Chapter Text
She knew she should probably break up with him. But God knows she didn’t have the energy.
Mohan didn’t really date. She barely had any interest in dating throughout med school, and hadn’t really had any great experiences from undergrad. In her whole life, she’d had one “proper relationship” which began in her final year of undergrad. It ended with her acceptance into med school, which took her out of state. She knew she didn’t react to the breakup the way most would have – it was like the excitement for getting into med school trumped all sadness she could possibly have from the breakup. She couldn’t relate to friends who talked of their pained decision regarding leaving boyfriends to go to grad school. It was always a non-brainer for her – who would let some guy get in the way of her career and success?
She supposed she had a bit of fomo, though – she was at the age when old friends from college and school were getting married and having babies and all that fun stuff. She didn’t really know if she wanted that; but she hated feeling as if there was some hidden part of her psyche that she hadn’t had the opportunity to access yet. What if there was some part of her brain, some empty emotional box waiting to be filled by the joy of a husband and baby and the nice white picket fence? Was this the same empty part in her brain that didn’t allow her to mourn the break-ups she’d had in her life?
Well, if it did exist, she hadn’t found it yet. And while she theoretically knew she was missing out on some part of the traditional joy of being in your 20s, she couldn’t bring herself to care too much. She hadn’t fallen in love before, and she had her doubts that she ever would. She didn’t know if she wanted to be one of those people married to her work, but she also didn’t know if she’d be presented with much in the way of another choice.
She worked with lots of people who were virtually married to their work. Lots of single, divorced, or “it’s complicated”. She knew Robby had never gotten married or had kids. Same for Collins. She wasn’t sure about Abbot – she supposed he might have been married once, or maybe he’s phenomenal at compartmentalisation and has gotten good at keeping his work and personal life separate, thus not letting any of the team learn about his family. But Samira thought it was much more likely that he was like the rest of them. Married to their work, unable to build a healthy work-life balance. She supposed it came with the territory.
But she had to admit, having a guy around was fun. Samira was under no impression that this random man she found at some dive bar was the love of her life. For one, she knew her future husband (if he existed at all) would be college educated. Shallow, she knows. But there was no way in hell she’d force herself to spend the rest of her life trying to explain the concept of peer-review and medical research to a man whose concept of research was a Google search.
No, her future husband would be college educated. Smart. Maybe smarter than her, but he wasn’t allowed to think that.
Nick failed on all counts. He was not going to be her future husband. But hey, she was allowed to have some fun on the journey, right?
She met Nick at a bar. Cliché, for sure. He was not her type at all; big red-headed dude, covered in tattoos, wearing tradesman clothes. She didn’t really know what her type was, to be fair. But the big, gruff, uber-masculine had never particularly appealed to her. She preferred soft, sensitive. But nevertheless, he caught her eye. And, more importantly, she caught his.
She was not intending to pick up at this shitty bar. But while she was sitting up at the bar, watching the crowd of couples around her, she became overwhelmed with a sense of loneliness. She needed companionship. It wasn’t about love, but it wasn’t necessarily about sex either. She decided, for one night only, to put aside her tendency towards perfectionism for the sake of a bit of attention.
Before going out, she had been coached by some of her friends about how to pick up a guy. She didn’t have the heart to tell her friends how woefully misplaced their advice was. These were women who met the loves of their lives in their second year of college. These were women who had no issue throughout college and into their career sacrificing time for the sake of building a relationship. Samira did not have that luxury.
Also, Samira had no issue attracting men. In fact, she often tried to go out of her way to avoid male attention. She seemed to have a great deal of trouble with attracting the right men, though. And that was advice she could not receive from her girlfriends.
What her girls did say, though, was sometimes it’s fun to spend a bit of time with Mr Wrong. She didn’t have to cut herself off to the world of dating until she found the man for her.
“There’s nothing wrong with having a bit of fun,” her college friend, Amy, said to her while they were getting ready to head out to the bar. They were standing in her kitchen, sharing a frozen pizza and a bottle of wine. Samira had always found that getting ready to go out with her friends was always more fun than the actual going out itself. She decided to soak up the good vibes with Amy while she could. How often did Samira let herself have fun like this on her nights off? Normally she’d be huddled in bed under a million pillows watching some trashy TV. She knew she needed some socialising.
“When was the last time you got laid?” Amy asked, deadpan.
“Oh, God,” Samira laughed, setting her glass of white wine down on Amy’s counter. “It’s been a while.” And it had. She’d almost forgot what sex was like. When she thought about the prospect of having sex, she didn’t draw on past memories of the act. Her own experience with sex had often been underwhelming at best. She imagined sex in a detached, almost clinical way, devoid of the emotion and lust that was supposed to be paired with it. It was literally like she’d forgotten how it felt.
Amy gave her shoulders a playful shove. “I know! Why don’t you just go out there and get yourself a hook up? You don’t need to worry about finding a good one.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Samira said, unsure of herself. She had never really had a ‘hook up’ before. She didn’t really know what the rules of that particular social dynamic were. “But I don’t know.”
“What aren’t you sure about?” Amy inquired with her eyebrows raised. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”
Sure, it was fun. But looking back, she should have gotten right up and Ubered home from that shitty bar, then and there. But, no. Instead, she grinned at some random guy standing ten feet away with a group of equally rough looking men. Before she could process her decision, the man with the tattoos was on his way to her side. Now that he was up closer to her, she could see that his tattoos were quite gorgeous. Maybe this won’t be so bad, she thought to herself. On closer inspection, he was a pretty good looking guy. Tall – definitely over 6 feet. Strong and muscular. He had very kind eyes, a striking clear blue, with nice smile lines around them.
“Hey”, tattoo man said, clearly nervous, sliding beside her at the bar while she waited to get the attention of a server. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She normally would not have accepted such a clear offer from a stranger. Well, truth be told, normally she wouldn’t be sitting alone up by the taps. Especially not this seedy bar in downtown Pittsburgh. But with her old college friend getting married, and with Amy’s advice knocking around in her head, she decided why not.
And this guy seemed nice. Or, more accurately, he seemed interested. And did she really have anything better to do? When in Rome, as they say.
“Sure,” she grinned up at him, being sure to bat her eyelashes in such a fashion which made men melt for her. She knew exactly how to play this guy. “I’m drinking a G and T.”
“You got it,” he grinned at her, waving for a bar tender.
They eventually relocated to one of the couches by the pool tables, her with her G and T, him with his beer. She tried to make an effort to learn about him – he was a carpenter, originally from rural Pennsylvania, who moved here for work. She couldn’t help herself; while he was explaining his work, all she could think about was the potential workplace injuries he could sustain.
Turn your mind off, Mohan, she said to herself. Be in the moment.
“So, what do you do?” He asked, taking a long gulp of beer.
This is what made her realise he hadn’t asked her a single thing about herself in the past ten minutes they’d been on the couch. She knew his name, his hometown, his mum’s name, his siblings’ names, and his place of work. Red flag? She wasn’t sure.
She couldn’t really talk, though – she’d also spent the last ten minutes fantasising about an intercranial haemorrhage she’d worked on a few days prior.
“I’m a doctor in an emergency room,” she answered, waiting for the classic follow up questions – which ER, what kind of medicine does she practice, what was the coolest case she’d ever worked on.
“Oh wow, a doctor!” Nick exclaimed, clearly impressed. “Damn, your parents must be proud.”
“My mom is, for sure,” Samira could feel her chest tightening at the prospect of having the dead-dad conversation. It wasn’t that his death overly upset her anymore – he had been gone a long time. But she hated hearing people react to it. Hated having to navigate the awkwardness it inevitably produced. “But my dad passed before I even decided I wanted to go into medicine.”
“Jesus, I’m sorry,” he quickly placed his beer down and reached out for her hand, putting it in both of his. He had strong hands, calloused from work. They were comforting. She could feel the warmth enveloping her, calming her heartrate down.
Maybe there was something to be said about a bit of physical company, even if it was just for a short period of time.
“Thank you,” she said genuinely, looking down, averting her gaze. “I wish he could have seen me get into med school. And graduate, and all that.”
“I’m sure,” he gave her hand a squeeze in his.
After that, the night wasn’t as bad as she was expecting. She and Nick spent the next few hours chatting on the couch, going over both of their lives, her telling college and medicine stories, him telling her all about the places he’d travelled to around the world. She could tell by the end of the night that this wasn’t going to be a hook up; she didn’t think she was up for something so reckless anyway. Instead, Nick walked her home, and gave her a soft, gentlemanly kiss at her door. He definitely seemed to be a “traditional” type of man. She hoped that meant courting and chivalry rather than toxic podcasts. But she’d have to wait and see.
“I’d love to see you again, when you’re free,” he said softly, his strong hands sitting on her hips.
“I get off at seven most nights,” Samira answered, mentally running through her schedule for the next few weeks.
“How about I pick you up here at eight on Friday?” Nick suggested.
“Sounds like a plan,” Samira grinned.
He gave her one last kiss before letting her walk up the steps to her front door. She looked out her window to see him walking back down the street towards the city centre.
From there, their relationship progressed at what she imagined to be a steady but perhaps accelerated rate. Their first few dates were fine; he took her to nice-ish restaurants, they walked around the city, talked about their lives and work, and kissed goodnight. She couldn’t help but feel like she was missing something – there was a lack of energy, or spark, or something. But she knew she was doing what most normal people her age did. Find a nice man, let him court her, get to know each other. There was nothing wrong with him, necessarily, but she couldn’t quite figure out where this lack of energy was coming from.
At the end of date three, they spent the night together. It was the first time she’d had sex in an embarrassingly long time. It was fine – good, not great. She knew it was probably unfair to expect anything mind-blowing; was the first time with someone ever that good? They needed time to learn each other’s bodies.
He was very rough – strong and sturdy. She had to coach him many times through the sex to be softer, gentler. His hands were so rough, his large, muscly body too robust. She eventually coaxed out a softness from him, but it was too short-lived.
“Don’t worry,” she consoled him after their first time. “It’s hard for me to, you know, finish the first time I’m with someone.”
She could tell his ego was bruised. His brow was furrowed looking at her.
“Let’s just keep going,” he suggested, rubbing her hip roughly with his thumb. “I reckon I can make it happen if we try again.”
Samira was exhausted. She didn’t want to keep going. Honestly, she just wanted to go to sleep; preferably alone. But she didn’t know how to kick him out of her bed without sounding Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally.
“Honestly, I don’t think it’ll happen tonight,” Samira said consolingly, moving his hand from her hip. His grip was so rough it felt like it might leave a small bruise on her hipbone.
“We’ll try again in the morning, maybe,” he said in a tone that Samira hoped wasn’t meant to be seductive. He pulled her into him before she could say anything, gripping her like a vice. Before she could think about how to get him out of her apartment, he was snoring.
Great, she thought. Now I won’t get any sleep.
After a few weeks of dating, she knew there was no chance of finding that spark. The problem was, she didn’t have the energy to break up with him. Or maybe the know-how. She had no idea how to approach the issue – should she text or call him? That seemed too impersonal. Should she wait until they were out at a restaurant? That seemed too awkward – what would she do for the rest of the dinner? Should she call him to meet up somewhere, only to have a two-minute conversation and head back home? That seemed like the only good option.
Oh well, she knew she couldn’t dwell on this while she was at work.
It was Abbot’s shift. He’d been running the day shift for the past month or so, taking over from Robby. She liked working with Robby, even though he rode her pretty hard about her time spent with patients. She’d successfully shed the “slowmo” tag, but she could tell that Robby was still not entirely happy with her pacing. She liked Robby, but she loved working with Abbot. Since the Pittfest shooting, she and Abbot had a kind of rhythm together. It was like she found a source of confidence in herself from him that she never found from Robby. When she worked with Robby, she always felt the need to justify every decision she made. She felt as if she was under such scrutiny that she wasn’t able to fully flow with her intuition.
It was different with Abbot. It was like every decision she made, she could see his mind working to join the dots which led her there. Like they were operating on the same wavelength. It was thrilling, like having him inside her mind.
It was six-fifty-seven AM, and the morning shift were all spilling in, relieving Chen and the nightshift crew. Samira was already on her third coffee, having not slept well at all the night prior. She was on the phone with Amy quite late, workshopping how to end things with Nick. They had decided that she was going to take him out for a coffee the next day she had free and end it while out on a walk. Public, no commitment of a meal, quick and easy. She hadn’t slept well, thinking through all the possible scenarios. At the best of times, she had a hard time turning her brain off.
These concerns slipped away as soon as she saw Abbot walk into the ER. He had his staple army backpack slung across one shoulder, eyes darting all around the room assessing what he was walking into. It took a second before his eyes landed on her; inexplicably, it sent a jolt of electricity through her spine.
She didn’t let herself think about how his eyes could provoke more of a reaction than anything Nick could accomplish with his body.
“Dr Mohan,” Abbot said to her by way of good morning. “Good to see you.”
“Always,” she grinned. He waved her to follow him through to Trauma 1. “What have we got?”
They got to work intubating a car crash survivor, Abbot walking her through a particularly difficult intubation due to distorted anatomy.
“Excellent,” Abbot commented as Samira bagged the tube. He began working on the woman’s abdomen, working to repair her lacerated liver from the car crash. Samira loved watching his hands work – strong, capable, but deceptively gentle. He was so careful, as you have to be when each movement your fingers make has to be so incredibly precise.
She watched his fingers move deftly as he gripped the scalpel, preparing to cut straight into the woman’s abdomen. Staring at his fingers, her mind started to wander, and she couldn’t help but compare him to Nick. She wondered what the sex would have felt like if Nick had doctors’ fingers, rather than blue collar ones. What would it have felt like?
“Dr Mohan.”
She was ripped out of her daydream just in time.
She was able to keep her thoughts in check for the rest of this procedure, only stopping to think about the layers of latex separating their hands when Abbot guided her movements to position the scalpel. Once she was patched up and ready to be taken up to surgery, Samira was like a bat out of hell towards her locker.
“Holy fuck,” she breathed, taking a long drag from her drink bottle.
Why on earth was she fantasising about Abbot’s fingers? Where did that come from? She couldn’t think. Didn’t know what on earth had come over her. She had never been distracted from her work due to sex fantasies in her life, even when working with exceptionally attractive people. She thought back to med school when she had a raging crush on one of her classmates. She remembered how, when walking the halls with him and talking outside of class, she felt like there was a restricted amount of oxygen supply in her brain. But as soon as they began working on actual cases in class, her mind was able to go completely blank, as if she didn’t even know his name. Samira has always been exceptional at compartmentalisation. Why was Abbot breaking through now?
The only logical answer: her lacklustre sex with Nick had had the opposite effect than intended. While the sex was intended to give her a reprieve from her lonely, touch starved life, it seemed to do the opposite – could it have awoken a deeper desire within her? That was absurd. But the only logical explanation.
She needed to talk to Amy about this. She didn’t know how to deal with what she was feeling.
She wasn’t an idiot. She knew she’d had a little crush on Abbot since she’d started at the Pitt. How could she not? He was gorgeous, kind, smart, and a little mysterious. And he apparently had really nice hands. But this was rule number one in her book – no fantasising about people she worked with. Especially not her attending.
Well, he wasn’t exactly her attending. Robby was normally her attending, this was just a short-term shift of schedules. But still – this was not acceptable, and she needed to cut it out.
“All good in here, Mohan?” Perla asked, popping her head into the locker room.
“Fine,” Samira exhaled, shoving her water bottle back in her locker. “Just needed a breather.”
Samira managed to get through her shift without thinking about Abbot. Not too much, anyway. It was easy – she just avoided him at all costs. Couldn’t fantasise about his dextrous fingers if she wasn’t working within three feet of him.
Her next day off was a Saturday, and she had already planned to meet with Nick. She had workshopped with Amy how to break up with him. She decided they’d chat for a little bit, settle down somewhere to have a quiet chat, and then tell him that she wasn’t into it anymore.
“So yeah, she’s on maternity leave for the next few months,” Nick was explaining his sister’s recent birth. “And the baby is just the most gorgeous thing in the world. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”
Samira just about choked on her coffee. Even if she wasn’t planning on breaking up with Nick, it was way too soon to be talking about meeting the nieces and nephews. She’d already gotten a vibe from him that indicated that they were moving at different paces in the relationship – something she’d acknowledged with Amy on the phone. Another reason to call off the relationship.
“When would you want to be thinking about having kids?” Nick asked. “For me, I’d want to have my first by the time I’m 30, at the earliest.”
Samira was shocked at the change in topic. Nick’s question took her completely off-guard. Not only because she was trying to find a good place to segue into a break-up conversation, but because she hadn’t given a moment’s thought to kids in the past 10 years.
“Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever have kids,” Samira answered honestly, taking an anxious sip from her coffee.
Nick looked like she’d just slapped him right across the face. “You don’t want kids?”
“I don’t think so,” she was getting defensive now. Thoughts about segueing into a break-up were pushed to the side. “It’s not really something I’ve given a lot of thought, to be honest. I suppose that means either I’m not ready right now, or I might never be.”
“Of course, you want kids,” Nick laughed as if she’d just told him that the sky was pink. “Everyone does.”
This ticked her right off.
“No, not necessarily,” she retorted, getting angry. “You can say that, as a man. You don’t need to be the one sacrificing your body, risking your life-”
“Oh, I fucking hate it with this whole thing,” Nick cut her off, rubbing his face in his hand. “Women are meant to go through pregnancy. It’s literally the one thing you’re born to do. It’s not that dangerous, that’s just feminist propaganda.”
Samira just about saw red. At least she didn’t need to worry about the proper segue into a break-up conversation.
“’Feminist propaganda’?” She repeated back at him, dumbfounded. “I work in an emergency room. I see deliveries every week. Do you know how dangerous childbirth can be? How much can go wrong?”
“I don’t doubt that,” Nick said defensively. “But medicine is really advanced now, right? You’d know that! Things are so much safer now than they used to be.”
“That’s beside the point,” Samira was getting frustrated. “The point is, I don’t know if I want to have kids. I don’t know if I’d want to make the career sacrifices necessary for that. And it sounds like you do want them, so maybe we shouldn’t keep seeing each other.”
“Woah, woah, don’t say that!” Nick exclaimed, grabbing her arm. It began occurring to her that he was exceptionally strong – even if she wanted to walk away right now, she didn’t know that his grip would allow for that. “Samira, let’s just talk about this. I’m sorry I got so intense, I just care a lot about this kind of thing. Okay? Let’s just keep talking. I’m falling in love with you, don’t-”
Samira couldn’t help it. She knew as soon as that laugh came out of her mouth that she’d fucked up.
“Sorry, but is that fucking funny to you?”
“Sorry, I’m sorry!” She immediately back peddled as he looked at her with horror. She put her spare hand on his chest (the other one still caught in his vice-like grip). “I didn’t mean to react like that, it’s just – we don’t even really know each other, right?”
“Seems like this meant a bit more to me than it did to you.”
Samira did feel bad at the genuine hurt displayed on his face. But she couldn’t help but feel incredibly confused at this drastic change of conversation.
“I just don’t think I have those feelings,” Samira said carefully. “And I definitely think we’re looking for different things here. Maybe it’s best that we don’t see each other again.”
“I can’t fucking believe this,” Nick had started getting visibly agitated. She knew this reaction well from patients in chairs at work. “You string me on, let me take you out, let me fuck you, and then laugh in my face when I tell you how I feel about you?”
“Nick, I’m sorry, but this is absurd,” she exclaimed. “You don’t love me; you don’t even know me.”
She looked around at their surroundings. They were in a relatively private spot, on a bench in a park, but Nick’s erratic and loud language had started to bring on stares.
“Nick, let’s calm down,” she said, trying to get him to look around at the onlookers developing. “We’re in public.”
“I don’t fucking care!” He yelled, still grabbing her arm. “Let’s go, let’s talk about this in private, then.”
He began yanking her arm towards the entry of the park. She resisted out of instinct, trying to worm out of his grasp.
“Let go,” she hissed, trying to avoid a full-on domestic in public at 11am on a Saturday morning.
“Let’s go,” he yanked her arm, clearly trying to exert his exceptional strength over her.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
Some random good Samaritan onlooker had run over. Samira didn’t know him, but was incredibly thankful of his presence.
“Mind your own business,” Nick barked, trying to pull Samira into him. She was getting genuinely scared by his behaviour now.
“Let go of me,” Samira yelled, in what she hoped was a strong, assertive voice. There was a considerable shake that undercut that, though.
“Let her go or I’m calling the cops,” the random guy said, pulling out his phone.
After staring at the random man for a few seconds, likely weighing up if it was a bluff or not, Nick dropped her arm and stormed off. Samira could feel her heart beating in her throat, making her feel sick. She tried to calm her breathing down as she watched Nick disappear into the crowd beyond the park.
“Are you okay?” The man turned to Samira, who was inspecting her wrist where Nick had grabbed her. There might be slight bruising, she should get some ice on it so no one would notice it at work.
“I’m fine,” Samira smiled at him. “Thank you for that, really. I don’t know what would have happened if someone didn’t intervene there.”
“Of course,” he smiled at her. “I’d be careful, if was you. Does he know where you live?”
“Um, yeah. He does,” Samira said with dread. “But I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again. It’ll be fine, thank you.”
She thanked the stranger, and eyed up a few of the onlookers still spying on her encounter before walking back home. It wasn’t until she got onto her street that she started shaking, the full weight of what happened hitting her.
“Fuck,” she cried, letting herself into her apartment. She knew she should call Amy and tell her what happened, and maybe the police to sort out some kind of restraining order. Who was she kidding, she knew she needed more than an aggressive conversation in the park to warrant police involvement.
She knew Nick wouldn’t bother her again. She knew it would be okay, she dodged a bullet there – good advice from Amy to break up in public. What would have happened if that good Samaritan hadn’t intervened? She didn’t want to think about that.
For the first time since med school, she drew a bath, stripped down, got a bottle of wine, and cried to Radiohead while soaking her sore body. She was mentally exhausted. Well, that’s what she gets for trying to date, she supposed.