to tape them and send it to the group chat.
She had a patient struggling with war wounds from the Vietnam War, and as they spent more time together discussing treatment plans to resolve his discomfort, she grew more and more fond of him.
You: someone’s beating you out for my favorite old man
Sometimes, Abbot didn’t respond quite as swiftly as Samira would like him to. But today, he was swift, her message just double-checked on WhatsApp when he responded.
- Abbot: WHAT
- Abbot: who is taking u away from me
Samira hid her smirk behind her hand and kept typing.
You: mr. abrams. he’s a patient of mine
- Abbot: and what exactly is this man doing to charm you so
- Abbot: i have to know his secrets
You: A wicked sense of humor. Incredible stories from the 60s. He once told me that I reminded him of an ex-girlfriend who saved him during the war effort.
You: He’s this close to bringing me roses.
No, he wasn’t. Mr. Abrams was a grumpy old man who refused to work with anyone but Samira. But she figured it was fun to wind Abbot up.
- Abbot: hey i think ur badass too
- Abbot: i’m funny
You: right
- Abbot: you laugh at my jokes!!!
You: Maybe I’m just being polite.
- Abbot: you wouldnt dare.
You: to be polite? You’re right, I would never.
Samira giggled into her hands. She could hear the ticking clock in her office, which drove her crazy before she finally picked up her phone, and knew that her time would be up soon.
- Abbot: has my whole life been a lie
- Abbot: have u simply been entertaining my efforts like a queen to her court jester
You: A nice metaphor for someone who doesn’t use punctuation
- Abbot: HEY. i used punctuation just fine
You: Lies and deceit…
- Abbot: okay and when did all the jack hate start 🙁
- Abbot: i thought u liked our convos
Samira hesitated. She bit her nails again, something her doctor had advised against when she was little, and felt her cheeks heat up ever so slightly.
You: I do.
A pause. She bite her nails harder.
- Abbot: so then why is this old man beating me out >:(
Samira smiled.
You: He’s not… I just like messing with you 🙂
- Abbot: YOU. ARE. EVIL.
Samira laughed and closed her phone before her next appointment.
--
“So what’s this guy’s problem?”
Samira whipped up from her phone to come face-to-face with Santos, whose eyebrows were raised and hand on her hip.
Samira clicked off her phone, shoving it in her jacket before leaning against the wall, attempting to act the slightest bit casual. “What are you talking about?”
Santos groaned dramatically. Whitaker eyed the eight balls with such attention and dedication that Samira almost felt uncomfortable. Mel sat on the pool table beside him, watching his every move as he hit it with the stick.
“You’re always texting this guy, but you’ve never been too busy to meet up with us or canceled for a sudden change in plans. Every time we ask you who you’re texting, you turn off your phone and say “nobody”, which is obviously not true.” Pointing her finger against Samira’s chest, hip cocked, Santos said, “Obviously, something’s gotta be wrong with him. By now, the cute little “will they, won’t they” phase has gotta be over. By now, you should be jumping on the first chance to bring him up.”
Samira smirked. Joy, from the corner of the room, lifted her eyes from her phone and unsubtly started listening. She felt herself roll her eyes and sigh.
“Nothing’s wrong with him.”
“Then you admit, there’s a him,” Joy interrupted.
Samira glared at her.
“This is why we keep you around,” Santos said, lifting up her hand for a high five. Joy didn’t take her gaze off of Samira as she returned it.
She wasn’t exactly sure when Joy became part of their sessions together, but it must have been some time before Ogilvie joined, because she could see the irritable look on Whitaker’s face as Ogilvie attempted to explain the rules of pool to him for a second time. Javadi held a similar look of distaste and pretended like she didn’t hear him as the stick passed to her.
“I’m just texting a coworker,” she said.
“Coworkers, my ass,” Santos retorted. “C’mon, clearly there’s something going on. Otherwise, you would totally tell us.”
Samira was about to say that maybe they just weren’t that close, but as she watched Javadi argue with Ogilvie at a bar that only had one stick for the pool table, she knew it wasn’t true. Instead, she cleared her throat and said, “It’s not like I prod you about your love life, Santos.”
“That’s because it’s non-existent," Joy said.
Santos frowned. “Whose team are you on?”
Joy shrugged, a clear indication that she was on her own team, as Samira grinned.
“Yeah, Santos. What about your love life?” She shot a brief glance at Javadi. “Whatever happened to being transparent?”
Santos gave her a look so dark that, if Samira had any less willpower, would probably wither her away.
“Tit for tat, Santos,” she teased.
Santos huffed. “Fine. Whatever. Whitaker needs my help scaring Ogilvie away, anyway.”
As she stormed away and snapped at Ogilvie, Samira bit her cheek to stop herself from grinning before pulling up her phone again.
--
There were days when Jack wasn’t as quick to respond. (She wasn’t sure when, exactly, he had become “Jack” instead of “Abbot”, but she imagined it was only natural after two months of texting). Samira had been so used to his swiftness that, at first, she had assumed she said something wrong. She was close to sending forty different text messages, each sounding crazier than the last, before she realized how pathetic she was being and giving the man some space. But when Jack came back, he was always as energetic as ever, meeting every poke that Samira gave with a prod.
Today was such a day. It had been a boring shift for her at the new hospital; most of the attendees were older patrons who were more interested in golf and gardening than they were in discussing medical cases. Most of them were seconds away from retirement, an entire income threshold away from Samira, and none really knew how to talk to her. So she sat alone in her office, eating lunch on her desk yet again, when she started texting Abbot in hopes that he would respond.
You: hey
The clock ticked past. Thirty seconds. Four minutes. Twelve minutes.
She groaned and plopped her head on the table.
God, how pathetic was she?
- Abbot: sorry
- Abbot: not feeling my best today
She picked up her phone with such haste that she almost dropped her salad on her jeans, and she just barely managed to save her attire before finally reading what Jack had actually said.
Frowning, she typed back, i’m sorry to hear that.
She hesitated, thinking about whether or not she should say what she was about to say, when she typed—
You: do you wanna talk about it?
There was a pause—a pause long enough for Samira to reconsider what she had said, long enough that Samira thought she should just delete her message, when—
- Abbot: nah, don’t wanna burden you.
Samira furrowed her eyebrows.
You: You’re never a burden.
You: What’s up?
She bit her cheek and felt the taste of metal cover her mouth.
- Abbot: it’s nothing, just some phantom pains
Suddenly, it clicked for Samira.
You: That sucks, I’m really sorry.
You: Do you have anything to make yourself feel better?
Bubbles.
- Abbot: massages, heating pads, elastic bands. you know the drill, you treat war vets
Samira bit her lip.
You: God bless our country for sending good men off to kill themselves.
For a moment, she panicked, wondering if he didn’t feel the same, thinking he obviously saw the military in a positive light if he fucking enlisted, for Christ’s sake.
You: I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to devalue your service at all, I just resent the types of wars our country sends our soldiers off to fight in.
- Abbot: god bless, right?
- Abbot: don’t worry about it, i feel the same way. although i will say i mostly enlisted for the ladies.
Samira snorted.
You: you seem like an all-american boy to me
- Abbot: maybe I’m not what you think.
You: I dunno. You seem pretty great to me.
---
“Ask him out.”
Joy leaned beside her at the bar as they sat out of the dancing, Mel and Santos whipping their hair to some Avril Lavigne song as Whitaker spoke to some older guy off the side of the dance floor.
Samira furrowed her eyebrows. “Ask who out?”
Joy nodded her head towards Samira’s phone. “Your guy. Ask him out.”
Samira glanced back at her phone. The words came so often to her that she didn’t think twice about them. “It’s not like that.”
Joy nodded, moving her head to look at their friends. “Okay.”
Samira frowned.
“You’re… not gonna say anything more?”
Joy shrugged. “Not really any of my business.”
Samira was ready to throttle her and beg her to say that to Santos.
She felt the weight of her phone, heavy in her purse.
Maybe hanging out wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
---
Samira lamented over that stupid conversation for the entire weekend. She slept over at Santos’ house when she was too drunk to drive, and Whitaker followed in an Uber a few hours later when the guy he was talking to said something sexist about female doctors. Santos had passed out on the couch, and even though Whitaker had insisted that Samira should take the couch and that he was going to kick Santos out, he ended up falling asleep beside her.
She ended up sleeping on their table in the kitchen, and woke up at the break of dawn.
Samira snuck out of the house, strangely feeling like she was a one night stand after a morning after, before driving back to her apartment and falling on her own couch.
She couldn’t sleep. Instead, she walked back and forward across the length of her apartment, her eyes burning a hole into her phone. It was sitting on the couch, completely innocent, and Samira couldn’t help but mull over what she could possibly say.
Hanging out wasn’t a date, right? It was just hanging out. They didn’t even have to go out for anything. Coffee seemed too much like a date, dinner was definitely leaning towards romance territory.
As the sun cascaded over the open curtains of her apartment, she thought of the perfect solution.
She leaped forward to grab her phone and typed quickly as she laid against the couch.
You: What do you think about running?
It was five in the morning. She wasn’t exactly expecting a response, but just as she had set her phone down, she felt it buzz and picked it up again. Her eyes were scanning the screen, almost hungry to hear anything she had to say.
God, Santos would think she was so pathetic if she could see her now.
- Abbot: not a huuuuuge fan…
- Abbot: the costs of athletic prosthetics are insane
Samira almost slapped herself.
You: Shit, I can imagine
You: Sorry, idk why I assumed
It took a moment for him to respond. In the meantime, Samira screamed into her pillow, lamenting over the fact that she had messed up 0.2 seconds into the conversation.
- Abbot: most people do… i think it has something to do with my absolutely killer bod
Samira cackled, throwing her head back against the couch she was on.
You: It’s too early for this
- Abbot: it’s never too early to talk about my fantastic attributes
She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t wipe her smile off of her face.
You: Calm down.
She pondered another idea for a moment before typing it out.
You: If running isn’t in the cards, what about walking?
You: I’ve been meaning to check out this park near PTMC
You: not that I work there anymore but
Samira felt herself spiral deeper and deeper by the second. What if she was being totally weird? They had been texting for so long, but Abbot probably didn’t want to meet with an old colleague who he hadn’t seen in months. She was probably the worst ER doctor in the PTMC at the time, and they had absolutely no reason to see each other again.
You: sorry, that might be stupid. We don’t have to meet up
- Abbot: no!!
- Abbot: no, i would love to meet up with you
- Abbot: i think i know that park
- Abbot: just give me the time and place
Samira hid her smile behind her pillow.
You: what time are you free?
- Abbot: i mean
- Abbot: we’re already up
You: You mean right now?
- Abbot: it might be nice
You: No yeah let’s do it
- Abbot: right now?
You: yeah, right now
- Abbot: shit, okay. I’ll meet up with you at 6.
Samira, checking the time on her phone, grinned wider than she had in forever.
You: okay, see you at 6
You: )
---
When Samira actually got to the park, she realized that she was completely underprepared for this moment. She got out of the car with excitement following her trail and swiftly realized that she was wearing the tackiest outfit ever. She didn’t have a change of clothes when she arrived at Santos’ apartment, and when she had arrived home, she had changed to sweatpants and a random shirt that she had pulled out of the darkness of her closet. Upon pulling it forward and inspecting it, she realized her jeans were the grey sweatpants she wore when she ran across the block and the Juicy Couture t-shirt her mother had left behind when she left on her fancy vacation cruise.
She flushed a vivid red, so red that she was sure that even the kids in the playground half a mile away could see her.
But it was too late, because she could already see a familiar figure in the distance.
“Hey!” Abbot yelled, throwing up his hand in a wave, and as soon as she saw him, he took her breath away.
Samira hadn’t seen Jack in about three months. In that time, she had forgotten the way his hair curled gently around his ears, the way his eyes lit up whenever he smiled. His cheeks were dusted in a soft pink, and he looked almost shy upon seeing her. He was wearing a much nicer outfit than Samira, jeans that hugged him tightly and an old band t-shirt that Samira could hardly recognize from their distance. He almost looked frozen in time to her, an ephemeral picture of the man she couldn’t stop thinking about for the past few months.
She couldn’t stop herself from smiling.
“Hey,” she said, and she jogged forward, meeting him where he was at the end of a path.
As soon as she arrived, Jack’s eyes met the ground, his hand scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry for asking you out so early,” he said. “I just figured, if we were both up—”
“No, no, I don’t mind at all,” she said. She bounced on the heels of her feet and felt her cheeks ache from her smile. “I was gonna go out running, anyway.”
His mouth made a little “oh” shape, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “So that’s why you asked me out for a run.”
Samira flushed. “Sorry. I should’ve—”
“No, no, it’s not a problem,” Jack interrupted, waving her off. “I’m just glad to get out.”
There was a moment of silence where Samira couldn’t wipe the smile off of her face, where she and Jack stared at each other. She thought that maybe, this moment should have been awkward, but she didn’t feel that way at all. Samira had never felt quite this comfortable in her whole life.
“Nice shirt, by the way,” Jack said.
Samira groaned. “Don’t talk to me. I wasn’t look at what I was putting on.”
“No, no, I think it looks good,” Jack teased, his grin growing lighter.
“Shut up.”
They bickered as they walked forward on the path, Samira insulting the band on his t-shirt and Jack talking about the state of her hair. Regardless, Samira could not hold down the lightness she felt in his presence, thinking that if she wasn’t careful, she might just float away.
---
Mel invited her back to the bar the next week, mentioning that Whitaker and Santos had the time of their lives at the bar. Everyone would be there, she said, so they would love it if she could make it.
Samira figured that if everyone was going, she might as well pick them up at the hospital.
Samira’s shift ended early that day because it was Labor Day, so she had time to change and go home before she had to pick everyone up. The others had complained about the fact that she would be the designated driver, but she said that she wouldn’t have been drinking, anyways, and loved the car ride just as much as she loved the bar hop.
She parked at PMTC and watched as an ambulance rushed past her, wind whipping across her face and curling into the tendrils of her hair. She watched it as it raced past towards its terminal, EMTs rushing a person out just as Samira was walking in.
She took a deep breath and walked into PMTC.
Nothing had changed. She hadn’t expected anything to change, really, but she thought that maybe, it would be darker, that maybe, it would seem less of whatever had attracted her to it in the first place. But nothing had changed; the stench of sweat still permeated across the waiting room, people roasting in their seats as a cheap fan sputtered wind across the room and murmurs complaining about service continued.
She was ready to wait outside when the receptionist recognized her and beckoned her in.
“Anything for our favorite doctor,” she said, winking as she did so.
Samira figured it wouldn’t hurt to walk into the PTMC, just this once. Maybe it was a bit unethical to let someone in to distract the doctors when everyone needed so much help, but it was heading onto nightshift anyways, and everyone knew they were supposed to be picked up by Samira, anyway. She wouldn’t be a surprise, not really.
But when Mel caught sight of her at the doorway, just beginning to explain the condition of a patient to Parker, her eyes lit up and she smiled so wide, Samira thought she might explode.
“Samira!” She said, and before she knew it, Mel ran up to her and wrapped her arms around her, almost lifting her up from the floor in her excitement.
“Woah, woah, I missed you, too, Mel!” And even though she was embarrassed that maybe she wouldn’t be wanted, she could feel a warmth in her heart at Mel’s affection.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Parker drawled.
“Love you too, Parker,” Samira said, still holding onto Mel.
“Let me go get everyone, we’re almost done turning everyone over. Hey, Joy, look who’s here!”
Joy rolled her eyes, opening her mouth to probably say something snippy, when she saw Samira standing at the front of the room.
“Wow, weird seeing you back here,” Joy said.
“It’s a one-time thing,” she said with a gentle laugh. “I guess the receptionist owes me a favor.”
After that, a few different people stopped to talk to her: Dr. Al-Hashimi sent her regards to her mother, Frank hugged her and said that she looked healthy and well, Garcia came down and punched her on the shoulder. It was weird; she hadn’t been the best doctor, hadn’t been the most healthy with her boundaries, had often lacked the codependency that the others had to make their friendships last. But as she walked through PTMC, she found herself surrounded by the doctors she had once worked with, surrounded with love and appreciation in a way that she had never experienced before.
When the accolades were all over, Samira stood by the lockers. She was catching up with work emails and setting up an appointment with Mr. Abrams again when she heard a familiar voice from the corner of the room.
“Am I dreaming?”
Samira whipped her head around and faced Jack, whose smile was stretched across his face. “I’m the real thing,” she said, closing out of her phone.
“Oh, great, Sam, I caught you,” Santos panted, jogging towards her and her locker. Whitaker lingered behind her, waving at Samira with a gentle smile. Santos started talking about how she only had one patient to transfer, but then caught eye of the phone in her hands and smirked. “Oh, I see. Is loverboy on the phone?”
Samira flushed just as Abbot said, “Loverboy?”
“Oh, yeah,” Santos said, slamming her locker shut. “Samira’s been hiding this guy from us for months. She’s smiling, giggling, but refuses to tell us who her boyfriend is.”
“You have a boyfriend?” Abbot said, and his voice was so strained that Samira almost couldn’t hear him.
She shook her head aggressively. “No, no, they’ve got it all wrong.”
“I don’t know about that,” Whitaker said, something glinting in his eye. “C’mon, Samira, even you’ve got to admit that the way you’ve been acting has been totally ridiculous. You’re totally head over heels for the guy.”
“If Whitaker knows it…” Santos teased.
“You have a boyfriend,” Abbot said.
“No,” Samira insisted.
“I caught a view of her phone once when she wasn’t looking,” Santos piped up. Samira thrusted her hands against her neck, threatening, but Santos didn’t even look twice. “She says it’s a colleague, but we all know she has a huge fat crush on the guy. It’s someone named J something. She took away the phone faster than I could read.”
Suddenly, the dim look on Abbot’s face lightened.
Samira almost died.
“No,” Samira said again, feeling like she could only say one word.
“She texts him all the time,” Santos said. “And, I don’t know if it’s true, but it seems like they’ve been meeting up more lately. She’s less free than she used to be, and I know she has a job, but c’mon, who can say no to our cute little faces? Something’s happening, for sure. She basically only texts him these days.”
Abbot shot her a look, and she couldn’t read it.
“Mohan?” He asked.
“They’re totally exaggerating, Abbot,” She said. “It’s not what you think.”
But before she could finish speaking, he grabbed her hand, dragging her away from the lockers and towards the stations with privacy curtains dragged closed.
As soon as they stepped inside, Samira couldn’t stop the apologies from tumbling out. “I am so sorry, Dr. Abbot. They just won’t let it go because they think I’m dating someone, and that’s all my fault because I guess I’ve been, well, too obvious about my feelings, and I never meant for it to go this far, and I totally understand if you feel uncomfortable with this because you were my boss and I’m…”
Abbot’s lips collided against her own, and all the excuses she was going to make completely melted from her mind, liberated by him.
His hands wrapped around her waist and she found her fingers entangling in his hair as he pushed himself harder against her, her back aching as it dug into the wall. Their mouths parted, and Abbot’s mouth caught her groan. All the denial from the past few months came rushing to the forefront of her mind as she became completely overwhelmed by Abbot
“Jesus Christ, get a room!”
Abbot jumped back, and Samira bounced her head against the wall, the pain an electrocution across her skull. She groaned, and Abbot’s eyes were immediately on her, caressing her head in his hands.
“I am so sorry, are you okay?” He said, and she nodded just as she heard someone laugh hysterically behind her.
Samira winced. God, she couldn’t get out of this one.
She turned around and watched as Santos’ laughter bounced off the walls of the room, as Whitaker’s jaw dropped, as Joy nodded her head and as Mel flushed a deep burgundy. Javadi held up her phone, and Samira sighed when she realized they might have been filmed.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Abbot said.
“Nice comeback, old man,” Joy deadpanned.
“Pretty sure they’re already taking pictures,” Samira said, absolutely mortified.
She had never felt happier in her life.
“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Dana said, and she winked at the two as she pulled the curtain back fully. “Let’s leave these two lovebirds alone. Abbot, you have patients, remember?”
Abbot blushed, which Samira immediately wanted him to do again. “Right. I’ll get right on that, Dana.”
“You’d better, you bastard,” she murmured. She turned to Samira and smiled. “Good to see you again, hon. You look good.”
Samira pulled her hair back, making sure that no strands were out of place. “Thanks, Dana.”
“Now, c’mon, kids, get out of here, let them be, let them be,” Dana repeated as she shooed the rest of the crowd away, Santos still laughing and Joy taking money from Ogilvie.
Abbot waited for the rest of them to leave before turning back to look at Samira. “I am so sorry,” he said. “I should have asked you if you wanted to, I shouldn’t have done it in front of everyone.”
Samira rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”
Samira kissed Abbot.