“mohan and abbot need to fuck” i say into the mic. the crowd boos. i begin to walk off the stage in shame. “no, she’s right.” i hear a voice in the back say. the lights come on. it’s shawn hatosy.
Today is the 4th of July, aka the pitt s2 day, aka aka the worst day of Samira Mohan's life and the last time we see her at PTMC. I'll miss you forever Ms. Future of Medicine😭💔
no yeah this is VERY serious to me. mohabbot whatever you do, don’t go on unnecessary journeys, don’t go NEAR a plane and make sure to break HR protocol.
jack abbot x f! pitt reader ; fourth of july barbecue at dana's fluff!
w/c: 3.2k
after the- to put it plainly- shitty fourth of July shift yourself and many of your coworkers had suffered through last year, a surprisingly large group of staff (whom you were fairly certain had been led by trinity) had swindled Gloria into giving a ridiculous amount of people the day off. usually at least a quarter of the people who were currently crammed into Dana's backyard were on call, if they weren't already in the trenches of a shift. but your coworkers at the Pitt were nothing if not persistent, trinity the most of all. and so here you all were, at the evening that had been advertised as a "casual staff barbecue" but was indeed a full blown holiday party with tablecloths and little sparkly blue and red decorations at each place setting and papers plates with fireworks on them.
you were very glad that you'd made the executive decision to bring more than the single bowl of potato salad that you'd been signed up for- opting instead for two large dishes (you knew your coworkers could eat) along with a few packs of beer that you'd picked up on the way. half of the attendees were still in the i'm a resident that can barely afford to feed myself one meal a day phase, and you'd been there not too long ago. you enjoyed being able to do things like this now that you weren't drowning in your own loans. and if you just so happened to know that the beer was a certain attending's favorite, well that was just a happy accident, wasn't it?
the heat was blissfully light, brushing against your face and through your hair in the way that made you happy it was summer, thankful to feel the warmth shining on your skin but not too hot, not too sweaty. you were wearing birkenstocks, a choice that made you laugh a bit to yourself when you'd walked out of the door and thought of how little your coworkers saw of you in regular clothes, and a gingham sundress that swished around above your knees. dana had told everyone to feel free to bring their swim suits, but something about splashing around half dressed in a pool with the adults you worked in a grueling emergency department with wasn't appealing to you.
you drove up to dana's gorgeous white home, which you'd been to only once before. it was a bit far from your apartment, a bit outside of the city. there was a big paper sign tacked to her fence that read come on in with a bold arrow toward the open gate. you could hear the distant thrum of voices as you ducked out of your car, then frowned at the piled full front passenger seat. there was no way you'd be able to carry all this in one trip. you grabbed the two large containers of potato salad, bumping the car door closed with your hip and making you way up the driveway and into the backyard.
cassie sees you first, and from behind her legs a head of wild brown hair peeks out too. harrison smiles at you brightly and bounds over, throwing his arms around your middle in greeting.
"hi buddy." you grunt at the impact but smile down at the boy softly. you'd babysat for cassie a handful of times over the past few years, usually when she needed some last minute help or her regular sitter fell through.
"hi honey." he grinned up at you, and you couldn't help but laugh softly at the nickname. the young boy hadn't been able to remember your name the first few times you'd hung out with him, but his mom always came home and relieved you with a thank you honey or you're a life saver honey, so harrison had decided that was close enough. you didn't want him to stop thinking you were cool, so you always tried to hide how the endearing name made your heart swell.
from a few feet away cassie gestured for harrison to take one of the bowls from you and he did, leading the way toward the table of food across the yard while trying to peek under the plastic lid to see what you'd brought. distracted and preoccupied, harrison misses the divot in the grass and goes tumbling, knees and face smacking down to the ground and potato salad flying.
quite literally flying. you watch as your prized vintage pyrex arches through the air and goes tumbling across the lawn. you vaguely register the lid popping off a few bumps in, but your eyes are fixed on harrison as you rush over to where he’s sprawled on the floor.
“OW!” the boy shouts dramatically, rolling over and looking down at a pair of bloody hands and knees. he’s also sporting a gnarly gash on his chin.
“you okay?” you ask with concern, though you must admit your stifling a laugh at the absolute commotion he’s caused. it was like something out of cheaper by the dozen; and a handful of your coworkers were now crowding around you.
“what the hell dude?” cassie’s voice calls from behind you as she jogs up.
“i fell!” he huffs at his mom, but you can see the tears the boy is desperately trying to keep in as he looks hopelessly at your ruined potato salad and his sore knees.
“hey, it’s okay bud.” you hum, a gentle hand coming to his back. “that’s why i brought two.” you give harrison a quiet smile and nod of reassurance, then lift him up gently by his tender scraped up hand. “i have some bandaids in my car, want to come with me?” his head bobs up and down a few times and you nod again, quickly standing to stow the bowl you’d been carrying on the table a few feet away and then doubling back with a wave for harrison to follow you. cassie give you a soft smile and silent thank you as you go, to which you simply shake your head. you loved harrison, and getting to care for a kid outside the often terrible circumstances of your workplace was something that truly brought you joy. you’d considered going into pedes for most of your rotation period before you’d landed in the pitt.
the two of you tread back out through the open gate and down dana's driveway, and you can hear harrison's faint sniffs from behind you.
"m'sorry." he calls, and you shake your head again.
"don't worry about it dude. it's just potatoes." your sandals skid against the sidewalk as you come to a stop at you car, popping the trunk to retrieve the small first aid kit stowed there. you nod your head in a gesture for him to sit, and he hops up to rest in the trunk with his bloody legs swinging below.
you stay like that for a few minutes, humming and nodding in attention as harrison tells you about school, and skateboarding with mateo yesterday, and the movie he went to see with his dad (who you hate, but continue nodding along with a smile anyway) last weekend. once you've washed the cuts on his hands and knees off, and dabbed his chin with hydrogen peroxide, you hand him a box of bandaids to put on as you go about tenderly taping some gauze to his still bleeding chin. the momentary silence, as you work in concentration and harrison creates a pile of crumpled up bandaid wrappers in your car trunk, is broken by a voice speaking up from behind you.
"woah. you get in a fight killer?"
doctor abbot.
your head jerks up over your shoulder, hands stalling by harrison's jaw as your eyes land on the man approaching. jack abbot is walking toward you in a faded grey t-shirt and jeans, which would be a completely boring and ordinary outfit if anyone else was wearing it. you have to tear your gaze away quickly, feigning focus on your task to hide the blush flaring as abbot comes up behind you.
"no." harrison says with a bashful laugh.
"you should see the other guy." you mutter, smirking up at him slyly and making the boy laugh again. from the corner of your eye you see jack sporting his own curious smile. "alright." you add with a huff, brushing your hands on your legs as you stand. "all patched up."
harrison hops down from his seat in your car. "thanks honey." he grins, turning to jog back up to the yard without missing a beat. you huff a quiet laugh at the pile of bandaid trash he'd left behind, tossing the first aid kit back in with it and slamming the trunk shut. dr. abbot is still standing there. you, though you know it likely comes across as completely rude, turn and make your way to the passenger side door of your car in silence. you don't mean to be unfriendly, but where jack abbot was concerned, you were not the one in control of how you acted.
"what happened?" he asks, taking a few leisurely steps to follow you around the car. you glance at him again as he tucks his hands into his jeans pockets.
"oh, nothing. he took a tumble carrying a big container of potato salad." you wave a hand in the air as you explain, ducking into you car to fetch the cases of beer you'd left behind. "the salad had it much worse to be honest." you say jokingly, standing up straight again and smiling shyly over at abbot. his gaze makes your skin prickle a bit, and it all but erupts in flames when he reaches out, knuckles brushing your bare arms as he takes the boxes wordlessly. "oh- you really don't have to do that." you stutter, shaking your head a bit. abbot doesn't even respond, just smiles at you. unable to keep standing there staring at his stupidly handsome smiling face, you quickly reach back into the car and retrieve the final case of beer, then shut the door.
"this is my favorite." abbot hums, lifting one of the boxes a bit as the two of you begin walking up the driveway. you're both going slow, nearly dragging your feet in the kind of way that makes it obvious neither of you want the opportunity to be alone together to end too quickly.
"oh, really? that's great!" you smile in response, voice a bit too high. dr. abbot just laughs softly.
"how are you doing? haven't seen you in a while." he goes on.
"i'm fine. i'm good." you nod. "things have been pretty normal. working too much, not doing anything else enough." you laugh quietly. abbot joins you. "how have you been doctor abbot?"
"please call me jack, we're not at the hospital." he says kindly, and you know you're blushing again. you could call him jack. no big deal. for sure. "by the way... honey? a nickname, or?" he trails off in curiosity. you laugh a bit, and explain the origin of the silly title. jack smiles fondly as you do. you both slow to a stop as you round the corner and reenter the festivity. you can already see robby approaching to greet his friend in your peripheral. before parting, jack speaks softly.
"it's fitting."
your eyes dart up, wide and surprised, to see him smiling down at you warmly.
"cause you're so sweet." the smile pulls up into a cheeky smirk, and he silently lifts the case of beer from your hand and leaves you standing there in stunned silence, cheeks burning.
you're thankfully pulled out of your trance by victoria, who comes up beside you and pulls you by the arm toward a group across the lawn. you settle down on a beach towel with her, along with mel, dennis, langdon, samira, and mateo- who offers you a seltzer that is apparently "firecracker flavored". you take it with a hesitant laugh, though have to admit it's much better than you'd expect.
it's nice than you would think to hang out with your coworkers outside of work. you truly did enjoy being with all of them, though the ED was obviously not an ideal social environment. you'd roomed with harper for a bit after med school, but ever since she'd moved to Oregon your social life outside of work had been nearly non-existent aside from events like this, which were few and far between. you were pretty sure the last time more than a handful of you had had time off together and were energized enough to actually utilize it was trinity's birthday a few months ago- and you honestly couldn't remember much at all from that night. it was really nice.
dana's husband was grilling more hot dogs and burger patties than you'd ever seen in one place, and people were even starting to jump in the pool. harrison had led the charge, unsurprisingly, and it only took a few seconds of convincing for mateo to jump in after him. the rest of you group was quick to either follow or wander off toward the food table, and you were now left sitting at the pool edge, legs dangling languidly in the water as your friends splashed around. you laughed as mateo performed a particularly dramatic canon ball, which of course prompted harrison to attempt to outdo him. it went on in a cycle of ridiculous jumps and poses, and you really weren't sure who was having the most fun.
you're alerted by someone coming up behind you, and turn to see sneakers and jeans and your eyes keep trailing up and up and up until you meet the eyes of jack abbot staring down at you.
"hi." you greet softly.
"hi."
you realize all at once that he likely doesn't want to sit here, the logistics of the pool and his prosthetic and the terrible sensation of wet jeans all working together, and push to stand. water droplets pool around the ground from your legs.
"not getting in on the canon ball competition?" he asks smoothly, and your brain is still trying to catch up to having a second conversation with him as you try to formulate a response.
"i'm taking my role as a judge very seriously." you say back, and your heart skips an embarrassing beat as he laughs softly.
"of course." jack nods, taking a sip of his beer. another skip of satisfaction as you realize it's the one you brought. you almost think he can tell. "can I get you a drink?"
"oh, i'm fine. I drank one of mateo's weird concoctions and it was way stronger than I expected." you laugh a bit.
"a water then?" he asks with a smile.
"sure, actually. that'd be great." you nod, and the two of you make your way over to the ice chest near the deck. there are groups of conversation and even some lawn games sprawled out all across the yard, but you feel as if you're alone in a room with jack abbot as he cracks the cap of a water bottle off and hands it to you, the icy condensation dripping. "thank you." you hum quietly. he just nods.
after taking a sip he hands the cap over, and you screw it on with slightly shaky hands.
"so." you hum. you really needed to work on your ability to sit in awkward silence.
"so?" he asks in amusement. that stupid smirk was going to make you pass out in dana's backyard.
"soo... what's new with you?" you laugh at your own clunky delivery and jack laughs too, but graciously moves on and answers.
"not much. night shift, swat shifts, the usual." you nod, brows pinching a bit when he mentions his insane hobby in a way that he can't help but notice. "you don't approve?" jack asks with a chuckle. you feel your face heating again.
"oh, no, sorry. sorry. I didn't mean to be rude, I just... it just worries me is all. I mean, it doesn't worry me it's just- it's worrisome, like-" he cuts you off, thank God.
"you're fine." the man laughs, hand tapping your shoulder gently. "worrisome is one of the nicest things people have had to say about it." it trails of with a sigh, looking away for a moment. his face grazes over with something serious and far away that you haven't seen on the man before. "I don't know. keeps me busy." he hums quietly, taking another slow sip of his drink.
you nod. it must be hard, you know, being jack abbot. having lived a life so full of things you can never truly put down, never leave in your past. his time in the service, his youth, his wife... he carried those memories every day- they were as much a part of him as his leg or the wedding ring he still wore. it couldn't be easy to go from active service in the military to trying something dumb like golf or fishing on his days off. just because you didn't love the idea of him running around in a swat uniform (not that it was your place to think anything about it at all) didn't mean you didn't get it.
you understand, you really do. and you know jack abbot is a smart man, it's not as if he doesn't understand the danger and risk in what he does, as if he doesn't understand his own life. you tell him as much.
"I know it's not my place to have any sort of opinion. I just meant it seems...very hard. all of it." you say decidedly, and his deep, thoughtful gaze is back on you.
"it's your place to have an opinion on whatever you want." jack says, and it's casual and matter of fact but he's looking at you like he really means it. "and I care." he adds, and you look up at him in question. "I care what you think."
this gives you pause, gets the words stuck in your mouth as you blink up at the man. you aren't sure what to make of the words, just as you commonly weren't sure to make of jack abbot and his warm smiles and lingering touches and too kind eyes.
"that's nice." is all you can manage, and you feel stupid hearing your own voice. he just smiles down at you and laughs, a short soft thing.
"you're nice." he hums. "honey."
he adds the name quietly, as if in afterthought, something he was only speaking in his mind for himself, something you weren't sure you were even supposed to hear. you pretend you didn't.
you sit together for dinner and smile to yourself when your knees bump under the table. you blush when jack rests his arm on the back of his chair as he talks to robby. your chest burns fondly when he offers you the watermelon he doesn't finish but keeps stealing chips from your plate. you breath deeply and think that you could live a life full of moments just like this and nothing could make you happier.
a/n: thank you for reading lovies!! I love writing shorter fluffy stuff like this .. I think I'll do more one shots of jack and this (honey) reader every so often because why have the become so very precious to me in the span of writing this!! please let me know what you thought! love youuUUUuu - reef <3
anyway, happy lana del ray miss americana steve rogers superman jack abbot day girlies. here's a little shortie of your favorite sexy veteran. times are very sad but grateful for everyone who truly represents the values of love and acceptance and belonging and freedom for ALLLLL!
Just saw Scott's new interview floating around on Twitter, so it looks like Kingdom shippers might actually get their happy ending, even though Langdon is married with kids.
But remind me again why Mohabbot was supposedly "gross"? People screamed "eww, the age gap" when it was a white man and a brown woman, yet barely batted an eye at two white characters potentially getting together through cheating.
The double standard has always been glaring.
And I'll never be convinced that Supriya being a woman of color had nothing to do with how she was pushed out.
thinking about how supriya said that samira struggles to feel empathy towards her coworkers in contrast to her patients and i think this adds so many layers to the mohabbot scene…
like at first samira is worried about abbot because he is injured but then he dismisses it and she just stops caring about him until he offers to help her.
and then she sees that he’s struggling with his wound. when she decides to help him, he becomes her patient, not just a coworker, and that’s why she shows care.
god i just wish we could’ve seen more of this because i think it’s so funny but also so serious at the same time.
my favorite mannerism of jack is how he always clasps his hands behind his back 😫 it’s so hot to me idk why
ik it’s probably an ex-military habit (a ‘h-abbot’ of his if you will lol) but it always makes him look like he’s studying whoever he’s talking to when he does that— eyes trained on them as he files his hands away behind. like when he did rounds or while following robby, ouuuuu lemme gnaw on you
robby has been sent on a mandatory sabbatical to an all inclusive tropical resort, yet can't seem to escape what he really needs a vacation from- himself.
young, beautiful reader has her own set of life's issues to take a getaway from, and would like nothing more than to do so with the handsome stranger she's been watching at the resort pool.
💌dr. robby x f!reader💌
contains: michael (robby) robinavitch x f!reader, no specific descriptors used for reader, vacation au, reader gets a bad sunburn and obviously good dr. robby has to help with this OBVIOUSLYYY, robby on sabbatical but like not the self-sabotaging concerning kind, reader is a teacher on summer vacation, age gap (reader is late 20searly30s, robby is early 40s), robby BEFORE THE HORRORS*** because this is my happy fictional world and I say so, think robby 5-7 years before the pitt, but still lowkey an asshole obviously, brief mention of blood (reader gets minor injury), reader is embarrassingly down bad for that old man, that old man is embarrassingly down bad for reader, summer fling (or IS IT), commitment issues for everyone, one night stand (OR IS ITTTT)
💌word count: 6.7k💌
it had been nearly three hours now, since you'd come down to the pool. there was no chance the sunscreen you'd haphazardly applied on yourself was still doing much of anything at all against the blazing sun, and the previously full area of screaming children and drunk adults had filtered into the quiet hum of only a handful of guests besides yourself. you could even hear the birds again.
nearly three hours, and you hadn't managed to catch the eye of that handsome, frowning man on the pool recliner one single time.
you'd seen him the second you stepped down onto the pool deck, his tall, relaxed form stretched out across the blue and white striped chair and a ragged paperback book in one hand. the other had been pulled up behind his head, giving an insanely inappropriate view of his straining bicep pulling at the white sleeve of his t-shirt.
if nearly every single spot hadn't already been taken when you'd come down, you might've been brave enough to set your things down next to him. but alas. you'd dropped your resort issued beach towel and tote stuffed with your belongings under the first umbrella you saw, staking your claim for the day against the rest of the vulture-like guests looking for an open spot. you'd gone back to observing the mystery man then, discreetly, behind the cover of your giant sunglasses and the distance of the pool between you.
he was handsome. and yes, it may have partly been the you need to find someone to be attracted to on this trip so it isn't boring as hell virus in your brain contributing to your attraction, but still. he really was. tall, like, so tall that even laying down you could tell he was much taller than you. tufts of curly brown hair sticking out from under the baseball hat he was wearing. skin glowing under the sun in a way that made it clear he didn't spend much time out in the sun like this but was getting a nice sunscreen protected tan. older. quiet. hot. had been wearing the same pensive frown since you'd first laid eyes on him this morning. did you mention he was hot and older?
and so you'd watched him. and then you'd ordered a drink from one of the pool boys and waited for it on your chair and watched some more. then you sucked down the blended fruity concoction, stood up, and stripped the cover-up dress you'd donned for the walk down much slower than necessary. he still wasn't looking. you rolled your eyes a bit to yourself, cheeks a bit flushed and feet burning on the cement.
then, you'd splashed in the pool and chatted with groups who floated by cheerily about stupid, pointless vacation stuff and drifted back and forth through the water right in front of his chair. you'd lounged on a floaty bed and then lounged on the floaty on your stomach and even, at one low point, pretended to fall off of the floaty and made a loud splash.
he still didn't even glance up from the book, the only movement being made the idle crossing and uncrossing of his calves and the occasional slow sip of water.
and so now, now that nearly three hours had passed, and the resort pool was nearly empty, and your stomach was growling angrily, and the man still hadn't even moved his head in your direction- you were annoyed at yourself and a bit embarrassed and also a bit annoyed with this stranger who apparently didn't know a beautiful young woman in a cute swimsuit if she was splashing around right in front of him.
gliding to the far end of the pool, you slowly emerged from the water. you were immediately hit everywhere with the evening air, significantly more chilly than when you'd gotten in. in a rush for your towel, you clearly somehow managed to forget everything you'd ever been taught about navigating slippery pool decks and forego any sort of self preservation- because the heel of your bare foot caught a particularly wet patch that sent you careening toward the ground.
you landed flat on your back, not even able to catch your breath before a sharp pain jabbed its way through your foot. a few seconds later, you felt the vague sensation of heat seeping around your toes, though you couldn't currently see them from your position laid the fuck out on the pavement.
as if things could possibly get worse, a hurried set of footsteps were unmistakably making their way toward you. you try to sit up with a groan, but are interrupted by a deep, concerned voice speaking from behind you.
"woah, woah, woah, careful. are you okay?" big warm hands on your shoulders and the slight glimpse of brown hair from the corner of your eye.
"'mfine." you groan again, reluctantly allowing the voice to help you up to your feet. a deep feeling of dread settled over you, the kind where you already know that exactly what you don't want to be happening is exactly what is.
when you're on your feet, you immediately turn and plop down into the chair holding your belongings.
standing in front of you is the man. the man from the chair. the main who's attention you'd been trying to get all day like some boy crazy teen girl off two pina coladas. the man is standing in front of you and he is most definitely without a doubt looking at you now.
well, actually- he's looking at your feet. which is odd. not in a like, avoiding eye contact because he's shy or something way, in a very obviously examining your feet type of way. you glance down, momentarily self conscious, and see the pool of blood trickling from your left foot that has perhaps caught his attention.
"oh shit." you say, at the same time as the man says
"nice one."
your eyes snap back up at him, unamused and more than slightly annoyed at this whole stupid situation. you assume the frustration must show on your face, and can certainly feel the heat beginning to radiate from it, but the stranger mistakes it for embarrassment.
"don't worry about it. I think I'm the only one who saw." he adds, throwing you a quick smile that, if you weren't currently bleeding out via big toe, would have made your stomach twist. okay, maybe it still did a little bit.
"go figure." you huff in response. because really, go figure that you'd spent the last three hours doing amateur water aerobics for his attention, and the only thing that had finally gotten him to look up was you eating shit.
"what?" he's still looking down at you with the slightly amused smile.
"nothing."
"wait here, i'll be right back." he simply responds, already turning and jogging back to his own recliner on the opposite side of the pool. why wasn't he slipping in a cartoonishly large puddle of water?
he rifles through the small bag left resting on his chair and holds something up to you proudly, but you just shake your head, you have no idea what's in his hand all the way over there.
when he finally makes his way back over to you, you see that he's holding a tiny first aid kit. you swallow the smile you feel surfacing at the stupid grin on the stranger's face.
"here we go. never go anywhere without it." he hums, and then he's squatting down in front of you like he honest to God believes he's gonna wrap up your foot right here at the resort pool.
"what you think you're some kind of doctor or something?" you laugh nervously, foot jerking away in a motion that drags the raw skin across pavement and makes you hiss in through your teeth.
now the man is fully smirking at you, already pouring some sort of liquid on a cotton pad as his eyes flit up to you.
"yes I am." he replies matter of factly, before holding the cloth against your foot and beginning to gently wipe up the blood smeared all over it.
"you're a doctor?"
"dr. michael robinavitch, at your service."
"you're fucking with me."
"I am not."
"what are you doing here then?"
"they let me out of the hospital for a few days. for enrichment." he deadpans, this finally getting him to look up from his careful ministrations on your foot.
your cheeks flush at the stupidity of your own question, and then all at once your entire body heats at the sudden realization of the situation you've found yourself in. the man you found so attractive you'd spent three hours floating around and staring at him was now on the ground in front of you, foot in his hands as you sat dripping water and blood in nothing but your bikini. the realization has you jerking back like a spooked animal, hands planted on either side of your chair as you push yourself slightly back.
he jerks back too, clearly alarmed by your sudden reaction and searching your face in concern.
"did that hurt?" he asks, looking down at the innocent wipe in his hand with mild confusion. you let out a shaky breath and reach for your towel, quickly wrapping it around yourself.
"sorry. no." you reply awkwardly. "I got cold."
he looks at you for a moment with the same curiosity before shaking his head, it's fine, and going back to your foot without a word. he pockets the now bloody cloth, which has you actually believing that maybe he is a real doctor, and quickly wraps the deepest part of the cut in bandage gauze. slapping his hands lightly against his thighs, he stands to his full height.
"alright then. that should hold you over. i'd put a band-aid on it after you shower later. they sell them in the convenience store here." he pauses for a moment, then adds "they sell aloe there too." there's a soft smirk tugging at the corner of his lips and he's failing to hide it.
"what?" you ask, partly confused and partly annoyed that he seems to be making fun of you, though you don't even know what about.
"I'm just saying. you've been out here for, what, three hours? you're gonna be toasted by tonight."
"am not!" you huff.
"you didn't reapply sunscreen one time." he shoots back, brow raised and hands coming to rest on his hips. his incredibly tall and broad frame are almost blocking what's left of the sun, and you have to crane your neck up to see his face. "did you?"
you roll your eyes then, slightly infuriated that he's right and that you can already feel the prickly, tight sensation on your cheeks and shoulders from being in the sun for far too long. but then, it hits you, and creeps across your features in a growing smirk to rival the man in front of you.
"how do you know how long i've been here, hm michael? were you watching me?" you ask slyly, leaning forward a bit and, fine, yes, even letting the towel fall a bit loose around your shoulders. you peer up at him with wide questioning eyes and your stomach does a somersault of pleasure when you see his gaze stutter for a moment, cheeks a modicum rosier than they were a second ago.
but then the man leans in, eyes flashing down to your lips momentarily before meeting your eyes again, and whispers.
"don't act like you weren't trying to get me to."
your mouth drops open slightly, brain buffering in search of a response as he, michael, gives you another once over then takes a step back, and then another, and then turns on his heel and begins heading back to his own pool chair. he slows for a minute and catches your eye over his shoulder, and you can see his lips pull up just slightly when he sees you still watching him.
"fresh bandaid after you shower. and aloe. doctor's orders." he winks. you gather your things with a huff and slip out the gate before he reaches his chair.
"you're a doctor?" you asked incredulously.
robby tried his best to not be immediately offended at your clear disbelief.
he'd been trying and failing miserably for the past however many hours to sit in his pool chair and pretend he didn't see you, but the fact that he'd been reading and re-reading the same few pages of his book for the past forty minutes was pretty solid proof that that wasn't working out too well for him.
it was only his second day of this stupid sabbatical thing, and he was already fairly certain that relaxing vacations were a hoax created by some sort of insane person that liked being alone with their thoughts for an extended period of time. robby certainly didn't fit in the category.
"dr. michael robinavitch, at your service." he grins up at you, trying his utmost gentlemanly best to keep his eyes anywhere but your tan, dripping, bikini clad body sat on the chair in his direct eyeline. he focuses intently on patching up your bleeding foot, if for no other reason than to have anything else to focus on.
yes- for the past three hours, robby had been laying out on the pool deck and fighting every natural instinct in him to let his eyes drift from the pages of his book to where you were floating languidly in the pool. or say hi to you. or be so insane as you get in the water with you, which he'd almost worked up the courage to do twice before talking himself out of it. and thank God for that, for that very small shred of dignity and morality robby seemed to be dragging from the depths of himself that was keeping him away from you.
because here, now, sitting just a few inches away from you and really taking you in- he had absolutely no business with you. you were young, certainly too young for someone like him. and you were beautiful. he'd thought you were beautiful the second your loud flip flops had carried you out onto the pool deck- obviously, but you were truly gorgeous. big sparkling eyes peering down at him shrewdly as he worked on your foot, soft glowing skin and a bright smile even as you continued to doubt whether he was truly a doctor and very verbally critiqued his skills as he attempted to wipe up the trickling blood.
robby was fairly certain that if he didn't get his hands and eyes off of you as quickly as possible, he was going to do something he would most certainly regret.
and so he did, finishing up and standing swiftly, hands planting on his hips. a brief suggestion of how you should care for it going forward, as well as suggesting you put some aloe vera on your rapidly developing sunscreen.
you did not like that.
"how do you know how long i've been here, hm michael? were you watching me?" you asked, a mischievous tone to your voice that had his checks prickling with a faint blush. you leaned forward just slightly, and the towel you'd wrapped around your shoulders a few minutes ago slipped loose, revealing far too much and making robby's strictly contained gaze stutter- just for a moment, cheeks going even redder. you notice, he can tell, and it only makes you smile wider.
figuring that he's already let himself slip up this far, robby leans in a bit toward you, allowing himself the indulgence of his eyes flashing down to your lips just momentarily before whispering
"don't act like you weren't trying to get me to."
it's your turn to buffer then, to robby's self satisfaction, and your mouth drops open a bit as he takes a step back, and then another and another until he's turning on his heel, only slowing for a moment to peer over his shoulder and catch your eye one last time. he can't help the quiet grin his lips pull into when he sees you still watching him too.
robby was... stuck. for lack of a better word. he felt stuck in his own life. in the hospital, in his routine, in his sad lack of a life outside of work. he was stagnant, and bored, and, fine, a bit lonely.
sure, he had friends. even a few very close ones. but he worked with all of them. and there were some aspects of a relationship that even jack didn't really make the cut for. things like... well, things like all of the things he wanted to do with you, the beautiful fiery young girl he'd become enraptured with at the pool today.
when you'd left, and robby had made his own way back to his room not long later, he'd hoped that the fond memory of you would quickly fade, simply an attractive stranger and a silly interaction. unfortunately, your eyes and your smile and your shiny hair and the way your soft skin had felt under his hands as he'd brushed it cleaning up your foot decidedly did not leave his mind; no- they in fact seemed to have taken sole residence in his train of thought and were incessantly circling, circling, circling.
making him wonder what you were doing, how your foot was feeling, if you'd come here alone or with someone else. no- you couldn't have, not a partner at least. for all that robby had tried to ignore you down at the pool, he was mature enough to admit that you were most definitely trying to get his attention, splashing around like that for hours. you were far out of his league, but it wasn't the first time he'd been hit on by a woman before.
that wasn't the problem. the problem was that he was a forty something year old doctor seemingly going through mid-life crisis who couldn't even relax or enjoy a vacation at an all inclusive resort; even when the alternative was microwaved meals for one at his apartment in Pittsburgh and a fourteen hour shift in hell. this was the first real break he'd taken since he could remember; each time gloria had approached him about a sabbatical in the past he'd brushed her off with a laugh. she hadn't asked this time.
and so here he was, on a beach thousands of miles away from the only semblance of a life he had- a few check in texts from jack each day and the occasional chatter of the day-shift group chat that he checked embarrassingly regularly for someone who was meant to be "out of office". and the problem was not that a gorgeous, seemingly single, seemingly kind and funny and overall great woman had obviously spent the better part of the day attempting to flirt with him. it was that he was him, someone who had absolutely no business being flirted with by someone like you.
you, who couldn't yet be in your mind thirties, who had your entire life ahead of you and a light in your eyes that was reserved for individuals who hadn't sold their soul to a drowning hospital or spent the past few decades burning themselves out completely instead of fostering any sort of personal life. you, who had sat there in your bikini, hair dripping everywhere, foot bleeding out on the concrete, yet been so clearly focused on him. the way you'd blushed and shifted under his gaze.
it was only because you didn't really know him, robby kept telling himself. if you did, if you really got to know him and his bad habits and how much he worked and how uninteresting it could really be to date a doctor after the first few weeks... you'd look at him the same way the rest of the women he'd tried the whole relationship thing with had. certainly not with the wide eyes and blushing cheeks you'd had today.
you were too young, and too sweet and pretty and truly just a complete stranger that he would never see again after checking out of this resort on saturday. he had no business thinking about you any longer, or wishing to run into you ever again.
this is what robby repeated in his head over and over as he trudged downstairs from his room in search of something for dinner. he kept repeating it as he sat down at the same grill he'd eaten at last night and ordered a bear, and caught himself looking around to see if maybe just maybe you were there too. pathetic.
but when you appeared in the stool next to him about fifteen minutes later as if out of a dream, and looked up at him with that same wicked grin... robby wondered if maybe, just maybe, a bit of connection with someone he'd never see again was exactly what he needed.
doctor's orders. doctor's orders. you replayed the annoyingly smug parting comment from the stranger over and over in your mind, making his voice sound more annoying each time. a doctor. please!
how ridiculous. shouldn't a doctor be out doing important things or saving lives or whatever? not bothering your peace during your vacation. really, what kind of doctor was so comfortable posing a risk of drowning to the general public- laying out by the pool looking so hot and distracting like that? it was borderline criminal!
you weren't really sure why you were letting a complete stranger bother you so much. you were supposed to be enjoying this stupid vacation. you'd never taken a trip like this, at least not since you were a kid who couldn't appreciate what it really meant for your parents to bring you to a fancy resort. but you'd been teaching for eight years now, and hadn't taken anything more than a road trip out of state in terms of vacation. you'd been saving up for something like this for a long time, and after the year you'd had you certainly deserved to enjoy it.
your relationship with your long-term boyfriend, like- followed you to college out of state and got an apartment with you after graduation long term- had ended rather unceremoniously last fall, and it had unfortunately only been the set up for an overall shitty school year. shitty paying twice as much rent as you'd had to before, shitty students, shitty social life... shitty shitty shitty. you'd let yourself fall into a funk and ride it all the way through the year, and when summer had crept in you'd finally realized that you needed to pull yourself together and become a functioning social being again. and so here you were, trying to pour into your own cup as they say.
it was fine.
but you were restless. you'd spent the last ten months pretty much going to work and going home, intermixed with infrequent visits to the gym or grocery store runs. you were fairly certain you could count on your fingers the amount of times you'd actually hung out with your friends this year, let alone make any sort of more than friendly connections.
maybe that was why you'd become so obsessed with the man at the pool. michael. it wasn't like you hadn't seen a single other handsome man in the past year. but it was something about the vacation air, the need for something to spice up your solo trip a bit. and the fact that he was just super hot. you'd never been with someone that much older than you before- not that he looked ridiculously older, but he was definitely older. there was something interesting about him, something that pulled you in and excited you. if only you hadn't completely fucking embarrassed yourself falling on your ass like that.
he was a bit snarky though, wasn't he? you're flustered with frustration at the stranger's brashness all over again, remembering how you'd blushed so embarrassingly when he'd called you out for trying to get his attention in the pool.
the same train of annoyance was flitting around in the back of your mind as you slipped out the door of your room. the incessant pain of your sunburn only served to make you even more frustrated, every brush of your flowy white sundress against the tender skin making you hiss quietly. thankfully your toe was completely fine now; though again only served as a reminder of the infuriatingly handsome and annoying man that had patched it up for you.
you pad down the covered hallway of the resort, the soft sounds of chirping birds and water cresting surrounding you as the sun began to set. this place really did live up to the expectations of paradise. after waiting for the elevator for only a few moments, it takes you down to the main level of the resort, where you're now tasked with the decision of where to find dinner.
the resort was adorned with a handful of formal dining options, along with a few quicker options that you could bring up to your room or take with you to lounge outside, as well of course as the bars. you were fairly set on grabbing an order of the delicious fish tacos you'd had last night and cozying up in your bed where no one could see you grimace over your sunburn with each bite, but a figure catching your attention from the corner of you eye quickly diverts this plan.
your feet are carrying you in his direction before your mind can decide it's a bad idea, and you pull out the stool beside none other than Dr. Michael Robinavitch where he's sitting solo and enjoying his own dinner.
"good burger?" you ask, and his head turns toward you slowly, as if he'd already known exactly who'd sat down next to him. he continues chewing, eyes flicking over your face briefly before swallowing, slow and deep.
"great." he grins in response. something about his smug expression and seemingly abundant self-satisfaction makes you want to bite.
"yeah, I can tell." you reply dryly, dropping your eyes pointedly to where a smear of bright yellow mustard colors his cheek. he sits up a bit, hand coming up to his face then quickly reaching for a napkin. in a pathetic attempt at cleaning himself up, the man smears even more sauce on his face in a display that would be a bit repulsive on anyone less annoyingly attractive. "here." you say, rolling your eyes a bit as you reach for a fresh napkin from the dispenser in front of you.
you hold the clean cloth out to him, brain buffering a bit when he simply stares back at you, that same stupid smirk pulling at his lips.
"help me out?" he questions, voice soft but gravelly in a way that sends a shiver up your back. "you owe me one, I think." he then adds quietly with a wink, and you're rolling your eyes again.
you reach out, and with a matching smirk coming across your own lips, wipe roughly at the man's cheek a few times before dropping the napkin unceremoniously onto his lap and swiping a french fry from his plate, popping it in your mouth.
"there you go!" you grin. "all even now, doctor."
he's staring back at you with eyes that are burning with more than the soft amusement he'd been sporting a few moments before. you find yourself wanting to know more about what exactly is making him look at you like that.
the waiter behind the bar comes up and greets you before you can find out.
"good evening, miss." the man grins, leaning over the bar a bit as he speaks in a way that makes his loose hawaiian shirt fall open and reveal tan, toned skin. he's handsome. you feel the burning sensation of eyes on the side of your face as you greet the waiter in return. "what can I get for you?" as the man lists the specials, you let your eyes flick over, just for a moment, to peer at the man beside you. michael, just as you suspected, is all but staring you down from his spot beside you. when he catches you eyeing him, you pull a slow, sly smile and turn back toward the waiter silently.
"I think i'll take what he's got." you hum, head tilting slightly toward the man sitting beside you and the half finished burger on his plate. "and a watermelon margarita, please." you add, smile sticky sweet as the waiter goes off to put in your order. only when he's left do you slowly turn back to Michael, who- to your great pleasure- is still staring at you.
he looks almost contemplative, stuck in thought for a moment as he studies you before speaking again.
"moved on to flirting with the bar boy now, have you?"
your jaw goes slack.
"excuse me?" you ask incredulously, cheeks burning even stronger than before.
"it's not a judgement. just an observation." Michael says matter of factly, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his beer.
"it certainly feels like a judgement." you huff, only quieting your voice slightly as the waiter returns and places your margarita in front of you with another too bright grin.
"s'not." he shrugs again. you just roll your eyes and ignore the small smile the action gives him. "you roll your eyes a lot."
"any other observations to share today?" you huff, turning away from him and taking a long sip of your own drink.
"well, I do have a few actually. but i'm not sure you really want to hear them." he replies simply, and when you eye him he's already backing to eating his dinner like you're having a casual, friendly dinner together and not two complete strangers in the midst of some sort of built up tension battle of wills staredown. you plant your cheek on a hand and look at him in an unamused gesture to go on. "I see that sunburn is working out well for you."
if you hadn't been frustrated by his attractiveness before, the slow, raking graze the man drags down and back up your body makes you stiffen in your seat.
"didn't feel like listening to me?" he goes on, voice getting all soft and quiet as he leans in. "doesn't look like you put any aloe on that at all." you feel the strange sensation of being watched by some sort of predator as you stare up at the man's glinting eyes and smile, but you're exactly where you want to be sitting here.
"I didn't have any." you mumble, shuffling on your stool a bit and trying desperately to hide your grimace at the burning sensation every movement sparks on your crisp skin.
"I told you the resort store carries it." he responds, and you take another deep sip of your margarita.
"geeze, are you always so bossy, doctor?" you grumble, glaring at the man. He stares back at you in silence, eyes making the same thoughtful, dark flicker over your face as he chooses not to respond and takes another bite of his food. at the same time, the waiter returns with your own plate, placing it with a flourish in front of you and pulling you out of your daze.
"how's your drink? can I get you anything else?" he asks, and you feel somewhat guilt for the sharp annoyance that flickers in your chest as he leans against his side of the bar, clearly in no hurry to leave you alone.
"it's great, thanks. i'm all good." you reply, a bit too sharp and short, then pointedly avert your gaze to your food in hopes the man will get the point. he seems to, mumbling something else about enjoying your food before departing to serve the other patrons filing in for dinner.
when you look up with a sigh, gaze returning to Michael's as you pop a fry in your mouth, he's already staring at you again.
"hm." he hums, as if reading between the lines of something you don't even know you've done.
"what?" you ask between swallows of french fry, somewhat defensive.
"nothing." he says with that same stupid smirk, but the spark of something exciting is back in his deep brown eyes.
your back slams against the door frame, cold in the night air and sending a searing shock over your sunburned back. Michael was fumbling with his key card on the handle near your hip with one hand, the other raking through your hair and pulling you into his mouth as if needing you impossibly closer. you only break apart when he tries and fails for the third time to open the door with a soft groan, and accepts he has to actually look at the thing to open it.
when it swings open behind you, you back peddle slowly into the dimly lit room, michael's hands slipping from your body as he swings it shut behind him and flicks a switch near the door.
you stand in front of him, arms loose at your sides and chest panting softly as you try to steady your breath. the two of you had all but devoured each other every step of the way from the bar to his room. now, standing in the middle of it in your flimsy white sundress, hair mussed from his hands and the weight of his gaze pouring over you from across the room- you start to feel a bit nervous.
when he takes a slow step toward you, and then another and another until he's right in front of you again, broad hands coming to rest on your hips, your stomach flips with an entirely new type of nerve.
"this okay?" he asks, and you're nodding, wide eyed and puffy lipped as you stare up at him.
"yes." you add, just a whisper. "yes."
and then he's kissing you again, hands pulling gently at the soft cotton and lace of your sundress and leading you gently backward until your knees hit the edge of his bed. you let yourself fall back, now sitting back on your arms and peering up at him. but he's looking at you with different eyes now, ones that seem full of distant concern and slight amusement.
"what's wrong?" you ask, hand coming up to tug on his loosed button up shirt. his eyes flick back to yours then with a quick shake of his head, before he gestures for you to wait a moment and disappears into the bathroom.
too overcome with the reality of the situation to question it, you fall back to lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling with hazy giddiness. in all of your preening in the pool earlier, you hadn't truly expected tonight to end like this. you certainly hadn't expected it when you'd spent the better part of two hours snipping at each other at the restaurant downstairs... until your banter had melted quickly into something much more charged and sparking and neither of you seemed to be able to drag your eyes away from each other. and then you'd let your hand drift up onto his bicep, then his shoulder, then the scruff of his hair- and he'd looked at you with eyes that showed he was fighting with all he could not to give in before he finally did. his hand on your knee, then your waist, and then and then and then. and then you'd kissed all the way up to his room, so frantically you didn't even remember the walk at all.
lost in replaying your memories of the night leading up to now, you don't hear Michael reappear in front of you. you do however, jerk to startled attention when big, warm hands juxtaposed by something chillingly cool begin rubbing up and down your lower legs. you sit up quickly, hands planting behind you to hold yourself up as your eyes fix on the sight in front of you.
michael, kneeling on the ground at the foot of the bed and gently massaging aloe vera gel over your tender red skin.
"wha-?" you start, but are cut off by him softly shushing you.
the sensation of the gel coating and instantly soothing your skin has your head dropping back with a soft sigh. you can hear the quiet chuckle from michael where he remains on the floor in front of you, but it feels too good to be embarrassed or even acknowledge at the moment.
"told you you needed it." he mumbles, voice somehow still cocky when he speaks so soft and sweet like this, and your eyes drop down then to see the familiar infuriating smirk on the man's lips.
"bossy." you hum again, though you can't hide the way your eyes stay glued on his hands or the soft smile your own lips pull into.
the two of you spend the next few minutes in silence as you allow him to continue the tender application of cooling gel to your legs, your tired eyes even blinking closed eventually as you lay back comfortably on his bed. when you hear Michael stand slowly, your lashes flutter open to see him standing over you.
from his towering position, he looks down at you with a gaze of appreciation and palpable want that sends a molten warm feeling all throughout your body that has nothing to do with the sunburn.
"what?" you whisper eventually, squirming a bit under his silent watch. he blinks and runs a slow hand through his brown hair.
"just looking at you."
after a few more quiet moments, Michael circles the bed, your neck craning to follow him as he comes up behind you and mounts the bed on his knees, bottle of aloe vera still in his hands. you sit up, crossing your now sticky legs and keeping your gaze on him. when he settles down behind you, long legs splaying out on either side of your knees, you raise a brow in question.
"may I?" he asks, gesturing with the bottle toward your back. it only takes you a split second to register what he's asking, and whether it's the overwhelming desire suddenly coursing through you to feel the man's hands on your skin again or... no, no it's definitely that- you nod earnestly. so earnestly that it makes him chuckle a bit, and you smack his leg with a huff.
the short lived annoyance fizzles straight out of you when you feel your hair being gently brushed to the side and over your shoulder. you reach up with a somewhat shaky hand to help him, pulling the rest of the wavy, sun-dried strands to the front of your shoulder and fiddling with them nervously. when his hand then settles on your shoulder and begins to gently push the flimsy white strap of your sundress down, you're more grateful than ever that you aren't facing him. you fight to keep your breathing steady.
the thin white cotton falls against your upper arm, then followed by the other strap, and you can see the stark tan lines left behind from your bikini top earlier. the silent rustling of the bottle being opened alerts you before his touch returns, this time coating the hot skin of your upper back with the soothing gel. you can't help the dramatic shiver that racks through your body at the feeling.
"sorry." you laugh softly.
"don't be." the response comes out gruff and quiet, nearly choked compared to when michael had spoken to you just moments before. you chew your lip and bite back a smile, craning your neck once again to peer at him. his hands are lower now and getting lower still, brushing first shyly under the top of your sundress before pushing further, spreading the aloe down until his broad hands are brushing your hips and trailing up and down the length of your spine.
michael doesn't seem to even notice your gaze at first, entranced by watching his own hands rub up and down your soft skin. when he does meet your eyes, his are blown out and sparkling with something new, something different.
when your lips crash into one another this time, you can feel it under the surface, the building and burning and wanting that can't be contained any longer.
a/n: what up baddies guess who's writing anything other than the series she's supposed to be working on again ayyyyy
this was supposed to be a short one shot don't even know what it turned into hope u enjoy pls let me know what u think!! love love love ya - reef🩷🍹🧜🏼♀️
was gonna wait till sunday but im too impatient!! I just know abbot would be infront of the tv like hes the ref, he would also get so much fomo that him and samira would fly down to mexico for the games
“She’s shaking something loose from him, something shaped like what he’s been trying to outrun. It feels as dangerous and vital and inescapable as the swarm that’s breathing down his back, closer and closer as it closes in and threatens to choke him.”
— swarm. by miss_hydrangea (@samiratology)
a project for The Pitt Big Bang 2026 (@thepittbigbang)
gifset on ao3 • fic on ao3 • fic post on tumblr
Victoria has been the most significant relationship of her adult life — and now she is moving into a new stage where Samira can’t quite follow. A stage Samira doesn’t know if she’s made out to step into. Marriage and family and true love and all that.
—
You know what they say about weddings bringing people together.
Relationship: Jack Abbot x Samira Mohan
Warnings: N/A
Summary: Samira and Jack are expecting their first child, which prompts Samira to propose the idea of going on a babymoon. Jack, of course, can never say no to her.
A/N: Cross-posted from ao3 once again. pushing my mohabbat baby agenda on main
It had taken some explanation on Samira’s part to get Jack on board. She was just over four months along in the pregnancy when she had proposed the idea. (It had taken some convincing herself, even. The workaholic she could be.)
"A babymoon?" Jack had asked, his brows furrowed in what Samira could describe as adorable confusion. "What on Earth is that? Is this your way of telling me I didn’t give you a good enough honeymoon?"
Samira had laughed and playfully swatted his arm. "No, of course not. A babymoon is just a way for expecting parents to have a little rest and relaxation before the baby arrives."
Jack had hemmed and hawed about it only briefly before taking it upon himself a few days later to book an all-inclusive island getaway. He did think it sounded nice, even if such a concept was a bit foreign to him. But he didn’t have to understand it to know Samira deserved a vacation.
Working in the emergency department was one thing, but working while pregnant? She was the definition of a trooper, inside and out.
It had all been scheduled for just before Samira would enter the seven-month mark of her pregnancy, and neither could really hide their excitement for the "first family trip," as they had started considering it. Their fellow doctors thought it sounded lovely, even Robby, who was, not too unlike Jack at first, confused about the concept.
"It’s a vacation before the baby arrives?" Robby had asked Jack.
Jack had nodded, unfazed. "Yeah, I think it’s some new thing."
But Robby scoffed. "How are you managing to keep up with her?"
That past conversation rattled around in Jack’s head as he watched his gorgeous wife and future mother of his child spread out on the lounge chair next to him. They were situated on the beach just far enough from the water. It was the first official day of their babymoon. Jack was already taken by the trip—or really, his wife and her stunning, glowing skin soaking up the sunshine. Her one-piece bathing suit stretched over her baby bump so beautifully. His eyes never left her as he took a sip of his margarita (alcoholic for him, non-alcoholic for Samira, per her insistence that he loosen up and have fun).
"Are you staring at me, Abbot?" Samira asked with her eyes still shut, body still facing the beating sun.
"Maybe," he replied. "Can’t a man admire his woman?"
"You can be so corny sometimes, you know that?"
"And yet you married me," Jack smirked and shifted to the edge of his chair. He placed a gentle touch on the baby bump. "How’s the little bean doing?"
"She is doing just fine," Samira said before opening her eyes and turning to look at her husband. "I think she’s happy to be on vacation."
"I’m sure he is doing great," Jack countered.
This back and forth has been an ongoing thing with them ever since they agreed to wait to find out the gender of their baby. Samira was convinced it was a girl, while Jack was sticking strong with his guess of a boy. They even forwent a gender reveal party, much to the dismay of many of their fellow emergency department doctors. The excitement of curiosity was quite intoxicating, especially since this was their first child.
Jack leant back on his chair and sighed. "How am I going to keep up with you two?"
Samira frowned, eyeing her husband. "You are going to be the greatest father ever, I know that for a fact. You’re already such a wonderful husband." Bridging their gap, she reached for his hand. He allowed it, and she gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Sometimes I feel a little crazy for welcoming a child at this age," Jack admitted. His voice had dropped a tone.
Samira shook her head. "Our child is never going to know anything other than love, stability, and happiness."
"You’re so certain," Jack noted before giving her hand a squeeze back. "You are going to be the best mother."
"Once again, you flatter me, Abbot."
"You love saying my last name as if it’s not your last name, too."
Samira gasped. "I never took it officially—,"
"Yeah, yeah," Jack said with a laugh, effectively cutting off her protest. "You’re my wife, you’re mine, which means we still share a name."
Samira let out a humph. "So old-fashioned," she murmured.
"Did you just call me old-fashioned?"
At the same time Jack proposed the question, Samira felt a light kick. "Yes, and your daughter seems to agree. She just kicked in response."
Jack lit up at that. He untangled their hands to place them back on the baby bump, completely disregarding the "old-fashioned" jab from his wife. The kicking continued, a few minutes in between each.
"Our son agrees, and he is going to be a soccer star with all this kicking."
"What if they want to go into medicine like their parents?"
Jack’s hand ran down Samira’s side and to her arm, rubbing up and down gently. "I think I can live with that, so long as it’s maybe not emergency medicine."
"That’s probably fair enough," she replied with a smile before leaning over, silently asking for a kiss. Jack happily complied.
Settling back into her seat comfortably, Samira reached for her nonalcoholic margarita, savoring the lime and salt. The perfect sourness. It had been one of her main cravings during her pregnancy. Which actually suddenly reminded her…
"Jack…" She said in a sing-song voice. Her husband gave her a look, already knowing what that tone meant. "I am craving something."
"And whatever could I get you, my dear?" He asked, dramatically but sincerely.
"Pickles would be nice."
"We’re at an all-inclusive resort, yet the baby wants pickles?"
Samira smirked and brushed a few stray curls out of her face. "I love you so much."
Jack had a slight blush to him as he stood, ready to go on his hunt for pickles. Despite his complaining, Samira and he both knew he was happy to abide by her wants and needs.
He placed a soft kiss on her lips. "I love you, too."
"I don't know what I'm going to do. I guess I'll have to book a flight and ship my stuff back. Fuck," Samira tells Ellis, burying her head in her hands.
Dr. Abbot, who has been hovering around the hub waiting for the calm of the early morning lull to suddenly snap, slides up next to her. "I have the weekend off. I can drive you."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
contains: modern day au, mainly set on east coast, samira is a struggling art gallerist in boston, jack is a high profile/wealthy philanthropist, samira is a workaholic (duh), age gap (pretty show accurate), slow burn like SLEEOOWW burn, strangers to lovers, we got the whole damn pitt cast up in here
w/c: 4.7k
this is definitely gonna be a long fic - and my first post on ao3!! so give it a read over there if u want, or here below!! AO3 LINK - million dollar man
chapter one song: pretty woman by roy orbison
Jack Abbot and Samira Mohan met on a warm Autumn night in Boston.
From the moment he laid eyes on Samira, he knew that there was something about her that his soul would never forget.
From the moment she laid eyes on Jack, she feared that they lived such different lives they could never truly hope to know one another, not really.
Samira was running late for work. Again.
Which – to her unending dismay – made it seem like she was an irresponsible and chronically tardy individual who didn’t manage her professional time properly, which was incredibly and insultingly untrue.
But of course, the week before the most important event in her professional life thus far, she had managed to be late- three days in a row. The series of unfortunate events had unfolded in the following way:
Tuesday- The stupid manual alarm clock that she had bought from the stupid thrift store because her stupid phone alarm kept going off silently didn’t even work. Which was insane, seeing as she’d plugged it in and tested it in the store before even buying it. She’d been half an hour late that morning, when she had been meant to open early.
Wednesday- Samira opted to set four different alarms on her phone Tuesday night after chucking the alarm clock in the trash, with little hope they’d pull through, and was up tossing and turning with anxiety until nearly four am because she was so worried about being late again the next day. Consequently, she was so exhausted when she finally did fall asleep, she sleep-snoozed all four said alarms. Thankfully she was rushing through the doors of the gallery only ten minutes late, though not without a displeased look over Baran’s glasses when she did.
Thursday (Today)- The beat-up Subaru forester, which Samira had inherited from her mother when she graduated high school, had evidently come to a dramatic and incredibly untimely end. Thankfully, Samira came upon this discovery two hours before she had to be at work, because she had basically not even slept the night before. For someone who was inclined to anxiety, this whole random onset alarm induced narcolepsy thing was not working in her favor. When she’d rolled over at five am and checked the time, over an hour before her first alarm was meant to go off, Samira decided to take the win and not risk falling back to sleep. She begrudgingly rolled out of bed and began getting ready for the day in the dark.
It hadn’t mattered, clearly, because as she’d left her apartment extra early with the goal of bringing her boss an I’m sorry for being late (twice) coffee, look how punctual and responsible I really am – she tried and failed to start her car around twelve times before accepting defeat. Obviously. Because as soon as one thing seemed to be working in her favor at her life, i.e. a huge work opportunity, it only made sense for her personal life to slowly start crumbling into annoyingly inconvenient pieces around her.
And so that was how Samira ended up late for work – for the third day in a row. Because she had to run back upstairs to her apartment and change into more appropriate attire for a trek through Boston mid-September, shove her work clothes and heels into a tote, and walk half an hour to the nearest subway station (now t-minus 45 minutes until she needed to be at work). Samira stepped off the subway at her stop about five minutes before needing to be at the gallery- and sprinted down the crowded sidewalk, yanking the glass door open with exactly seven seconds to spare, if one wanted to get specific.
And so, technically, Samira Mohan was not truly late today, but sprinting into a high-end art gallery, nearly careening into her boss, and standing in front of her panting, sweaty, and wearing jeans and sneakers instead of the heels and satin skirt she’d planned to leave the house in... it wasn’t exactly how Samira would’ve chosen to start the day.
“Good morning, Samira.” Her boss spoke, eyes fixed on Samira’s dirty New Balances for a moment before flicking up to her face, flushed from running. “Step into my office for a moment.” Her tone and expression were not unkind, but Samira could sense the clear displeasure her boss was trying to veil.
Baran Al-Hashimi was a great boss, and a kind woman. But she was incredibly serious about her work, this work of course including Blue Oak Gallery and its employees. Samira assumed one couldn’t become as successful as Baran in this business without taking it incredibly seriously, but it certainly added to her stress and desire to constantly do better than her best, to exceed her boss’s already high expectations. Samira didn’t resent the motivation to succeed in her work, but she couldn’t deny that it led to her running on empty more often than not.
As Samira stepped into the small, warm office in the back corner of the gallery, she tried not to cringe at her clothes and curls sticking out wildly with sweat. They were certainly out of place in the fancy gallery, even the private office was absolutely pristine and formal.
“Sit.” Baran said kindly, gesturing at one of the plush orange chairs facing her desk as she settled in her own. Samira abided, quickly sitting and running her hands over her knees a few times, trying to keep them from bouncing. It didn’t take much wondering to know why Baran wanted to talk to her privately, though she was hoping they could let the whole tardiness issue pass without having to talk about it.
“I’m so sorry.” Samira blurted, unable to wait to hear any disappointment from her boss about her time management as of late. “I know it’s terrible and it’s the third day in a row I’ve been late, but my car broke down. Or didn’t even start, I don’t know if you’d call that breaking down, but it’s broken- It won’t start. And I-”
“Samira.” Baran interrupted her, voice its usual level of calm and kind. Samira clamped her lips together. “I’m not upset with you.” Her boss moved a few things around her desk, pulling out the planner Samira had seen her consult often. “But I am worried about you. You don’t seem yourself lately. And not just this week- though I must admit it is very unlike you to be late.” There’s still no frustration in Baran’s voice, but Samira cringes internally at the clear concern. “Does this have anything to do with the gala next week? I know that I have put a lot of responsibility on you, and if it’s too-”
It’s Samira’s turn to interrupt, mind already racing one hundred miles a minute as she desperately tries to backtrack her boss’s concern.
“No! No. Not at all. I promise, I have the gala completely under control. I can do more if you need!” Her voice is doing that thing where it pitches higher and goes faster as she tries to convince the person she’s talking to and herself that she’s being honest. She hopes it’s at least working on Baran. “I promise.” She adds again with an enthusiastic nod when her boss hesitates to speak.
“I completely believe that you have it under control Samira. You are more than capable of handling it. I’m only wondering if there’s any way I could make the load easier on you. It’s a very big responsibility, especially for your first time doing it solo. Victoria is happy to help with whatever you need.” Samira nods attentively as she speaks.
Samira did have the gala under control. She had spoken to each of the coordinators yesterday; each of their pieces were properly accounted for and set to be carefully shipped to the museum this weekend. And Victoria was already doing more than enough, much more than Samira would’ve expected of the young assistant. There were no actual issues with the gala itself.
The problem was Samira. And the knots that had been twisting and growing in her stomach ever since Baran had asked her to run the gala in her place two months ago, as she would be out of the city with her son. And the fact that no matter how many things Samira squared away and confirmed and double confirmed, no matter how strongly she set herself up for success with this event, the sneaking feeling that she would somehow fail- somehow mess up the most important event of the year for their gallery- would not leave her mind.
Samira knew this had to be directly correlated to her sleeping problems, and the fact that she’d been nursing a headache on and off for the past two weeks, and the overall dread she’d been experiencing every time Baran brought up the gala. But she was also bound and determined for it to be a success, and that started by convincing her boss that she had everything one thousand percent under control.
“I just want to make sure you’re as well supported as possible. I know this is no small task.” Baran glances up from the planner with a soft tilt of her lips, before looking back down and scribbling something. She places her pen down before leaning forward and folding her hands in thought. “You know I wouldn’t have asked you to do this if I didn’t know you were completely capable of it.” Samira nods silently after a moment, unsure how to respond. If she weren’t already so flushed from running a few minutes ago, she would likely have been blushing at the praise. “And you are.” Baran adds, eyes widening a fraction in emphasis that she means it.
Samira wished that the temporary confidence Baran’s faith in her had would stick around long enough to make it through the next few days, to bring that confidence into the gala itself, but she knew better than to hope. There was still plenty of time for things to go wrong if she got too comfortable.
“Thank you, Baran.” Samira finally replies, having a hard time meeting her boss’s eyes. She knew that she did her job well, the same way that she’d always been a good student and a hard worker. But Samira Mohan, in all her natural and hard-earned knowledge and talent, had never found it easy to accept praise. “I really appreciate that. And I promise, I will not let you down.”
“The shipping guy just called back and asked to confirm the measurements on each piece.” Victoria poked her head around the corner, speaking to Samira where she stood cleaning one of the cases.
“Tell him that I have sent him the measurements two times now, and if he asks again I’m going to look for a more competent shipping company.” Samira replied without turning, lips pursing.
Victoria quickly relayed the message, not exactly word for word but fairly close to her credit, into her cell. There were a few moments of silence before she gave a bright thank you so much! and hung up.
“He will check his email.” The young woman confirmed with a nod when Samira turned, eyebrow raised.
“Great. He’ll find them. Twice.” She replied, Victoria huffing a quiet and equally annoyed laugh. One of the things that Samira had grown to most quickly appreciate about her boss’s young assistant was her nerve. Victoria Javadi, though the youngest person working at the Blue Oak Gallery, was spirited and bright. She and Samira had become fast friends when she’d started a little over a year ago.
“Any other messages?” Samira asked as she followed Victoria into the entry room of the gallery. It was nearly time to close, and Baran had left about half an hour ago to pick her son up from school. It was rare for much traffic to come in near the end of the day, and most everyone else typically went home by now, so the girls usually used the time to do maintenance cleaning and any other duties needing to be attended to before going home themselves.
“No. Everything seems to be going smoothly.” Victoria replied. They both came to a stop near the welcome desk, Samira glancing at her watch. Her feet were killing her in these heels, which she’d quickly changed into after speaking to Baran that morning. Her tote bag, now holding a crumpled pair of jeans and her tennis shoes, was stowed behind the desk. Samira silently decided to switch foot ware as she spoke to Victoria, clearly more eager to make the trek back home in her sneakers regardless of how bad they looked with her black silk skirt.
“Good.” She said with a nod. It should all be going smoothly, because she’s spent every waking hour and even some dreams stressing over the gala happening this Sunday.
The HACG (humanities and arts charity gala) at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston was the biggest event the gallery took part in every year. They’d been attending every year since Baran had opened Blue Oak, and Samira had been attending since her second year working at gallery fresh out of college. It was now her sixth year working here, and she was running the entire thing. Well, Victoria was helping an incredible amount, but still. Any mess-up would have Samira’s name written all over it, and Baran wouldn’t be there to run the show, to represent the gallery at the actual event. Failure was a risk she couldn’t afford to even consider.
Samira had been clawing, tooth and nail, for the past decade to succeed in this life. Pursuing an art history major, funding a life in a big city on a career in the arts... it was no easy feat. She’d known it wouldn’t be, especially with little support from a mother who made it no secret what she truly thought about Samira’s career aspirations. Samira had been lucky, she often told herself, to score such an amazing job right after graduating. Baran, and anyone else who had witnessed Samira’s hustle and knowledge and overall talent would argue that she had more than earned this job, had scoured the city for months leading up to her senior year at Boston College and applied and prepared and sent her incredibly impressive resume around to every single gallery and museum and anything of the sort that would take it. In fact if anyone asked Baran Al-Hashimi, she would say she was the lucky one, that she happened to be hiring when Samira Mohan was looking for a job.
“So what are you gonna do about the car?” Victoria asks, not looking up as she types on her phone rapidly. Samira wondered in the back of her mind if she was fighting with her own mother again, before letting out a long sigh.
“Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll even have time to do anything before the gala. I looked on my break today and the closest mechanic closes at four and isn’t open at all on the weekends.” She didn’t need to explain to her coworker that that was an entire hour before they got off work, making an appointment impossible this week. Baran would have no problem giving her the time off when she asked, but Samira wasn’t going to waste a single precious moment of time waiting around at a mechanic when she needed to be prepping for the gala. She still hadn’t even bought anything to wear.
“That sucks.” Victoria frowns, looking up now, and Samira nods in defeated agreement. There really wasn’t much else to say. It did suck. “So how are you gonna get to work then? And the gala?” The young woman then asks, more concerned. She pockets her phone and continues speaking. ”Never mind, I’ll just give you a ride. Duh.” She laughs, and Samira smiles at her, already shaking her head.
“No, you can’t. My place is way out of the way for you. I’m good to take the subway.” Though she did consider taking her friend up on the ride to the gala. It would certainly be better than taking the T in an evening gown.
“The subway that you took when you left your house nearly two hours early this morning and were still almost late?” Victoria asks, unamused. Samira rolls her eyes at her coworker and glances down at her watch again.
“I’ll leave earlier.” She sighs, walking past Victoria to retrieve her things from behind the desk.
“I have a fantastic idea.” Victoria is already saying, voice conspiratorially cheery as she follows Samira down the hall. “I’ll sleep over! That way you definitely won’t over sleep again, and we can carpool!” Victoria splays her hands out, grin wide like she’s solved the world’s greatest struggles.
Samira has multiple problems with her friend’s suggestion, the first being the unintentional reminder that if Samira didn’t live alone at twenty-seven, she probably wouldn’t be sleeping through her alarms every morning. Her cat Paloma certainly wasn’t in any rush to get Samira to work; she’d been curled up and sound asleep the past three morning’s when her owner had frantically dashed out of bed. Samira also simply felt guilty at the idea of Javadi uprooting from her own home forty-five minutes away from Samira’s apartment just to do her a favor. Though Samira wasn’t surprised by Victoria’s quick willingness.
Victoria, still only twenty-two, had graduated last year from FIT. This, along with most other choices Victoria had made surrounding her life and future as a whole, was a constant source of contention in her household. She still lived with her parents, two successful owners of an investment management firm, who completely disapproved of their daughter’s desire to pursue fashion and design. They claimed that it was a frivolous and unnecessary path to the future they expected of her; joining the family business. Samira thought it sounded like something out of a cheesy mafia movie every time Victoria complained about it. The family business? Samira had never understood why rich people were so intent on keeping business in the family when they didn’t seem to be doing much of the actual work in the first place.
Victoria’s parents had only supported her financially through her four years at FIT, not that it impacted them monetarily much at all, because it was such a prestigious achievement and still technically leading her to some sort of business experience. When she’d graduated and continued to show zero interest in their investment company, instead taking a job as Baran’s assistant while she continued working on her fashion portfolio, Victoria and her parents had become as essentially non-contact as a family could get while still living in the same home. Samira often found herself wanting to ask why Victoria didn’t move out, but her friend never mentioned it and Samira was the last person to judge a person’s complicated family situation.
And so, while Samira knew that her friend really did want to help her out with a ride, Victoria was just as much jumping at the opportunity to get out of her parent’s house for a few days. That was the only reason Samira agreed, though hesitantly and with multiple are you sures? When Victoria finally convinced Samira that yes, she was sure, the girls locked up the gallery and headed out together.
A few hours later, the two young women have driven to Victoria’s house to get her things, picked up take out, and made the forty-five minute plus traffic commute back to Samira’s apartment. They’re curled up on Samira’s couch, Victoria fawning over Paloma as the tv plays quietly in the background and they inhale the takeout they’d picked up on the way home. Samira had attempted to run through a few minor details on the gala, but Victoria had shut her down immediately, demanding at least an hour of decompression before being forced to work again. Samira begrudgingly agrees, not admitting that it is really nice to spend time with a friend outside of work, something that had been quite rare for her since college.
Victoria asks her questions about the records on her shelf and how she knew she wanted to stay in Boston after graduating, and talks about the three dresses she’d ordered for the gala because she couldn’t decide on one. This leads to Samira admitting that she hasn’t even found one option yet, prompting a bright grin to bloom on Victoria’s face as she’s roped in to a shopping trip after work tomorrow.
Something soft and sad tugs at Samira’s gut as she sits with Victoria, a reminder of how nice it is to have someone over, to enjoy her life outside of work. Ever since she’d graduated, Samira had thrown herself into her work so fully that everything else had seemed to slowly fall to the sidelines. She wasn’t... unfulfilled, necessarily. She loved her work, and she was proud of the life she’d made for herself.
But she often found herself missing things, like living with her roommates in college, keeping up a more consistent social life, going on dates...
Yeah, that last one had certainly been neglected for more than the past few years. Samira hadn’t gone on more than a first date with anyone since her sophomore year of college. Which was fine. Totally fine. Except for the evenings when she was home alone and found herself talking to Paloma out loud, or couldn’t open a stupid jar of sauce. Samira had never been boy crazy in her youth, and certainly didn’t consider herself someone who needed a man in her life... but. But. There was know denying that as each year passed, there was a growing ache in her chest that longed for companionship. She typically shoved this ache down as far as possible and ignored it until it resurfaced.
But anyway- hanging out with Victoria outside of the gallery, feeling like a normal person with friends who talked about silly things and laughed and ate too much takeout on the living room floor together... she hadn’t been doing things like that for a long while. Samira knew herself well enough to know that this reality was certainly feeding into her burn out, and she needed to foster the personal aspects of her life as strongly as she’d been focusing on her work.
As Victoria launches into talking about her own outfit options for the gala, pulling up photos on her phone, Samira files these thoughts in the back corner of her mind, as she typically does. They’ll wait there until she gets her footing, feels more stable in her career, until this gala was over at the very least. Friends, relationships, love... all of those things would just come in their time.
Right?
The next morning, Victoria drives Samira to work and they even stop to get coffee on the way. It was truly amazing what a bit of decompression and socializing could do, Samira was feeling much more at peace about the gala and more well rested than she had in days.
The gallery was already unlocked when they approached, and Samira could see Baran pacing on the other side of the glass double doors, phone up to her ear. As they entered, her voice, unusually tense, made Samira’s brows furrow in concern.
Both girls quietly shuffled in quietly, hanging their coats and stowing their things down the hall. When Samira made her way back out to the main room, her boss was off the phone but staring down at it and typing rapidly.
“Is everything okay?” Samira asked, walking the few steps up to Baran and trying not to panic prematurely. The woman doesn’t answer at first, then at last looks up, trying to smooth over her pinched face.
“Fine.” The woman sighs, then shakes her head as if to clear it before speaking again. “Well, it’s actually not exactly fine, but it’s also not for you to worry about.” The woman smiles with pursed lips. Samira simply stares at her, trying to keep the obvious onsetting panic clear from her face and raising her brows slightly for her boss to explain. Baran sighs again before speaking. “Uh... Um, okay. That was Heather. Our biggest buyer just pulled out.”
“For the Ornesta piece?” Samira is asking immediately, panicked. Very panicked.
“Yes.” Baran confirms, a slow nod, similar to one trying to calm a frightened animal as she speaks to Samira. “He said something came up, and he isn’t able to make the investment right now. He also said he’s reached out to a few benefactors that he knows will be at the gala and will let us know if he finds anything.”
“Are you kidding me?” Samira huffs, splaying her hands in frustration. “It’s the day before the event! Something came up?!”
The buyer pulling out of the one of the biggest pieces they were bringing to the charity gala was, in summary, shit. Like, totally shit.
It was common practice with the museum’s charity gala for suppliers to line up a few big buyers beforehand; it encouraged spending and donations on everything else that would be up for auction, and overall gave the museum and charities a good estimate of how successful the night would be.
The buyer of this high grossing painting, which would’ve made a donation to the gala in the sum of hundreds and hundreds of thousands of dollars, was pulling out, and Samira thought she may be about to scream.
Baran assured her it wasn’t the end of the world, that it happened and had happened to them before, and would only be a slight hiccup if they weren’t able to find another buyer for the piece. That was putting it lightly.
While it may be true that it wasn’t a complete disaster (yet); to Samira, with all of the work she’d been putting in to make sure this went absolutely perfect, it certainly did feel like the end of the world. Because if she couldn’t find a new buyer for this painting, then the gallery would be showing up with zero sales to start with and some fresh faced nobody running their table instead of Baran. She couldn’t imagine that being a great recipe for a successful night. Would people even stop at the Blue Oak booth? Did she need to have more signs made to be sure they would know who she was representing?
Samira was spiraling; she could already feel it happening, and she needed to pull herself back in before she started envisioning the attendees of the gala booing and throwing tomatoes at she and Javadi as they chased them out of the museum, unsold pieces in hand. Because that was obviously a very sane and likely possibility.
“Samira.” Her boss places two grounding hands on her shoulders. “It’s going to be fine. It will sell, or it won’t. Blue Oak has been a supporter of this gala for a long time now, one off year isn’t the end all be all.”
Samira tried to listen to Baran’s attempt at calming her, she really did. Unfortunately, she did also end up spending every spare moment for the rest of her workday trying to quell the growing anxiety over the night’s events and wracking every possible option in her brain of how to fix this.
As the day came to a close and Victoria started throwing out options of where to go first to find Samira a dress, she braced her hands on the desk in front of her and took a deep, steadying breath. Samira had prepared and prepared for this gala, likely more than anyone else that would be there. She was a problem solver, and good at her job, and this situation was going to be no different.
Samira was going to make sure that this gala was a success for Blue Oak.
And Samira was going to find a buyer for that painting.
a/n: thank you SO SO much for reading chapter one!! i am so excited about this story. please feel free to leave any thoughts comments etc etc etc because it’s my most favorite thing to read what u think 🤲🏻💌(or if u would like to be on taglist:))
next chapter will be posted by friday*- the gala and meeting jack muahahaha🍷
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