Work Text:
1. Pro: Is he made of flesh and bone? Con: Time and place Samira!
The first time Samira becomes consciously aware of her desire to reach out and touch Dr Jack Abbot is during PittFest. More specifically when she notices the bandage wrapped around his leg. It’s instinctive, a trained and medical need to assess what she perceives to be an injury. Then she noticed the blood bag.
For a moment she’d been bewildered. Brain not connecting the dots as she continued to work on their patient. But then–
“Are you donating?”
He looked up then and fuck it was inappropriate with the timing and the setting but god she wanted to touch him. Nothing even serious. Just the vague urge to poke something to check if it was real.
“O-neg, yeah.”
(Could a blood type be attractive? Universal donor, willing to donate during the middle of a mass casualty event? £)
He had no right to look that put together while Samira– well she couldn’t say she was falling apart, not when she had never felt more alive. She was good at her job, had worked hard to be so, and in some ways this was proving that to her. There was no place for slow-mo here, nor was there any need for her, she knew her orders, her task, and she was carrying it out with precision.
Just as she knew Dr Abbot was.
But he had more experience than her, especially in this sort of environment. She wondered if this was similar to what he saw overseas. If he was stationed at a base, in one of those metal domed hangars she’d seen on tv. She wondered if he had turned that space into an ER. Or maybe he had never been that settled. Perhaps he had spent a lifetime out in the trenches, in sand and snow trying to do his best with scraps and gut instinct.
He was so composed here, so in control. She’d seen him walk in, noted how he was willingly walking into a proverbial war zone.
And now here he was; giving up a literal, physical piece of himself.
Sometimes she heard interns talking of him like a myth. She had certainly heard residents and nurses treating him as something of a boogeyman. Someone to be respected, to be trusted, and yet there was an untouchable aspect to him, something otherworldly. It was all drama of course, idle gossip combined with easy crushes, all of which was helped along by a persona; competent, older, charming, a night owl, and private enough to be mysterious.
Samira had never truly subscribed to that mindset, though she could admit to admiring - professionally, of course – but now? In the middle of treating a patient, with the ER in havoc around them.
Oh she could practically feel it now. Wanted to feel it. To prove that he was mortal, that she was mortal, that they were both alive in this mess.
It was exhilarating, adrenaline overpowering all else as they worked tirelessly to save as many as they could. A no loss scenario, every life was a plus. They were expecting death. She remembered all the jokes, that surgeons had more in common with serial killers than a non-medical civilian, that all doctors think of themselves as god. Perhaps this would be the moment to feel such a way; a reaper taking lives; or a god bestowing them.
Yet here Dr Mohan was, feeling utterly mortal. Flesh and bone.
She wanted to know if she and Dr Abbot were made the same.
2. Pro: Wipe the blood away Con: Boundaries - workplace
PittFest had changed many things about Samira about PTMC; some were good, others bad, but it is how she found herself on Night Shift - on a semi-permanent basis. Doctors had dropped like flies after that night; Dana had finished out her weeks rotation then taken a two month sabbatical; Langdon had disappeared, had become a name not to be mentioned (until the truth slowly started to enter the gossip mill); Abbot had apparently strong armed Robby into therapy, to varying degrees of success; and Samira… Samira had been trying to get a life, to not burn out.
Night shift might be… detrimental to that, yet she can’t stay away.
It’s a different pace, no less intense but the chaos is less, fewer low-threat cases, a quieter tone as exhaustion creeps into the mundane. Naturally, the shift had its quirks, its regulars. 2am hit and the bars closed, though drunks and those injured by them start piling in at midnight. There were more stressed out mothers too; babies who weren’t sleeping, colic, mothers with postpartum depression. They had their fare share weird ones, sex injuries were more common after hours, drunken dares, the allure of the full moon.
Darker ones as well; domestics that couldn’t be covered up, assaults, suicides.
But Samira found she could balance that intensity better at night than during the day. She could take longer with her patients, the ones who were willing to talk, others were too tired for it and she found herself respecting that more easily than during the day - where the threat of them slipping through the cracks had seemed greater.
Abbot had helped, he was typically the lead attending on Samira’s shifts though Shen was also taking lead now that he had settled into his role as attending - PittFest had really cemented it for him. Both of them were… would it be rude to say not Robby? Abbot made her justify her orders, her requests, but he heard her out where Robby had already made up his mind. Sometimes they disagreed but… it was never a personal slight. Quite frankly Shen was too chill to care what Samira did, he wasn’t willing to waste the energy rocking the boat.
Which is how Samira found herself hovering outside one of the treatment rooms, having been waiting for Abbot to sign off on paperwork but was now…
There’s blood on his jaw, flicking down to the side of his neck. He’s already scrolling down the tablet and Samira’s already reaching for one of the hand wipes Dana keeps by the hub. She’s seen blood before of course, so she’s not sure why she’s so hypnotised by the smudge that lines his face.
They were doctors, ones who frequently worked traumatic injuries. This shouldn’t be surprising to her. Sure, it shouldn’t exactly be gross, poor Javadi had proved that being squeamish meant you suffered greatly in an ER. Yet here Samira was, practically rivalling Abbot’s ability to hold a stare.
“When were labs sent off?”
“20 minutes ago.” Abbot sighs at her answer, clearly knowing it means they’re in for a wait.
Of course she’d seen a hell of a lot more blood before. She had done a surgical rotation, so she’d actually seen blood guts and cut muscle fat and tissue. Except that had a certain technical allure, with the surgical setting, the bright light, it had felt alien, less like seeing an open body and more just a routine procedure. PittFest had been a sea of blood. She remembered feeling the blood beneath her feet.
(She remembered the blood clinging to her hands, to her skin, the sweat on her forehead–£)
Abbot had been covered in blood then too, it had soaked into that orange vest, into the label on his chest. She wondered if they just burned all the contaminated equipment or if they had to painstakingly clean it all.
But that was then and this was now.
Now, where she was staring at Abbot’s face, noting the way his brows furrowed in concentration, how his eyes darted across the pages before him.
“You’ve–” Samira doesn’t flinch when his head snaps around to stare at the hand she has raised between them, the one holding the wipe, the one that she had been instinctively reaching out to touch him with. She hadn't even registered the movement. “-got blood on your jaw.”
Fuck it’s a good jaw.
Abbot frowns but quickly takes the wipe from her, scrubbing at his jaw and neck like he’s trying to scratch at his skin.
“Thanks.”
3. Pro: It would be grounding. Con: the surgical gown needs tying
They’d had a few peaceful nights so clearly they were overdue a trauma. Not that anyone was saying it out loud (Ellis had glared at Shen so Samira suspected that the Q-word had been mentioned) and it had been… nice. A bit too nice if she was honest. Samira had actually managed to sit down and have something to eat - for about ten minutes Ellis had actually joined her - a bloody miracle.
It had given her a chance to work on her paper between patients, they’d managed to clear through chairs by 3 am and Samira had been left waiting for labs. They’d all been at a bit of a loss, Ellis had taken on the medical issues of her patient’s family as well out of sheer boredom, Shen was actually doing the Attending’s paperwork that Abbot had been pestering him about for days, and Abbot…
Well Abbot, Jack , (he’d made her call her that once they started working on the paper together) was working on Samira’s paper with her. Or rather, he was editing her first two pages while she scanned through the various papers that the both of them had gathered.
“We’ll have to finish this post shift.” Jack sighs, half making it sound like a chore while Samira’s brain lags on what the hell he means by that. “You got any plans for the day or shall we find another time?”
She blinks, stunned enough that it takes Abbot looking up from her paper to smirk at her bewildered expression before she gets with the program.
“Relax, I’m aware you’re still a broke resident. I’ll buy the breakfast.”
Was he asking her out for dinner? Breakfast?
Jack frowns at her continued silence, “It’s fine if you’re busy–”
“No.” She might have said that a little loud. “Sorry, I was still lost in the paper. That would be good, thanks.”
Bullshit but he’d been forced to listen to her rants many times so it was fairly believable. Jack must believe her enough if his smirk is anything to go by.
But then he raises his brows, “you good?”
Samira frowns, “Of course. I was just a little distracted.”
“I know,” He was clearly amused even if there was a touch of worry in his tone. “Distracted enough to let me buy you dinner.”
Samira blinks, surprised but– “Oh.”
Jack chuckles.
“I’m sorry, I didn't– You don’t have to get me anything.”
“Relax, Mohan-”
“Samira.”
“Samira.” He echos, smiling softly, “I’m the one with the attending’s salary.”
She winces, “Still–”
“Ambulance incoming, construction worker caught in some kind of machine.”
They’re moving before Bridget is finished calling out.
“Saved by the bell.” Jack murmurs, passing close by her, close enough to touch yet that distance still remains.
Maybe it’s that whisper of a touch that has her following him. More realistically it’s instinct, muscle memory that has her walking to an incoming trauma, yet it was only recently that Samira had started flanking Jack. The two of them made a brilliant team. One that had slowly developed a short-hand (Ellis had remarked that it was freaky - brilliant, but weird)
So it was natural to follow Jack, to reach forward and help tie the back of his surgical gown as one of the night shift nurses, Tolu, helped Samira with hers. Except the whole time she pictured pressing a hand to his back, to the top of his shoulder. A gentle touch, something grounding, a connection – anything to maintain the peace they had before the inevitable carnage.
(Samira needn’t have worried, the second the patient was between them the world narrowed down to Allen Bradshaw, 48, crushed leg, and Jack)
- Pro: She could judge Jack’s curl cream Con: She’d look deranged
Final stages of drafting a paper should be… well Samira had never written a paper at this level before so all she could think of was, stressful. All consuming. The reason she is developing paranoia. But she refused to fail at the last hurdle, not when she was at the editing stage. She was basically polishing at this point.
Or she would be if Robby stopped giving her notes.
This was possibly the first time in Samira’s life where she actually resented someone for going to therapy, and doing well . In Robby’s defence, it had taken months of meeting with his therapist (Jack says they’re a trusted colleague of his own therapist) but Robby was finally making progress. He seemed lighter and had (unfortunately) been making a genuine effort to apologise to her, to fix his mistakes, to do better blah blah–
Why did this all have to happen with her paper?
Why, genuinely, it was something she had asked Jack. Quite possibly the first time she had ever shown so much emotion around the man. But what could he expect? He was Robby’s best friend, of course she was going to demand answers from the one she should be blaming for all this.
Apparently, Robby’s therapist had suggested finding common ground in his relationships, practising being supportive, and taking an interest in someone’s hobbies. Samira would like to give his therapist notes on Robby’s micromanagerial ways. He had left her so many revisions, grammar corrections, suggestions, that she was quite frankly overwhelmed.
Which is how she found herself post shift, stressed, nursing a cup of tea with her eyes closed and head tilted back against the booth seats. It was possibly the most peaceful moment she had had in weeks. The cafe wasn’t yet buzzing; filled with just a few locals and regulars who barely talked in the early morning. There was something so soothing about the sounds coming from the kitchen, the gentle chatter of the waitresses getting set up for the day, and most importantly; the gentle sound of a pen scratching against papers, the occasional turn of pages, and bursts of keys clacking on her old laptop.
“A few of these are avenues you’ve already run down.” Jack comments quietly, humming in thought. “Robby’s come up with a few different factors for those but I don’t think there's a strong enough argument to be made within the word limit for them.”
Samira hummed, acknowledging the thought but not moving from her position. Her tea was probably going cold but it was serving to warm her hands perfectly well.
“He’s raised a good point about the study group on page 3– Samira?”
She hummed, eyes still blissfully closed as she let Jack’s voice brush over her.
“ ‘Mira.” Jack chuckled, “I thought you wanted to get this done now.”
“I do.” She grumbled, head tilting forward so she could peer at Jack through slitted eyes. “There’s just more to get through than I expected.”
Jack sighed, head tilting in concession, “Robby certainly is thorough.”
Samira snorts, unable to keep the mirth from her expression as she forces herself to sit up, to at least have some sense of decorum after a 14 hour shift. She doesn’t quite manage to suppress her groan as she slumps forward, one arm propping her up against the table as she sips at her now lukewarm tea.
Jack had certainly been making better progress than she had on going through Robby’s revisions. She genuinely wasn't sure what she’d do without him at this stage. Samira had been right in her initial assessment of the research project; she researched well, she wrote well, she just wasn’t very good at keeping her head and editing when it got to the final hours.
She had lost count of how many times Jack had had to talk down from a panic, to instil some rational thought when she was attempting to work on no sleep and after shift. At some point (probably after her third phone call - she had no idea when her stress delirium had allowed her to phone her literal boss, but she was more than grateful for the breakable) Jack had just started inviting her out post shift. They were now regulars at a diner 15 minutes away from PTMC. By car, not walking - neither of them wanted to deal with more work (Or be seen by gossiping colleagues) so the farther out spot was ideal.
Now she couldn’t help but be grateful for a different set of reasons.
The morning light was doing wonders for Jack, enough that Samira had been slowly coming to terms with her growing crush. It was fine. Everything was fine. So what if they came to this little diner three times a week. And every time Jack took them to the far booth in the corner and sat facing the door; advantageous for him with the sightlines of the room; brilliant for her since the morning sunlight always came in on the perfect angle to highlight the copper in his hair.
God she wanted to reach out and touch it.
It was so curly, similar to her own, and part of her wondered if he took care of those curls properly or if he was too ‘military man’ for it. Based on the occasional perfect ringlet he had she suspected that at the very least he had curl cream. (Was it bad that she wanted to see him like that? Soft, domestic, preening? In the quiet of his own home where Samira could imagine once again basking in that warm morning sun - would he look at peace there?)
She wondered….
Jack glanced up at her, soft and amused. “You’re staring.”
“Into oblivion.” She counters quietly, but she doesn’t bother to shift her expression. She’s too tired for that, too relieved to have someone in her corner. “How much longer do you think this is gonna take?”
Jack sighs, glancing down at the printed sheets between them.
“Couple hours?” She groans but he grins. “Or we could call it quits till tomorrow and have that breakfast muffin I know you’ve been eyeing up.”
And who was Samira to refuse a request like that?
- Pro: It would stop Jack pitching off a roof Con: She might fall with him
It didn’t start out as a bad night. In truth, Samira wondered how many truly bad nights actually started bad; if it was the surprise that made it worse, being caught unaware that caused the most shock. Though the alternative is no way to live - always expecting the worst, preparing for hell.
But she knew that Jack had lived like that for a long time.
Logically she knows she can’t touch him, not when he’s like this, not when she would only make his panic worse, but she desperately wanted to. Was willing to do anything, in fact, to make this easier on him. As it stands the only thing she could do was stand guard by his side as he fell apart in front of her.
Well, sort of at his side, he was collapsed on the floor in front of the roof barrier where Samira was behind it. God she had been so scared when Bridget said he was getting some air, she knew damn well what that was code for. Knew the risk he was running. But in some merciful act Samira was at the end of shift and had sprinted up the stairs the second she clocked out, barely sticking around long enough for handover (To McKay, who had only raised her brows at Samira’s frantic words before waving her off)
And despite all that effort to get to Jack all she could do was curl useless around the metal bar in front of her; arms hanging over it - in easy reach of Jack, close enough that she had already planned how she was going to grab the back of his shirt lest he pitch forward; she stretched her legs out, less optimal for rescue but they would be in Jack’s line of sight, and in the back of her mind it was the closest she could get to sitting beside him while he was over that line.
“I– I cant–”
“You can.” She kept her voice firm, showing no doubt in the face of his grief. “Copy my breathing, Jack.”
Veteran, 35, made it home from his tour, lasted three weeks before trying to drown himself in the river. Three hours coding him. No success. No family to notify.
“He–”
“You did everything you could– everything. ”
Jack shakes his head, shifting forward and they both freeze. Samira swallows down her nerves but doesn’t apologise for how her hand is now fisted in the back of his shirt, white knuckling it even when it becomes clear that he had only shifted now that his breathing was slowing, that his panic was lessening.
“I’m sorry.” He croaks and Samira’s own eyes burn with tears, but still she doesn’t let go. “I’m fine, promise. I won’t do anything.”
“I know.” Her voice is surprisingly strong despite the way her heart is threatening to leap out of her chest.
“They need you downstairs.”
“I’m clocked out.”
“Samira.”
“Jack.”
He shudders, half sob half laugh.
“Besides,” She continued, voice light. “I’m off shift.”
“No where better to be?”
She flexes her fingers, shifting the material of his shirt, it tightens across his shoulders but Jack doesn’t react to the movement even when she knows he feels it.
“Nah.” She wets her lips, noting how dry her mouth is, how suddenly tired she feels, “I’d rather be here.”
Jack nods and lets the silence fall, so Samira follows his lead.
She doesn’t know how long they sit there. Only that her hand aches, that her arse has grown cold from the floor; the sun is rising, revealing red highlights in Jack’s curls; they could have been there for hours but it was like they were both in a trance.
Samira hadn’t lied, there was nowhere else she would rather be. Not when she’s needed there.
Not when Jack needs her.
+1 Pro: They would be holding hands Con: They’re not a couple
“Thought we could try out that new place.” Jack comments as they leave shift. It was a merciful night, as easy as it could get in an ER and Samira found herself eager to burn off the little energy she had left. “It’s bougie but the food looks good - should be quiet this early.”
She hums, adjusting the strap of her bag against her shoulder. It’s an effort to ignore the way Jack’s eyes rest on her, how they dip to the hand on her bag, and how his jaw flexes. Sometimes she catches him doing that, like he wants to be chivalrous, wants to offer lifts and carry her bag, but then he holds back.
Maybe they’re not there yet.
“I’d pay.” Jack prompts suddenly and Samira finds herself blinking up at him in surprise, but for once he doesn’t meet her eyes, too busy rubbing the back of his neck in a rare display of nerves. “Attending’s salary.” He immediately winces at his own words but Samria finds herself grinning.
“Well with an offer like that…” Samira drawls, before gesturing ahead. “Lead the way. I’m thinking this should be the last revision for the paper.”
She sees Jack nod from the corner of her eye as he leads the way down the street (he walks on the side against the road, he had frowned the one time Samira hadn’t immediately moved when she had been on that side of the road. It seemed he couldn’t get rid of all that chivalrous manners his grandmother had apparently drilled into him - worse than my drill sergeant that one )
“You gonna celebrate.”
Samira shrugs, “Maybe. Might just collapse on my sofa with a pint of ice cream and call it a day.”
“You should go out.”
Samira raises her brows but she doubts he sees it, they seem to be doing that thing where they both stare ahead without looking at each other. He had been like that the first few times they had gone out after shift to work on her paper, as if he didn’t know where the line was. But that was fine. He could have an off day.
“When? And with who?”
“Collins, McKay. Take some of the interns out, Santos always seems to be out.”
“With Garcia.” Samira smirks and they share a quick amused look before Jack’s gaze darts resolutely back to the path ahead of them. “Besides, clubbing isn’t really my scene.”
“A nice restaurant.”
“WIll your attending’s salary be paying again?” Samira jokes but Jack freezes in the middle of the pavement. It takes Samira a second to notice and she’s forced to turn back around, taking a step closer to him as she frowns. “Jack?”
His jaw clenches and Samira doesn’t even get to appreciate the sight, nor the fact that his finally meeting her eyes with that familiar intensity.
“It could– I could… pay for dinner. If–”
He breaks off, neck flushed bright red and Samira finds herself blushing as well.
Oh.
“I mean, you don’t–”
“Are you going to ask me properly?” Samira cuts him off, suddenly bold in the face of his stuttery. Please, please let her be reading this right .
Jack blinks, surprised, but then his lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile as he straightens up.
“Would you like to get dinner with me?” He sounds nervous but there’s a light in his eyes that Samira knows is reflected in her own. “To celebrate.”
Oh she wants to say yes but–
“No.” His expression drops. “Ask me properly Jack.”
For a second they both stare at each other; Jack’s eyes roving across her face; Samira refusing to back down even as her heart races at the thought of messing this up, at ruining what they have.
“Would you like to go on a date with me?”
She grins, “Yes, I would.”
He nods, sharp and pointed before gesturing ahead for them to continue their walk. Samira rolls her eyes but follows his lead, walking side by side, arms nearly brushing.
“Do I have to tell you to hold my hand as well?”
Jack snorts, “Consent is important.”
“Well then, should you be amenable to it, I would consent to holding your hand.”
“Sure.”
Samira grinned even as they both stared resolutely ahead, she wondered if he too was trying to hide his blush, but then he grips her hand and she finds herself instinctively turning to him. She flushes when she finds Jack’s eyes already on her but it seems they’re both blushing, both grinning.
Oh it was so worth the wait.