Fandom: The Pitt, Dr. Samira Mohan, Dr. Jack Abbot
Summary: Samira doesn't need a knight in shining armor. But that doesn't mean she couldn't use a little help.
When Samira gets cornered at the bar by a guy who can't take a hint, she doesn't know what to do. Luckily, her "boyfriend" arrives just in time to give her an out. Too bad Dr. Abbot isn't really her boyfriend, despite how much she wishes he were. But could it be that he's thinking the same thing....
Word Count: 4292
TW: Language
Notes: This takes place between season 1 and 2 and is my first attempt at writing Mohabbot. I hope you enjoy! Thanks to @green-socks for beta reading and the continual support ❤️
Samira Mohan did not have much of a life outside of the hospital, but she was content with that at the moment. Being an R3 was demanding work and she was determined not to let her personal life interfere with her career, at least until she had finished her residency and solidified her path for her future.
However, she’d recently been making an exception when it came to the day shift’s after-work bar nights. It was a chance for everyone to hang out for a few hours outside of work—drinking, playing darts and pool, and just decompressing from the day. Sometimes, if they were off, a few of the night shift staff would come join in as well. These meetups were planned in advance once or twice a month, but occasionally an emergency night out would be called if it had been one of those shifts when all they wanted to do afterwards was drink away the memories of the day. Unfortunately, those days seemed to be more frequent since Pittfest as the tragedy of that night still hung over the ED. But being together with others who understood that trauma did help chase away some of those ghosts, if only for a night.
It was after Pittfest that Samira began attending these nights more frequently. Before then, she often came up with some half-hearted excuse or claimed she was too tired before asking for a rain check she never intended on following up with. But since that night, she had found these hangouts a nice way to recharge. Even if she mostly made light small talk and was often the first to leave, it was refreshing to see everyone outside of the ED where they could loosen up a bit.
However, there was one member of the Pitt who almost never joined the group, and he was the one person Samira most wanted to get to know more outside of work. So far, he hadn’t joined the rest of them for drinks since the night of Pittfest when they had all gathered in the park. But Samira still held out hope. And, if she was completely honest with herself, that slight chance of him showing up was the main reason she never missed a bar night anymore.
Unfortunately, it seemed like tonight was going to be another disappointment. It was already after 9:00 and there was no sign of him. Samira sighed as she twirled her straw in her now empty glass and watched Collins and McKay duke it out at darts. It had originally been a doubles game, but Santos and Garcia quickly became more preoccupied with each other’s mouths than the board. So the former teammates had become rivals as Collins and McKay decided to play 1-on-1. Usually, Samira preferred watching whoever was at the pool table (especially if it was Dr. Robby, with his surprising talent for the game), but both Collins and McKay were very skilled and matched each other almost shot-for-shot, making it a much more riveting game than usual.
As Collins nailed the bullseye, ending the game, Samira slid from her seat and headed towards the main room to get another drink. Besides Jesse giving her a slight nod as she slipped past him, she wasn’t even sure if anyone had noticed her leave. Usually, she wouldn’t have cared, but soon, she regretted not drawing more attention to herself before disappearing.
Because if no one noticed her leave, it meant no one would notice how long she was gone. Which meant no one would know to come looking for her if she didn’t return in a reasonable amount of time. Which also meant that no one was coming to save her when she got trapped by the overly pushy guy shamelessly flirting with her at the bar.
Flirty Guy had been all over her from the moment she stepped up to the bar.
Though he hadn’t physically touched her more than running his thumb up and down her wrist—which was still too much of an intrusion for her to be comfortable with—everything he did made her skin crawl: how he leaned in too far into her personal space, how his eyes roamed her body only to linger very obviously around her breasts and ass, how he kept making everything into blatant innuendos, and, worst of all, how he kept running his tongue across his lips in a manner he surely thought was alluring yet was anything but.
Samira could smell the reek of alcohol on his breath and wondered how many drinks he’d had before the one that had just been delivered to him. She had hoped that when he got his drink, he would take it and go. But he made no indication he planned on going anywhere as long as she remained at the bar.
Considering none of her many attempts to convey she wasn’t interested had failed, she knew she should just ask him to leave her alone. But she was also wary of getting too forceful with her rejection. While she knew the chances were slim that he’d get aggressive or things would get out of hand, the image of Dana stumbling into the Pitt a few months ago with a broken nose gushing blood after she was attacked by an angry patient was a stark reminder that it was a possibility. The incident had shaken everyone in the Pitt, and she often found herself flashing back to it when situations began to get heated. And it was currently at the forefront of her mind.
Her best bet at this point seemed to be to wait until her drink arrived. That would be her chance to slip away. Though the thought of him following her back to where everyone else was hanging out or him doing something to stop her from getting that far made her stomach clench. But short of talking to the bartender, she didn't know what else to do. Which would have been a reasonable solution. Too bad he seemed to have disappeared shortly after taking her order.
Which left her once again trying to figure out how to get away on her own.
Suddenly, a familiar voice called out from behind her, “Hey, babe. Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch tonight.”
A muscular arm slid around her waist and she found herself being drawn tight against a broad chest. Looking up, her mouth gaped open to see the familiar grey curls and perceptive brown eyes of the Pitt’s senior night attending.
Despite her shock and confusion, only one thought crossed Samira’s mind as she gawked at him. After all this time, he finally decided to join us.
Dr. Jack Abbot stared down at her expectantly. There was a twinkle in his eyes that she had seen a few times in the trauma rooms when he was impressed by someone’s quick thinking or when he pulled some off the wall shit himself that saved an unsaveable patient. He had even given Samira that look a few times, the first being the night of Pittfest. She remembered it vividly because it was that moment she first realized she had a massive crush on one of her bosses.
He gave her hip a small squeeze and raised one eyebrow slightly, silently asking her what she wanted to do next. It was then that it clicked what he was doing, and a wave of relief washed over her.
A huge smile spread across her face as she cried, “Oh, good! You found me. I know I said to meet me in the back, but I just couldn’t wait for a drink any longer.”
She laughed playfully and ran her hand across his defined chest before slipping it under the opposite edge of his jacket, essentially wrapping him in a one-armed hug. For a moment, she thought she felt Abbot tense slightly beneath her, and she was afraid she pushed things too far. But then he chuckled and tilted his head so his face rested against her hair. From where Flirty Guy stood, she was sure it appeared as if he were kissing the top of her head. It was a nice touch.
Flirty Guy’s eyes narrowed as they darted back and forth between the newly formed “couple”, his eyes lingering on the places Abbot’s body met hers. His face twitched slightly as he grabbed his drink and downed the rest of it in a few quick gulps. Slamming it down on the bartop, he continued to glare at the pair across from him in such a way that Samira unconsciously drew deeper into Abbot’s embrace.
When Abbot finally raised his face from her hair, he remained close, leaning his temple against the top of her head. Whether that was his intention or not, the action helped drive away some of the growing anxiety Samira was feeling watching Flirty Guy’s reaction.
Without loosening his hold on her, Abbot shifted slightly so he was angled towards Flirty Guy. Nodding in his direction, he asked, “This a friend of yours?”
His voice was nonchalant, with just an edge of curiosity. Most guys Samira knew—even if pretending like Abbot currently was—would have taken a more possessive or defensive tone as they sized up Flirt Guy. Yet instead of warning the guy to back off from what was “his”, Abbot gave off the impression he wasn’t concerned with this guy flirting with his girl. That he didn’t need to posture because he was sure enough in his relationship that he didn’t once consider this guy a threat to it.
God, why was that so hot?
Samira shrugged like the guy meant nothing to her—which he didn’t. “No, I just met him. He was just keeping me company while we waited for our drinks. But now that you’re here…”
Abbot hummed in acknowledgement, then he turned to look at her directly, brushed a loose curl of hair off her face, and began asking her about her day as if they were the only two people in the room. Once again, from anyone else it would’ve felt like a power move. But coming from Abbot, it felt more intimate. Like he just genuinely couldn’t wait to hear all about how she was. And for a minute, Samira forgot this was all an act. As Abbot stared down at her expectantly, she felt as though he really wanted to know.
But before she could answer, Flirty Guy grumbled, “What the hell? What are you, some sort of fucking tease? You never said anything about a boyfriend.”
Abbot stiffened, and he slowly turned his head to glare at the other man. This time when he spoke, there was the hint of a threatening tone in his words that both thrilled and slightly frightened Samira. “She shouldn't have had to. If she said she wasn’t interested, that should’ve been enough. She doesn't have to justify herself beyond that.”
It was the first time he slipped up in his act. Because the only way he would have known she had politely said—more than once—that she wasn’t interested in his advances was if he had been watching her for several minutes instead of having just arrived at the bar. But, luckily, Flirty Guy didn’t seem to catch on to the slip.
He shot Samira one final glare befor muttering, “Whatever. Your loss. Have fun with Gramps. Hope he breaks a hip.”
Samira inhaled sharply, anger prickling in her chest for the first time that night. It was one thing not to respect her boundaries or leave her in peace. She was used to that. But making a jab at Abbot who had done nothing but try to help her was a step too far. (In the back of her mind, Samira realized how absurd that line of thinking was, yet the sudden urge to defend Abbot was stronger than her logical side at the moment.)
She made to step towards him, but Abbot’s hand tightening on her hip stopped her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him give the slightest shake of his head. Knowing he was right and it wasn’t worth reengaging, she reluctantly relaxed back against him.
They both watched as Flirty Guy slinked away into the crowd. Once it had swallowed him up, Abbot waited a beat then dropped his arm and sidestepped away from her, putting at least a foot of distance between them. Samira knew it was stupid to be upset by that considering Abbot had only been holding her as part of their ruse, yet she still felt the sting of rejection.
How many times had she watched him work and imagined those powerful hands on her skin or those bulging arms around her? She had finally gotten a taste of what it would feel like, only to have the cold sting of reality slap her in the face.
Wrapping her arm across her chest in a poor imitation of Abbot’s missing embrace, she tried to put on a brave face. “Thank you. I appreciate the help, but I had it under control.”
He bristled slightly at her words, his shoulders tightening as his face settled into an unreadable mask. He examined her for a moment before he said, “I never doubted that you couldn’t handle things yourself. But I also figured it never hurts to have backup. Sorry if I overstepped.”
He started to turn away, but Samira shot out her hand and grabbed his wrist. He looked back at her, his expression still neutral, and Samira wasn’t sure if she had offended him or not. He didn’t seem upset, yet he was more closed off than he had been a moment ago. And she couldn’t really blame him. After all, he had only been trying to help and her first response had been to snap at him for it all because of her wounded pride—something she immediately regretted.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “No, you didn’t overstep. At all. I-I’m sorry.” She was fucking this up and, though she didn’t really want to admit to herself why, she didn’t want him to leave. Glancing around, she asked, “Listen, can I buy you a drink?”
“A drink?”
“You know,” she gestured to the large array of alcohol displayed behind the bar, “a drink.” She shrugged, “It’s the least I can do.”
Abbot considered for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, but only if you promise to let me buy next time.”
Samira nodded with a smile, but behind her pleased exterior, her mind was running a mile a minute. What did he mean ‘next time’? Was he referring to the next round tonight? Or was he implying we would get drinks together another night? Did he even realize what it sounded like? This was the first time he had shown up to one of these after-work hangouts. So did he mean drinks with just the two of us? Should I make some kind of acknowledgement of that or should I just ignore it for now? And if I do—
Luckily, her internal spiral was interrupted as the bartender slid over, placed her drink on the bartop in front of her, then asked what Abbot wanted. He ordered a cheap local bottle of beer, and Samira almost told him to order something nicer before thinking better of it. While she had expected him to order a scotch or bourbon, that beer somehow suited him. She wondered if it was what he would have ordered regardless of who paid for it.
As the bartender retreated, Samira sighed. “I’m sorry for what he said just before he left.”
“Who? The bartender?” Abbot’s face furrowed for a moment, but then he relaxed with a chuckle as he realized who she meant. “What? The ‘gramps’ jab? Believe me, sweetheart. I’ve been called worse.”
Sweetheart. The name sent a warm shiver through Samira, and she felt her cheeks grow hot, which she prayed was lost in the dim lights of the bar. Shifting slightly, she said, “Still. It was rude and uncalled for.”
“So was not leaving you alone when you politely asked him to. Guy didn’t seem like he had the best manners.”
“You can say that again,” Samira muttered, recalling the way Flirty Guy had uninvitedly grazed his fingers across her wrist as he licked his lips, and she shivered in disgust. She took a long sip of her drink, then shook her head, trying to banish all thoughts of the previous encounter from her mind.
Lowering her drink, she turned back to Abbot and asked, “So, what brings you out tonight? I don’t remember you coming to one of our bar nights before. But I guess working night shift makes it a little difficult.”
“Partially. And partially because I don’t like paying $9 for a beer when I have a $10 six-pack at home in the fridge.”
So beer was one of his go-to drinks. Samira stored that information away. “So what’s different about tonight?”
“Robby mentioned it since it’s my day off. He says I need to learn to socialize more outside of the workplace. Like he’s one to talk.” Jack rolled his eyes, and Samira had a feeling this was an argument the two men had had repeatedly over the years. But then Jack shrugged. “Plus, I haven’t seen much of the morning shift lately, and I figured I should probably see how everyone was doing.”
Interesting. “Anyone in particular you were hoping to check on?”
The corner of his mouth curled up slightly. “I found you, didn’t I?”
Her? He had been looking for her?
The warm feeling that had been building in her chest since Abbot first wrapped his arm around her suddenly bloomed throughout her body. This meant he must have been thinking of her, that he might have only come tonight because he knew she’d be there.
Slow down, Samira. You are jumping to way too many conclusions. You are probably just one of many he wanted to talk to. He probably also planned on congratulating McKay on getting her ankle monitor off, then talking to Collins before she leaves for Portland, all before challenging Dr. Robby to a game of pool. Just because you haven’t been able to forget about him since Pittfest doesn’t mean he has felt the same about you.
She suddenly realized that about thirty seconds had passed since his last remark and she had yet to react. Blinking to bring herself back to the conversation, she asked, “And why would you think you’d have to check up on me? Has…has Dr. Robby said something to you?”
Abbot chuckled. “No, nothing like that. Or if he has, he’s been praising how well you’ve been doing lately.”
“Really?” He nodded and Samira buzzed with pride. She and Dr. Robby didn’t always see eye to eye on how she managed her patients, so it was gratifying to know he was coming around to her methods. But that still didn’t answer her question. “Then why me?”
“Why not you?” He paused, leaving the question hanging in the air with Samira unsure if it was rhetorical or not. But then folded his arms across his chest as he sighed, “Cards on the table, you really left an impression the night of Pittfest. You handled yourself better than some seasoned doctors I know would have, and you seem to have an avid curiosity for learning new techniques which I find refreshing. And from what Robby has told me, you are also fiercely devoted to your patients.”
“H-he said that?”
“He did.” He hesitated a moment, then added with a slight shrug, “He also said you can be a little too devoted at times, but I don’t necessarily agree with him that there’s such a thing.”
“That’s…Wow. I, um, thank you.”
He dipped his head in a slight nod. “I don’t blow smoke up people’s asses just to make them feel good. I meant what I said, Samira. I think you have the potential to be an incredible attending one day, and I hope you know I’m here if there’s anything I can do to help you get there.”
She was speechless.
“Dr. Abbot—”
“Jack.”
“What?”
“Tonight has nothing to do with work, so you can call me Jack.” He must have seen her hesitating because he added, “Unless you’d prefer I call you Dr. Mohan.”
“No. Samira’s fine.” In fact, it was more than fine. She loved the way her name sounded slipping from his lips. But calling him by his first name was a different story. It felt so intimate, especially when it was just the two of them. However, if that was what he preferred, who was she to say no?
“Well then, Jack…” she said, tripping slightly over the name as her heart leapt in her chest. “Thank you for what you said. Your opinion means a lot to me, and knowing that’s how you see me…It means more than I can say.”
Before Abb–Jack could respond, the bartender reappeared on the other side of the bar. He muttered a quick apology about the wait as he placed Jack’s beer on the bartop. As he vanished once more, Jack grabbed the bottle and took a sip. Then he lifted it towards Samira and tilted his head. “Thanks again, but you really didn’t owe me anything.”
“Just like I didn’t need the help. But I also figured it never hurts to show a little appreciation.”
He snorted as he took another drink from his beer. Samira watched the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and she had to force herself to look away before he noticed her gawking.
Once he set it back down, he said, “I look after my people. That doesn’t stop when we step outside the hospital.”
Was that all this was? An attending watching over one of their residents?
It felt like he had just poured a cold bucket of water over her head. What he said lined up with the rest of tonight’s conversation. Yet Samira couldn’t help but feel—but hope—that there was more to it. It sure felt like more when he had his arm wrapped around her, or when his voice dropped a few octaves as he praised her work.
Before she could spiral once more, Jack looked towards the back of the room. “Well, shall we go see what trouble everyone else has gotten up to?”
Thankful for the change of topic, she said, “Sure. Hopefully Whitaker hasn’t accidentally stabbed anyone with a dart like last time.”
Jack blinked. “Really? Who’d he stab?”
“Santos.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Bet that went over well.”
“She chased him around the pool table for five minutes brandashing a pool cue while he kept yelling, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’.”
This time, Jack barked with laughter, a sound Samira had never heard him make but longed to hear again. “Fuck. I need to start coming to these things more often.”
He grabbed his beer and gestured for Samira to lead the way. Smiling, she took her own glass before heading towards the back room.
The area just past the bar was densely packed, and Jack fell in behind her as they squeezed through the crowd. At one point, he reached out and gently placed his hand on the small of her back to help guide her. The moment his hand made contact, a bolt of electricity zipped through her, and she had to stifle a gasp. Luckily, it was fairly noisy, so the small sound that slipped past her lips was lost to the dull roar, and Jack couldn’t see the way her face lit up from his position behind her.
As the crowd began to thin out and they could maneuver more freely, Samira expected Jack’s hand to drop from her back. But, instead, he kept it there even as he moved to stand beside her. She glanced up at him, and he looked back, his eyes silently asking, is this okay? Instead of answering, she leaned into his touch, earning her a small smile.
They finally reached the back game room, where everyone was still crowded around either the dart board or pool table. Once again, Samira expected Jack to remove his hand before any of their coworkers noticed. Yet his hand never budged, even as they approached where Dr. Robby and Dana were in the middle of a heated game of pool. Dr. Robby was stretched over the table, poised to take his shot, but he paused and raised an eyebrow as he saw them approach. However, he didn’t comment beyond greeting Jack. They chatted for a few minutes between shots as if she weren’t there, and Samira felt a little uncomfortable intruding on their conversation like this. But when she shifted, trying to find an opening to slink away, Jack’s hand slid across her back, and his fingers curled around her hip. His grip was still light enough that she could easily pull away if she wanted, but it was a clear signal he was asking her to stay.
As Dr. Robby continued his game while he filled his fellow attending in on a particularly tricky case they had earlier that day, Samira leaned against Jack’s side, resting her head against his shoulder. She caught the edge of his smile out of the corner of her eye as he pulled her closer and wrapped his arm fully around her waist. It was almost the same position they had been in when he first found her tonight and pulled her into his arms.
Kurt Vonnegut wrote: “When I was 15, I spent a month working on an archeological dig. I was talking to one of the archeologists one day during our lunch break and he asked those kinds of “getting to know you” questions you ask young people: Do you play sports? What’s your favorite subject? And I told him, no I don’t play any sports. I do theater, I’m in choir, I play the violin and piano, I used to take art classes.
And he went WOW. That’s amazing! And I said, “Oh no, but I’m not any good at ANY of them.”
And he said something then that I will never forget and which absolutely blew my mind because no one had ever said anything like it to me before: “I don’t think being good at things is the point of doing them. I think you’ve got all these wonderful experiences with different skills, and that all teaches you things and makes you an interesting person, no matter how well you do them.”
And that honestly changed my life. Because I went from a failure, someone who hadn’t been talented enough at anything to excel, to someone who did things because I enjoyed them. I had been raised in such an achievement-oriented environment, so inundated with the myth of Talent, that I thought it was only worth doing things if you could “Win” at them.
written for the @topgundrabble challenge prompt 'pride'
Community
Jake is watching the parade pass by, like he's done for the past two Junes. Doesn't feel ready to join them yet — unsure if he ever will — but he likes basking in the energy that the large crowd eminates all the way to the sidelines.
It's the same at church. He never joins in prayer or song, hasn't in ages. Just occasionally sneaks in to sit in the back during service and is out the door the second it's over. Witnesses the community nonetheless.
Doesn't quite feel at home in either space, but sometimes people acknowledge him even while leaving him be, and that feels better than Jake wants to admit.
Written for the Top Gun Drabble Challenge (@topgundrabble)
Prompt: "Pride" (100 words)
Ice didn’t understand pride.
Actually, he understood pride very well.
What he didn’t understand was gay pride.
His whole life he'd had it drilled into him–first by family then by the military–that being gay was not something to be proud of. It was something to bury deep down and never let anyone know. A dirty secret.
Yet as he stared at the man curled up in his bed, he couldn’t help but feel a swell of something deep in his chest. He loved Maverick with all of his heart.
written for the @topgundrabble challenge prompt 'sunglasses'
The sun is shining at a very unfortunate angle, directly into Amelia's eyes. Immediately sick of squinting, she loots around the glove compartment for a spare pair of sunglasses - and finds them.
"Jeez, Mom, when did your eyesight go to shit?" Everything is all blurry. Going without was actually preferable.
"What? My eyesight is fine," her Mom defends.
Amelia raises her eyebrows. "Then whose are these?"
Her Mom looks over and blushes. "Um-"
"Are you... seeing someone?"
"Maybe," she winces. "I swear I'll tell you about it when I'm sure."
[meanwhile, elsewhere]
"Bob, are you coming?" Fanboy hollers.
"Just a second! I can't find my sunglasses anywhere."
-----
@a-reader-and-a-writer said i've never thought about Bob and Penny as a pairing but what if.. and i said bet.
written for the @topgundrabble challenge prompt 'sunglasses'
The sun is shining at a very unfortunate angle, directly into Amelia's eyes. Immediately sick of squinting, she loots around the glove compartment for a spare pair of sunglasses - and finds them.
"Jeez, Mom, when did your eyesight go to shit?" Everything is all blurry. Going without was actually preferable.
"What? My eyesight is fine," her Mom defends.
Amelia raises her eyebrows. "Then whose are these?"
Her Mom looks over and blushes. "Um-"
"Are you... seeing someone?"
"Maybe," she winces. "I swear I'll tell you about it when I'm sure."
[meanwhile, elsewhere]
"Bob, are you coming?" Fanboy hollers.
"Just a second! I can't find my sunglasses anywhere."
-----
@a-reader-and-a-writer said i've never thought about Bob and Penny as a pairing but what if.. and i said bet.
Written for the Top Gun Drabble Challenge (@topgundrabble)
Prompt: "Sunglasses" (115 words)
The sunglasses were the final straw.
Many things were broken in Bradley's betrayed tirade, but it was only when a lamp smashed against the mantle that both Bradley and Maverick froze. Together, they watched the aviators that had perched there for over a decade tumble to the tile floor.
The two men stared at cracks now splintering across both lenses. All the fight went out of Bradley as he fell to his knees before his father’s sunglasses.
Maverick stepped towards his godson, but the tear-soaked “Get out” stopped him. He considered ignoring the command but figured he’d already caused enough damage. Taking one last glimpse of what was left of his family, he slipped away.
the real answer to almost every "does [identity A] belong in [identity B] spaces" question is actually just "these spaces are informal social groups and if you're cool you can hang, don't worry about it"
A character not yet recovered from injury/illness, and really not recovered enough to be up and about for any length of time, insistent that they have to attend some event or occasion, be it actually important or not, and so determined to do so that there's no stopping them even if they're upright and conscious through sheer willpower alone and leaning heavily on their companions the entire time, masking their pain with visible effort and limited effectiveness and absolutely going to collapse as soon as the the event is over (or before).
Living One Day at a Time @a-reader-and-a-writer - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
