or: you know you're not samira mohan, but you still come when jack abbot calls.
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warnings: jack abbot is an asshole and he knows it, absolutely no self respect, hurt no comfort, situationships, implied smut (no outwright), mohan related angst (thats my babygirl and i love her but i couldn't shake this idea),
loosely based off these songs: urs - niki, thinking of you - katy perry, pushing it down and praying - lizzy mcalpine, glimpse of us - joji, be my mistake - the 1975
a/n: im genuinely so sorry for this.
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the air in jack’s apartment always smelled like expensive sandalwood and the lingering, sharp scent of rain—a scent that felt as cold as the space between you on the sofa. outside, the city lights blurred through the floor-to-ceiling glass. it was a beautiful view, but today, it felt like a cage.
jack was staring at the amber liquid in his glass, his thumb tracing the rim in a repetitive circle. he wasn’t looking at you. he hadn’t really looked at you all night, not in the way that made you feel like a person rather than a fixture. it had been six months since samira mohan left and it had been four months since he started calling you to fill the silence she left behind.
"she called me today," he suddenly confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "she sounded happy. like she didn't even remember what she left behind. she just...moved on."
jack put his glass down with a definitive clack. he moved closer to you then, sliding his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. he wasn't holding you because he wanted to be near you; he was holding you because the silence was too loud and he couldn't bear the thought of being alone with the truth of his own obsolescence in her life.
"i have you," he murmured into your hair.
it was supposed to be a romantic sentiment, but it felt like a death sentence. for fuck’s sake, you were already in love, completely and utterly, and all it had earned you was a seat at a table set for two people who weren't there.
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the screen of your phone illuminated the artificially dark bedroom. the vibration against your nightstand was a familiar pulse, a heartbeat that wasn't yours but dictated your own.
jack [12:30 pm]: are you awake?
you stared at the ceiling, your eyes burning. you had promised yourself that you wouldn't do this again. ten minutes passed. then fifteen. your thumb hovered over the glass.
you [12:45 pm]: yeah, i'm up
the words felt like an admission of guilt.
twenty minutes later, you were in his kitchen. jack was leaning against the marble counter, the light of the open refrigerator casting a harsh, clinical glow over him. he looked exhausted. "i couldn't sleep. everything in this place feels like it's screaming."
"doesn’t it always?" you said, the bitterness leaking through.
jack winced, but he didn't deny it. he walked over to you, his movements slow, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers were cold. "i called you because you're the only thing that feels real right now."
no, you thought, i'm the only one that's willing to be a placeholder for what was real. but your thoughts are silenced by his arm on your waist. “dance with me,” he said simply. it was a stupid request, there was no music, barely even light, and not nearly enough love between you to justify something so intimate.
and against your better judgement, you surrender to him, your resolve weakened by his melancholic eyes and the warmth of his skin. you crack a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes as you sway to the dull thrum of the refrigerator. there, in the dim light your mind paints a foolish portrait: he spins you into a ballroom with crystalline fixtures, a world where his old shirt is a white dress. you lean your head on his chest, listening to the way his heart hammers against his ribs, and for a while you forget that it still echoes her name.
he leaned down to kiss you and that familiar, desperate need took over. you reached up, pulling him closer, hating the way your body leaned into his as if he were your only source of oxygen.
“sam,” he said, voice warm against your lips, and your foolish fantasies melted away. you don’t bother to listen to the insincerity of his apology, instead you close your eyes and bury your face between his neck. you just want to dream for a few minutes more.
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the hours after the third call of the week was worse than the acts you’d committed. you were looking for a clean shirt in his dresser when you saw it—a slip of emerald silk tucked far back in the corner of the drawer.
it wasn't yours. you held it in your hands, the fabric mocking. it smelled like jasmine and wood—it was warm like sunlight and softened by the love you craved.
you heard the door click open. jack stood in the doorway, his eyes landing on the silk. for a moment, his expression wasn't one of guilt; it was one of pure, unadulterated grief. he looked like you had just reached into his chest and pulled out a rib.
"i was just looking for a shirt," you whispered, dropping the silk as if it had burned you.
"leave it," he said, his voice flat.
he didn't bother to apologize anymore. he didn't explain why he still kept her things in the drawer where he kept his own. he just walked over, picked up the silk, and folded it with a reverence he never showed you.
"i have to cover robby today," he said, the dismissal clear. "i'll call you later."
you left his apartment feeling like a ghost. you were never going to be samira, but to him you were the next best thing—the best at staying through the disrespect, the best at accepting the crumbs of his affection while he feasted on the memory of someone who didn't even want him anymore.
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as his lips met yours a week later—because of course you came back—he closed his eyes a second too early.
it was a soft, bruising kiss, one that tasted of bourbon and regret. you kept your eyes open for a beat longer than he did, watching the way his brow furrowed, as if he were trying to concentrate, trying to convince himself that the person he was holding was the person he wanted.
you were the person who stayed when any sane individual would have walked out. but you were anchored by the hope that one day, he’d open his eyes and the ghost would be gone.
"jack," you whispered against his lips, a plea for him to stay present.
"don't," he muttered, his voice strained. he kissed you again, more forcefully this time, as if he could drown out his thoughts with friction. he pulled you closer, his grip almost painful, and you realized that this was his way of fighting her. he was using you as a weapon against his own memory.
later, as you lay in the oversized bed, jack was asleep beside you. in the dark, the room felt like a shrine to things lost. you realized then that you were playing a game you couldn't win. samira hadn't just left jack; she had taken the version of him that was capable of loving someone else. what was left was a shell, a man who went through the motions of intimacy while his soul was still parked in a heart oceans away.
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it was exactly one year since she’d left and he’d taken the day off to grieve. you knew because the hospital felt like a tomb. jack hadn't even texted "are you up?" he’d just sent an address to a bar downtown.
when you arrived, he was three drinks ahead of you. his hair messy as he looks up at you, and for the first time, there was no mask. just raw, bleeding need.
"why do you keep coming back?" he asked, his voice thick.
the question caught you off guard. "because you call."
"i'm a mess," he said, leaning his forehead against yours. "i'm thinking about someone who isn't you. i'm wishing the hands on my back were hers. i'm the worst person i know, and yet, here you are."
you let out a bitter laugh. “you’d use me regardless.”
he let out a ragged breath and pulled you into a kiss that felt less like desire and more like a drowning man grabbing a life raft. it was the most honest he’d ever been with you, and it was the most it had ever hurt. because even in his honesty, he wasn't saying he loved you. he was just saying he was glad you were there to witness his ruin.
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it was raining—the kind of relentless, grey downpour that made the whole city feel like it was weeping. your phone buzzed on the hospital breakroom table. you were six hours into a shift at ptmc, your eyes stinging from the fluorescent lights and the weight of a dozen patients whose charts you knew better than your own life.
jack [1:00 am]: i need you.
you stared at the screen. you had just come from a room where a man was losing his wife of fifty years, and the sheer, raw reality of their love made your "arrangement" with jack feel like a cheap, plastic imitation. you were exhausted—not just in your bones, but in your soul.
you didn't reply. you put the phone face down and went back to the ward. but three hours later, when your shift finally calmed and the adrenaline ebbed away, you found yourself in an empty trauma room like a reflex. like a muscle memory you couldn't unlearn.
when you walked in, he was standing by the curtain. he looked at you, and for the first time, you didn't see the man you loved. you saw a black hole. a void that would swallow every bit of light you gave him and still remain dark.
"you're late," he said, his voice flat.
"we’re working, jack. people are dying."
he walked over, reaching for you with that familiar, predatory grace. "i know. i'm sorry. i just...i couldn't breathe in here without you."
he kissed you, and you felt nothing. no spark, no hollow ache, just a profound, overwhelming sense of tiredness.
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two weeks later, you showed up at his door at 10:00 am. you hadn't waited for a text. you hadn't waited for the 2:00 pm text. you were wearing your coat, your keys clenched in your hand like a weapon.
jack looked surprised to see you. "hey. i was just about to message you."
"don't bother," you said, stepping into the foyer but refusing to go further. the smell of sandalwood made you want to gag. "i'm leaving, jack."
he smiled that easy, devastating smile. "okay. where are we going? brunch? i know a place—"
"no," you interrupted, your voice steady in a way that finally made him stop smiling. "i'm leaving. i've resigned from my residency at ptmc. my paperwork for the transfer went through this morning. i’m moving to a hospital three states away. my flight is in four hours."
the silence that followed was different than the others. it wasn't the silence of grief or longing; it was the silence of a man who had suddenly lost his mirror and couldn't see himself anymore.
"what?" he stammered. "why? your career is here. ptmc has the best emergency unit in the country. you worked so hard for that spot."
"i worked hard for a lot of things that weren't good for me," you said, and the words felt like blood leaving a wound. "i spent the last year wondering why you closed your eyes when you kissed me. i spent them finding silk slips in your drawers and jasmine on your skin. i spent them being a fucking consolation prize."
"i told you i was a mess," he said, his voice rising, becoming desperate. "i told you i was thinking of her. i was honest with you!"
"honesty isn't a hall pass for cruelty, jack! for fuck's sake, i was already yours. i gave you everything. i let you use my heart as a bandage for a woman who is probably laughing with someone else in a cafe in london right now. and the worst part? the absolute worst part is that i let you make me feel small. i let you make me feel like i was the 'best' option only because i was the only one who didn't have the sense to leave."
you took a step back toward the door.
"you can't just go," he whispered, reaching out to grab your wrist.
you flinched away from his touch, and the look of shock on his face was almost worth the months of agony.
"i'm already gone, jack. i've been gone since the night you called me 'sam' and i still stayed to breakfast. i'm done being your search party. i'm done being the person you reach for when you're too cowardly to face your own loneliness."
you opened the door. the hallway was brightly lit, a stark contrast to the dim, moody shadows of his apartment.
"have a nice life, jack. i hope you find whatever it is you're looking for in those memories. but you won't find it in me anymore."
you didn't look back. you walked to the elevator, pressed the button, and for the first time in a year, you didn't check your phone for a notification. you let the doorman open the door for you, you stepped into the cool night air, and you realized that the ocean between you and jack was now just as wide as the one between him and london.
you weren't his anymore. you were finally, mercifully, your own.
“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
when samira mohan is thirty six weeks pregnant, she decides she’s over it. first, robby has taken the hovering, very needlessly mind you, up to an eleven, which she didn’t think was possible. jack cried foul any time she tried to blame him for the way robby asked her at least twice an hour if she needed to sit down, or was constantly handing her snacks and water.
(collins, for her part, seemed gently exasperated but also very fond of his behavior. she chided him quietly when he was stressing samira out a little too much. robby had been particularly neurotic when she was pregnant, flitting around anxiously until dana threatened to tell gloria robby wanted to present to investors unless he left her alone. he still acted like a little hummingbird following her around all the time, but at least the frenetic energy of it subsided.)
second, jack’s son switched from shoving his toes into her bladder to shoving his heels into samira’s lung cavity in the last two weeks, and so no, she doesn’t constantly need to go to the bathroom anymore, but she can’t exactly breathe fully whenever he decides to really go to town on her.
she thinks jack might blow a gasket when she tells him she feels short of breath the first time. she’s got her feet in his lap (swollen, and his massages are very nice after a long day, thank you) and he goes very, very, still and his blinking seems manual.
‘like, how short of breath, samira?’
(she’s mostly just wanting to bitch because at least it’s better than feeling like she has a uti.)
‘it’s not a big deal,’ she’s waving her hands around and trying to talk him down, ‘your son just insists on kicking me right in the lungs semi regularly.’
‘my son.’ his expression is deadpan but his eyes are no less freak-out mode. his thumbs also stopped their very wonderful pressure on the arches of her feet.
‘yes, your son.’ then, a bit petulantly, she kicks her feet in his lap, ‘why’d you stop.’
but she’s being pulled into his lap as he reaches over to the go-bag he has stashed to the right of the couch in lieu of an answer. he ignores her protests and makes her take deep breaths while he listens with the stethoscope. she tries not to be too grumpy about the fact that her complaining has interrupted the massage.
in the end it’s fine of course and samira only huffs and puffs a little when he makes her wear the pulse ox monitor but she draws the line at going in to the pitt to make sure nothing’s wrong.
(‘jack, robby already treats me like i’m about three seconds from breaking into a million pieces, im not going in.’)
third (and this one might actually put jack into an early grave), she apparently read one too many articles about how sex is good for pelvic floor relaxation and inducing labor and subliminally influenced herself, because she is so horny all the time.
jack, for his part, loves his wife very much. and it’s not that he ever really needed sex to survive, and he definitely would never ask samira for something she didn’t want to do, but he’s starting to feel a bit like prey being hunted in his own home with the way she’s pouncing on him.
(oh fuck it, who is he lying to, the first time samira had all but tackled him when he’d come home, he’d dropped to his knees and come untouched while eating her out, entirely clothed with her pressed up against their laundry room door.)
once, he’d gotten her off three times between his thigh, hands, and mouth, and she still wanted more. she sends him selfies at work, ranging from fully clothed (in his old army shirts and sweatpants she bemoans fitting into), to completely naked. she once sent him a voice note of her getting herself off twenty minutes before shift change and he’d almost asked for a police escort so he could get home faster.
he did an obscene amount of research to understand the tech behind saving voice notes and who else could access them before he very promptly saved that shit in their text chain. he also made her finish three more times that night before she fell asleep in the tub and he had to deal with waking up a very pregnant woman who was finally comfortable for thirty seconds.
(and not that he would ever voice this, ever, because samira is her own person and just because she is pregnant with his child doesn’t change any part of that. and jack likes to think of himself as a feminist through and through. but. something deep and primal has settled in his chest ever since she started showing—his wife, his samira, carrying his son.
it’s not like he could ever resist her before, but now? when she smiles at him, glowing, happy, and cheeks just slightly rounder, he can’t say no to a single thing she asks for. and it certainly doesn’t help that her libido has reached insatiable, to put it mildly. he considers calling out of work regularly so he can stay home and fuck her.)
his beautiful, intelligent, funny, (etc.) wife also refuses to slow down. she hates the way robby hovers (jack didn’t even have to threaten or cajole robby into keeping an eye on her, robby had basically offered and said, ‘man now you know how i felt with heather. she wanted to stab me sometimes, sure, but at least i knew she was okay.’). she lifts heavy things (people), still goes on runs with him (just a bit slower but jack likes being alive so he has ignored this), she stands on her feet after working twelve hour shifts (‘jack even if i wanna throw up after every bite you still have to eat.’).
(he’d burn the world down if anything happened to a single hair on her head. he throws up almost immediately into the nearest biohazard trash can when the emts roll in a heavily pregnant woman from a drunk-driver mva, blood smeared across her face. he regains his composure for as long as it takes to assess, to press his fingers to her abdomen and feel kicking. she’s sent up to obstetrics and jack spends twenty minutes dry heaving in the men’s bathroom picturing samira on that gurney. the last time he’d felt so off kilter his first wife had just died.
it’s right before the day shift is set to start rolling in and he doesn’t even need to ask if he can leave immediately because robby bursts through the ambulance bay doors thirty minutes before he usually shows up. he reassures jack he’ll update him when he knows anything but he needs to ‘go home, abbot.’)
hello hello i've been having the time of my life writing and posting jack abbot x samira mohan fics on ao3 and making tons of writer friends because of that. i'm not sure if my followers here all know about my ao3 account who also happen to like mohabbot, so i figured i'd make a mohabbot exclusive masterlist of all my fics and keep it updated whenever i post something new! you can click on the title of each fic and it'll take you to the ao3 page :D i'll also link this point in my overall masterlist page!
ao3: sumsflowers
Updated: Oct. 8, 2025
starry eyes: After the shift from hell, Dr. Samira Mohan is forced to reconcile with her life outside of the hospital--which, to be clear, is not much of one. Realizing she has only allowed herself to exist within the capacity of the Pitt's walls is a harsh truth she has trouble swallowing, but she is nothing if not determined. She just hadn't expected her determination to lead her to Dr. Jack Abbot.
i would love to love you: After a series of failed dates set up by her mom, Samira finds herself at a bar for a one-girl pity party, which is quickly crashed by Jack Abbot. Somehow, she goes from running out the back door of a five-star Italian restaurant to eating pizza in a hole-in-the-wall with Jack, and Samira never expected all of those failed dates to lead to stumbling through her apartment door with Jack as the two of them finally give into the tension they had been struggling to push aside.
be your honey: Robby's summer barbecue for the Pitt crew was an annual occurrence, which Samira always attended with dessert in hand and a pretty dress. Good food, good drinks, good company--same as every year. This time, though, the night ends differently: with Samira in Jack Abbot's truck as he shows her just how much he likes her pretty little summer dress.
to be loved and to be in love: Samira, Jack, and the forms of love they find themselves in.
a man of his word: She keeps her gaze fixed on his as she asks, “Do you want me?” / His voice is rough as he answers, “You know I do.” / Her pulse skips, skin heating as the tension in the room shifts a bit. “Do you like me?” / Jack’s throat bobs, his eyes flickering down to her lips for a split second before meeting her eyes again. / Her cheeks flush as his voice, still low and raspy, says, “Like is too simple of a word, Samira. You know that.” / Her heart feels heavy. “Do I?”
this is where i want to be (where it's so sweet and heavenly): It's Samira's birthday. Jack's gift to her might be her favorite of them all.
all my dances: “Will you dance with me?” / “Here?” he asks teasingly, knowing damn well if she said yes, he’d do it in a heartbeat. / “Uh,” Samira glances around, wrinkling her nose. “No. Later. When it’s just you and me.” / “It’s just you and me right now,” he says, grinning mischievously as his fingers slip into her curls, lightly massaging her scalp. / “Jack,” she huffs with a roll of her eyes while leaning back into his touch, though the corners of her lips twitch with a smile. “I’d rather our first slow dance not be next to a toilet.” // Or, in which being in a relationship without anyone's knowledge is a little harder for Samira than it is for Jack, surprisingly.
home is wherever i'm with you: A slow grin spreads across Jack’s face. “You think I’m handsome?” / Her cheeks flush, spine straightening. “I also said ridiculous,” she tries to deflect, reaching for her beer. / “Ridiculously,” he corrects, eyebrows rising, grin deepening his dimple, “followed by handsome.” // or, Samira and Jack run into each other at an airport in another city, and a five hour layover changes everything.
to cheat death: Death has been a longstanding friend of Jack Abbot's.
seven minutes in heaven: Jack and Samira get stuck in the elevator and, well, what else are they supposed to do?
the best idea: Most days, Jack can’t make sense of it—how he fell so deeply without even knowing. But, well, one look at Samira and all it does is make sense.
never before and never since: Isn’t that heartbreak, though? To feel like you have lost a part of yourself, a piece of your soul, and wonder how you existed before them? To go back to her life that was previously untouched by Jack feels like a punishment, and Samira doesn’t think she’s strong enough for it.
lighthouse: In every room, Jack Abbot searches for Samira Mohan.
heaven in hiding: Jack has met many people in the nearly four centuries he has lived, heard many voices, but none have come close to being as captivating, as yearned for, as Samira’s. // or, a god falls in love with a mortal and, well, we all know how that story goes. . .
give a little, get a little (maybe we could get to know each other): Samira can picture herself doing this with Jack for the rest of their lives. . . She just needs to find out a way to tell Trinity that her best friend is with the man who raised her for half her life. / or, Jack is Trinity's father figure, Trinity is Samira's best friend, and Samira wants to get with her best friend's dad. AU.
shelter me under your love: The roof has never interested her—until Jack Abbot.
her people: Dana Evans knows her hospital. She knows her work. She knows her people. She knows that Jack Abbot and Samira Mohan are in love with each other. // or, dana's pov of watching jack and samira falling in love - and doing something about it.
have you ever been in love?: When Samira Mohan is Chief Resident of the PTMC Emergency Department, her mother gets married for the second time.
tere hi the, tere hi hain, tere hi rahenge: “Jack.” Her chest rises and falls with heavy, anticipatory breaths as she gives him the command, permission, request all rolled into one. “Kiss me.” He has always been a good listener, after all. // or, mohabbot in the privacy of a hotel room after escaping a wedding.
it's a hell of a ride (loving you): 5 times Samira and Jack kiss in secret, plus the one time they don't.
choices made: Samira knows Amma loves her. Amma just doesn't get her. // or, Samira and Jack have lunch with Samira's mom.
my kind companion: “You’re the smartest person I know in every room—but if you think I’ll have to pretend to have feelings for you, pretend like I’m fucking thrilled you chose me, then I will get on my knees right now and remind you that pretending is not necessary.” / Her stomach bottoms out, lips parting as his words sink in. Heat spreads through her body as her eyes flicker between his eyes and lips, voice light in a daze when she murmurs, “That’s not a bad idea.” / The corner of Jack’s mouth curves up. “Your mom’s right outside.” // or, Samira and Jack don't have a moment to enjoy their morning after when her mother shows up unannounced.
is it cheating if. . . it's a birthday present?: But when he begs like that—for her, on her birthday—Samira can’t say no. // chapter 7 of the mohabbot "is it cheating" collection (this is a collab fic with a bunch of other amazing writers! the collection link will show you all of the fics in the collection, mine is chap 7 in what's a 14 chap story).
secrets secrets: “You’ve been worrying me all night,” he says, cutting right to the chase. / Her throat works, dry. “I don’t mean to.” This, at least, is a truth she can confess to. // or, samira has a secret and this is my minor contribution to anxious avoidant august
find yourself in someone (you were there all along): Truthfully speaking, she wasn’t this nervous meeting Jack’s mother, back when they were two months into their relationship. Five months in, and this feels more frightening, more nerve wracking. And while Helen Abbot, mid-seventies with snow white hair cut into a bob and a smile as gentle and eyes as sharp as her son’s, had welcomed Samira with open arms, she’s not entirely sure how Jack’s former in-laws will receive her.
one and the same: "I’m fine. I don’t need you going around me to get the Chief to bench me when this is where I want to be, Captain.” She spits the word out and despite herself, immediately regrets it when Jack flinches. It’s subtle, barely noticeable, except she knows him. She sees everything about him. For better or worse. // or, a glimpse into a firefighter Jack and paramedic Samira AU.
excellent fun 'til you get to know her: Samira is not good at being bad at things, and she so desperately wanted to be good at this.
sukoon: She has spent her whole life being good and doing the right thing and putting others before herself. So right now, she doesn’t care that her dress is now indecently riding up as her legs spread so she can straddle Jack’s lap. All she cares about is how Jack welcomes her immediately, his hands resting on her hips and his gaze burning into hers as she grasps his face in her hands, closes the gap and finally is able to kiss him with the vehemence of a woman starved. // firefighter jack x paramedic samira AU
summary: "There is nothing, and I mean nothing, that you could've done. It was just pure bad luck. I need you to know that, okay?"
Her lip wobbled, sucking in a shaky breath.
"I think I wanted them." A broken sob came out. "Jack, I-I really wanted them."
OR
Samira Mohan hadn't realized how badly she wanted to be a mother until the choice was made for her.
tags: miscarriage, angst with a happy ending
wordcount: 4.5k
a03 link
Did some bird flap its wings over in Asia?
Did some force take you because I didn't pray?
Tylenol was an absolute liar.
Extra strength, 800 MG meant to relieve any aches and pains. The tightening in her back throbbed, ripping a groan from her throat.
Samira closed her eyes, attempting to breathe through the cramp. It’ll pass. This will pass. She blindly patted along her side, successfully finding the power cord and following it down to the control. The heating pad was set to HI - already having shut off twice after the hour timer. At least the heated blanket on top of her lasted for four hours.
Even with both - she still hurt.
Today was her first time leaving in the middle of a shift, and if the pain in her body wasn't so intense, she might've felt more guilty.
She’d tried to tough it out, mentally hyping herself that she could do it. Women were built for extreme amounts of pain, childbirth.. miscarriages.
She hadn’t even thought about being a mother.
Not until she was in the bathroom, staring down at crimson-stained underwear. After 29 years of life, not once had her period been this intense. She’d been one of the lucky ones, two day long periods, on the dot each month. Minimal cramping, if any. Which led her to the diagnosis - spontaneous abortion.
A common issue in the ER.
Treatment varied, depending on the progression of the pregnancy. There was no possible way it was over twelve weeks - remembering her last cycle starting two weeks before their vacation. Feeling like a win at the time.
Which meant sometime during their time in Bali, they'd managed to conceive. Sure, the humid weather and tiny bikinis Samira lived in probably didn't help the matter. Nor did the way salt water caused Jack's curls to thrive, contrasting with the thousands of freckles scattered across his back. She swore he'd never looked more attractive. By day three, the six-pack of condoms were long gone. Fate didn't stand a chance against two sun-kissed and slightly buzzed lovers.
She did her best to rinse out her shorts, having to pause as a sharp pain shot through her pelvis. Nails digging into the granite.
Unfortunately, the sheets had taken quite a hit as well. Samira stripped the bed, dumping it all into her washer before tossing back the first dose of pain medication.
Everything felt more difficult.
Showering, getting dressed. She made it two minutes before taking full advantage of Jack's spare shower chair. Loofa in hand, the hot water ran down her legs into the drain. The mixture of blood stumped her, watching as it washed away. Feeling something, she just wasn't sure what.
It was 7:48 when she arrived for her shift, water bottle glued to her side during handoff. She tried not to look at Jack for too long, not wanting to give him the impression that something was amiss.
They hadn’t been trying, hell, she was still in the process of moving in. Their opposite shifts made it a drawn-out process.
She told herself that this was a good thing.
Sneaking off into an exam room, holding her breath as the wand smeared cool gel against her tense stomach. Nothing in her left ovary or tubes, ruling out that this was ectopic. Then, the screen showed exactly what she expected on her right side. A darker circle, the gestational sac, shaped more like a deflated balloon. Strike one. Occupied with a tiny embryo towards the bottom, unable to detect any heartbeat. Strike two.
It wasn't a baby - not anymore, just tissue.
Tissue that was exiting her body with such an intense force. The nausea had started around nine, chalked up to all of the medication on an empty stomach. There was no way she could keep anything down, except for the water she was sipping religiously. Hoping by some miracle, the excessive saliva, indicating her body's desire to vomit, would lessen.
There was a chance she would need someone to prescribe her misoprostol.
Ripping her back to reality, the door suddenly swung open, Dana's voice ringing in the air, "Mohan? Are you in -"
Samira's grip on the wand tightened, straightening her back in an attempt to cover the machine. Her scrub top falling back down. Fuck, fuck.
"Yeah, sorry, just uh, cleaning up."
She shook her head, not turning around to acknowledge the painfully obvious fact that she'd been caught. Every ounce of her begged that they wouldn't ask. Luckily, she hadn't. Dana told her to take her time and that a head lac was awaiting stitches in four.
The rest of the morning went as well as it possibly could. No major cases, no one daring to jinx that by acknowledging it. Not until an alarm went off, indicating there was a safe haven baby.
Samira stood frozen as she watched Dr. Robby carefully carry the tiny human into an exam room. A little girl, wrapped in nothing but a worn blanket. Brand new to this world and already experiencing abandonment. Whatever orders were being given, she wasn’t listening. It isn't fair.
The war inside her uterus remained, bringing her back.
She’d turned and exited the room, not catching the puzzled look on Robby’s face. It was a straight shot to the bathroom, yanking down her black scrubs and seeing the clotted reminder. Her eyes burned, similar to when she’d chop onions. Stop it. She wasn’t allowed to be sad. Not when she didn’t even want a baby.
Tears fell regardless of her harsh thoughts, allowing her head to fall forward in defeat.
That tiny two-centimeter blob on the screen etched into her head with every blink.
How much longer would she have gone before realizing her period was late? Which pregnancy test would she have picked after staring at the countless options? Would she have cried seeing those two lines? Picture a future in which she gets the career and the family?
The door opened, forcing her to reel back the sobs into an occasional sniffle.
Whoever was in there with her didn’t say anything. Samira cleared her throat as she pulled a new pad open before eventually flushing the toilet. Dana leaned against the brick wall, watching as she washed her hands.
“Samira,” she spoke gently, taking a step closer.
“Go home, honey. Rest, grieve, heal. Does he know?”
Shaking her head, Dana reached out to pull her into a hug. Reminding her of the hugs her mom used to give. Comfort that her body so desperately craved while it so viciously betrayed her. She stood awkwardly before allowing herself to soften, deciding to take the advice.
One Uber ride later, Samira was back in her apartment, alone. With the sheets needing to be switched to the dryer, the couch became the next best thing. There was no way she had the strength to move it over. Once her head hit the pillow, she was dead to the world for the next few hours.
Reaching for her vibrating phone, her eyes struggled to focus.
jack abbot: missed call (2x)
jack abbot: dana said you left this morning? are you okay? call me, honey.
She planned on texting him back, hoping the cramping would subside long enough to focus on anything else. He wouldn't be off work until the morning anyway. Then, the pain suddenly became unbearable. It wasn't something she could ignore, like the stupid Reddit threads claimed you could. No, this was debilitating cramping that only became tighter. The phone dropped to the floor with a thud, followed by a pain-stricken cry from Samira. That sensation moved through her lower body down to her hips until it finally began to fade.
The warm tears rolled down her face as she tried to catch her breath.
Unfortunately, the relief was short-lived, causing Samira to whimper as the pain began to slowly return, "Nonono, stop it!"
It was after that next wave that she realized how cruel her body was. To rid her uterus of the tissue, her cervix had to dilate, meaning Samira was going through a process very similar to labor. Only, there was no light at the end of the tunnel.
Sobbing, Samira stayed on the couch, feeling her body's urge to push. It was a mess, but she couldn't get herself to move to the floor. By the fifth contraction, and another warm gush of liquid between her legs, a tiny bit of relief flooded her. Like a warm blanket being wrapped around her. A dry taste in her mouth begged for liquid, but the exhaustion took precedence. She felt the blood growing between her legs, potentially soaking through, but had no energy to get up. Her eyes barely opened. Just weakness. Something was wrong.
-
Message read at 8:06.
This wasn’t like her at all. Dana mentioned that she wasn’t feeling well, and his worry only heightened when she didn’t respond.
His shift didn't end until the morning, but something in his gut told him that was too long. As bad as he felt calling Robby and begging him to cover, seeing his best friend come through the door provided a sliver of relief. Relief that wouldn't be fully restored until he was at her building. Using his key, he unlocked the door to be greeted by Mr. Salami rubbing up against his legs. A soft meow filled the air as he jumped up next to his empty food bowl.
“Did momma not feed you?”
Quickly, he grabbed a scoop from up top and filled the bowl. The tabby meowed in gratitude as he immediately began to eat, causing Jack to frown. He’d been starving.
Venturing further into the apartment, he noticed the coffee table covered in various items. A bottle of Tylenol? Naproxen? Pamprin? It was a whole pharmacy in here.
Taking a step closer, he peered over the couch to see his girl passed out. Her hair remained pulled up with a few unruly pieces, stuck to her forehead instead of falling to the side like usual. Jack turned the corner, careful not to wake her as he noticed all the cords hanging off the side of the couch. She was cocooned under a heated blanket in the middle of summer, and lying atop a heating pad by the looks of it. He carefully crouched down, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead. Burning up.
He sighed, deciding to let her rest a little longer before royally pissing her off. Jack made himself useful, tossing the expired groceries and tidying the kitchen table. He put two and two together at the bare mattress as to why his girlfriend was on the couch, putting a new set of sheets on.
“Honey,” he tried, speaking softly.
Samira blinked slowly, watching as she registered his face and where she was.
“What’s going on?” he asked, eyes searching for any concerning symptoms. He really wanted to shut the heat off, give her roasting body a much-needed break.
"Cold," she grumbled, pulling at what was left of his composure.
Jack frowned, taking that as a fever confirmation. It wasn’t impossible to get the flu in the middle of summer. Unlikely, yes, but not impossible.
Carefully, Jack scooped Samira up, heart practically melting at how easily her head fell against his shoulder. Ignoring the fact that she felt like a human sauna. He set her right back down on the bed, hesitating to cover her up until he got a temperature. Mr. Salami appeared at the doorway, meowing loudly. For a non-vocal cat, something was making him upset tonight. The thermometer was still in his bag, beside the couch. His eyebrow raised, starting to bend down and rub the cat's head, but he'd already sped off. Pausing and looking back as if he was making sure Jack followed.
"What has gotten into you, dude?" he asked rhetorically, stopping in his tracks as he jumped up beside the space where Samira had just been. A small blood stain caught his eye on her blanket. Panic began to set in, realizing something was really wrong. Peeling the blanket back, he found her heating pad completely drenched. No strain of flu would ever cause this.
Jack was back in the bedroom in the blink of an eye, crouching beside the bed.
“Samira? Did you start your period?”
He looked at her face, noticing the pale shade of her lips. She'd already started to fall back asleep in the thirty seconds he'd been gone. Jack reached for her wrist, placing his fingers right at her pulse point, finding it to be way too weak for his liking. Fuck.
“Baby, talk to me,” he pleaded. There was just no way this was menstrual, but he didn’t want to explore without consent.
She nodded once, then shook her head, falling back against the pillow.
“It should stop soon.”
“What should? The bleeding?”
Barely audible, Samira told him the truth, "I'm miscarrying."
Oh.
Oh.
A thousand thoughts rushed through his head, all fighting for his priority. Trying to respond as a boyfriend, but unable to deny his reaction as a physician. The hand that rested upon her cheek suddenly felt a thousand emotions at his fingertips. He’d gotten her pregnant. It didn't matter what he felt, right now, she was his only concern. He hated that she hadn't called him today, that she thought she had to go through this alone.
Her hand reached to cover his own, weak but determined to pull him into the bed. It was clear she wanted to go to sleep, but that wasn't happening any time soon.
"Baby," he cooed, pressing his lips to her clammy forehead, "I'm so sorry."
That got a whimper in response from her, seeing her eyes still glued shut. He noticed the puffiness of her cheeks now, hating himself for not getting here sooner. Trying to remain hopeful, he asked.
"Who diagnosed you?"
He knew he was on her proxy, and their charting system would’ve alerted him of any new results. Nothing had came across.
A sigh, then a tiny smirk, "Hm, a really smart one."
"Samira, please tell me that doctor was not yourself."
She didn't respond as her eyebrows raised, forcing him to come to the conclusion she'd done it herself.
"I think I," she paused, licking her lips, "I'm gonna need the misoprostol."
He wished it could be that simple, but his years of experience were pointing to surgery. What he needed to do was get an ultrasound to see what was going on, not to mention a CBC. The thousand-dollar investment in a portable Doppler coming in handy. Reaching for the device, he very carefully lifted the t-shirt he recognized as his own. That seemed to muster up some energy, her eyes shooting open in fear.
"Jack, I already-"
"I know, I know." Softening his voice with every word spoken. "Just let me check, okay? I'll be quick, promise."
No further argument came from her mouth as her eyes shut once again, avoiding any chance of seeing the screen. A few delicate swipes of gel later, his fears were confirmed. Jack cleared his throat, looking up at her in the same way he did patients with difficult diagnoses, "You need a DNC, sweetheart. There's still too much tissue, and I'm already concerned with the amount of blood you've lost."
As it usually did, Samira's stubbornness reared its ugly head.
"No, I just need ah, um." Struggling to turn her thoughts into actual words. A tiny whimper broke free. The latest cramp came with another gush of warmth exiting, reminding her that she needed to change, "bathroom."
Samira stood slowly, her arms wrapping around his neck as a cramp deep in her lower back flared. It should be over now. An hour ago, her body was pushing it all out. There'd been relief, so why in the hell was the pain coming back? Brain fog keeping her from coming up with the possibilities.
"Mm, ha - fuck."
Jack shook his head, instructing her to wrap her legs around him instead and carrying her to the bathroom. He shot her a look that discouraged her from trying to shut him out. As embarrassing as she might've thought the situation was, Jack didn't dare look disgusted. He'd kissed her forehead before helping her step out of the shorts, letting her squeeze his arm as she sat down. Stepping out of the bathroom to grab her a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.
Sweatpants. Not pajama shorts as she'd had before.
"Jack."
The curls shook side to side, knowing exactly what she was going to say.
"We don't have to go to PMTC. You and I both know it's the best in Pittsburgh, but we can go to Presby. I'll let you decide where, but we are going, honey."
Defeated, Samira reached for the clean clothing.
She already hated the idea of a stranger between her legs. Having to be told what they already knew, but with sympathetic faces. Sympathy that she didn't at all deserve. The idea of it being someone they knew was somehow worse. Whether that someone was Collins or Landgon, she stayed frozen to the toilet as the possibilities went on.
Jack bent down in front of her, unsure how long she'd been staring off, dissociating. Her blurry eyes filled with concern that he shouldn't be doing that, not knowing how long he'd had his prosthetic on already. He shook his head, as if he could read her worried mind, reaching for her hand.
"If we go, could you do it?"
Realistically, they both knew that would never be allowed. For more reasons than the obvious - and with Robby covering his shift tonight, hell would have to freeze over.
"No ifs, baby. You know that wouldn't be allowed, but I'll be right by your side. I can swear on that, Samira."
-
They'd gone ahead to Presby, dealing with the hour wait. No special treatment. Once the IV had been placed, pain meds kicked in soon, erasing the fact that she'd spent the entire day feeling miserable.
She was booked in the OR by midnight.
Any evidence that there was once a piece of them now gone.
They'd kept her overnight, concerned with the low blood count. He hadn't dared to leave her bedside, just like he'd promised.
Physically, it was a tame recovery. There was a slight discomfort for a couple of days, but nothing Tylenol couldn't fix. It was the emotional toll that hit the hardest. Back to work by the end of the week, knowing that the word had spread. If it wasn't Dana, it was Robby. She couldn't be frustrated - Jack had every right to confide in a friend, as did she.
It was her coworker who cracked the glass. Their beloved night nurse shared that she was expecting. Samira hated herself for her gut reaction being jealousy. She swallowed the bitterness and expressed her congratulations, needing to take a break. She'd taken the stairs two at a time to the roof, finding some solace in the quiet.
The wind blew her chocolate hair across her face, watching the sun begin to set. The soles of her tennis shoes kicked at a loose piece of gravel, crouching down and under the guard. Samira rested against the cold metal.
It could be her turn sometime.
Right?
The door eventually pushed open, alerting her that she was no longer alone. No surprise that Robby had sold her out as soon as he arrived for his own shift. Jack had tried to get her to talk about it more than once, acknowledging that it was okay to be upset. Even if it wasn't something she wanted. But she knew that wasn't true.
"You know, it never gets less horrifying finding Mikey on the opposite side of that railing. I think seeing you there might actually give this old man a heart attack."
Samira laughed quietly, finding the old man bit still comical. He walked up behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder and wrapping an arm around her torso. Romantic, but also backed with the possibility of pulling her back over. That was fair. She hadn't exactly been open about what was going on in her head. For all he knew, she was feeling bad enough to do something as drastic.
"I should get back, don't want to miss handoff."
"Samira, wait."
She didn't stop, walking towards the door with determination to escape talking about it.
When her period came and went, her gynecologist recommended starting a new birth control to avoid recurrence. Sharing a fact that she already knew herself, about how the chance of miscarriage increases after the first. Sitting there on the paper sheet, she declined it for the time being. A sense of guilt pooling in her gut. If she didn't want to get pregnant, then the sensible answer was birth control. Her fingers twisted the strap of her purse waiting to check out, unable to acknowledge why she didn't want to start that medication. Not until she stood behind a woman holding her son, maybe seven or eight months old. As he flashed his warmest, gummiest smile, Samira knew exactly what she wanted.
It was the execution that didn't go so well.
Picking up takeout from their favorite Italian restaurant, setting it all out on the table instead of eating at the island like usual. Even going as far as mixing an Old Fashioned - Jack's favorite. The gesture was well received, packed full of gratuitous kisses with full bellies. Kisses that led them up to their bedroom, where Samira straddled his thighs in nothing but her silk panties.
Jack pressed his lips against her neck, sucking lightly to steal a moan from her. They hadn't been fully intimate yet, only minor foreplay if the exhaustion was wearing on them.
"Please?"
He'd never been one to deny her what she wanted, especially when she expressed those desires out loud. It was Samira's hand reaching out and stopping him from grabbing a condom that alerted him. She quickly noticed his hesitation, trying to kiss him as a distraction, "Don't want it - please? Need you, Jack."
Groaning, he forced himself to pull back, his eyes searching hers for what she was thinking.
"Sweetheart."
"Don't stop," she tried once more, "I'll be more careful this time, keep them safe."
All of the guilt she held spilt out, beginning to finally show. Samira reached between them, her hand squeezing his half-hard cock. As if the words that just came out of her mouth weren't heartbreaking. Jack struggled to contain his composure, reaching for her hand and bringing it between the two of them, lightly squeezing. A huff of frustration from his girl.
"There is nothing, and I mean nothing, that you could've done. It was just pure bad luck. I need you to know that, okay?"
Her lip wobbled, sucking in a shaky breath.
"I think I wanted them." A broken sob came out. "Jack, I-I really wanted them."
-
By October, Samira had officially moved into Jack's place. Their place.
They'd come a long way from that night in August. Samira shared that while motherhood had always terrified her, being career-driven from the jump, it'd never been off the table. Just on the back burner. Jack opened up that he had always wanted to have a family. It was something he'd talked about with Claire before he joined the army. Timing had never been their friend. With his injury and her diagnosis, that dream slowly faded away. Getting to be a father wasn't something he'd thought was even an option anymore until he'd found her that night.
He had booked them an appointment with a therapist who specialized in grief. Those sessions had proven to be quite helpful for them both, learning just how traumatic the miscarriage had been for Samira. She'd gone into detail about the dissociation, having to go through the motions of labor as she bled out alone. It had caused Jack to break down, unable to keep himself from pulling her in close. He even admitted to his own anger - that she hadn't leaned on him in such a vulnerable moment. She was so fiercely independent, unable to break down those barriers. He'd always loved that about her, but how could they build a relationship if she wasn't willing to let him all the way in?
Samira had apologized repeatedly. It wasn't that she didn't want to go to him, she did. The only person she wanted during everything had been Jack. She just had this fear of being too much. Like if she shared too much, he might leave her, too.
The two of them continued to work through it, putting in the effort. No question that both of them were all in.
On her birthday, they stuck to their usual restaurant reservation, but there was an extra gift this year. A light blue box, holding a silver necklace with a beautiful amethyst stone centered in a small heart.
"It's the birthstone for February."
Samira had felt the hot tears begin to roll, paying no mind to the fact that they were in a public setting, staring at the jewelry in her palm.
"If it's weird or makes you upset, you don't have to wear it. I won't be offended."
She shook her head, carefully pulling the rest of the piece out from the box, extending it towards him. Scooping her hair to the side, she held her breath as he put it on, smelling his cologne as he was so close.
"I love it. I love you."
Even Mr. Salami had settled in smoothly, exploring every room as his own. He'd taken a liking to the guest bedroom upstairs, basking in the windowsill throughout the daytime. One night after dinner, Samira had flicked the light on, disturbing their prince of a cat from his slumber. Jack followed behind her, arching his eyebrow as to what she was doing before laughing at the sleeping feline.
"I don't think he's going to be too keen on having to share this room."
"Share?" his voice heightened, not following. He had a nervous look like she was about to suggest adopting another cat.
"Well, I figured it's the perfect option for a nursery. A new coat of paint and softer light bulbs."
The smile that appeared on Jack's face said it all. His lips mouthing a silent really?
Samira couldn't contain her excitement, pointing over at the two plastic sticks on the dresser. It hadn't even been two hours since she'd first tested, waking up this morning to ridiculously sore boobs. She'd thought about waiting until it was confirmed by a blood test or when there was a very real heartbeat.
Instead, she allowed herself to want him to be there through it all. Every step of the way, good or bad.
A decision she knew was right, hearing him muttering I love you's into her hair.
Summary: seeing her at the cemetery by accident changed how they viewed each other for better or worse. One thing leads to another and Jack comes to aid.
Warnings: 18+ mdni! Angst, hurt/comfort, smut, p in v, oral(F!), longing, mentions of dead father, mentions of dead wife, grief, death, mental breakdowns/anxiety attack, English isn’t my first language<3
Word count: 6.6k+
An: my first mohabbot fic! I’m so excited to know what everyone thinks about this piece!!! This’s been sitting in my docs for too long and I hope I’ve done the two of them justice🫶🏻 comments & reblogs are always appreciated<3
The humidity is making the day less bearable than it already is. Dark clouds fill the sky slowly as Jack stares at the gravestone. It is going to rain eventually, he thinks; he doesn’t mind it. Maybe the droplets could wash the years of grieving away.
He stares at the name written on the stone in a cursive font, making the grey on the back of it look less dull. Doctor, Friend, Sister, Wife with a name, and the Abbot's last name. It is as if he is staring at his future, quite ironic, isn’t it? To be in the graveyard and stare at the image that Robby and Dana will see one day.
Jack stands with his hands in his pockets, listening to the distant rumbling of the clouds. He is used to this feeling; one day of the year that makes his mood change so drastically that he needs to take the day off and drive away to the graveyard. It’s just one day, one day that reminds him of the day he lost his other half.
The day Darya Abbot died. She was beautiful, with brunette hair that fell under her ears, thin bangs over her forehead, and rich olive skin that he caressed every time they cuddled after their shift. He has moved on, not with a person just yet, but he has finally made peace with the idea of her being gone.
The smell of rain hits his nose; it’s fresh, it feels like the end of the TV show he has been watching for months, and now he lives in a Deja vu where he functions with her name carved in his heart.
He sighs, bending down a little so he can kiss the top of the stone, letting his lips stay there for a hot minute so he can feel connected to her once again. He’s learned to regulate his feelings when it’s dark outside; that’s why he is standing here with grass bending under his worn-out sneakers as he looks at his late wife’s name.
It’s half an hour before sunrise, he doesn’t need to check the weather app on his phone to see; he is already a master at reading the shade of the sky. He snickers at the thought of the way he is describing it this time, The hour of the wolf. It’s a bit past that, but this is the closest thing to the twilight phase of the night, so it has to do.
“I miss you,” he sighs, straightening his back, staring at the flower he has planted in front of the stone, “If my therapist could see me, he would call me crazy for talking to a cold grave, but this has been the only thing I could do for years.”
There is a chill in the air, an early October kind of breeze that wipes the hotness of his tears. He finds it comforting, as if it’s Darya who is kissing his tears away; he likes the thought of that. Even her anniversary is in the time of year she liked the most.
Jack sighs again, this time accompanied by a small smile, running the pad of his fingers over the ridge of the gravestone before he pats it a few times, staring longingly at the name before he slowly backs away.
He has to leave her again, and it still makes his heart clench after all these years. He has done it a million times before, nowadays less than the previous years, because as much as he loves her, he can’t go back to isolation. But it doesn’t change the fact that he is so unbelievably sad when he has to leave.
He stops for a second to stare for another minute, feeling the strings of their vows pulling him closer. If only he could hold her one more time.
With a shaky breath, he finally finds the strength to walk away, yet all the courage it takes for him to do so is hanging on by a thin thread. Jack takes another step forward, this time without looking back, and carries on towards the long path that leads to the exit.
He pushes his hands into the pockets of his jacket, moving out of the rows of graves, walking on the soft grass slowly. He looks up for a second, trying to keep his tears from falling, and he does it so successfully. A habit he has learned over the years.
The more he walks away, the more he feels the weight lifting from his chest. He will always love Darya. She was the one who said yes after she had to amputate his leg; she was the one who said yes when he was still fighting to get an apartment near the hospital.
But he can’t live in the past anymore; he is here, in the present, with an abandoned wedding band in his drawer. He is the one breathing, and he won’t take it for granted.
The very quiet sound of murmuring catches his attention. No one usually comes here at such an hour, especially not when the weather is still somewhere between hot and cold, and the awful humidity makes your skin tacky.
He wants to ignore it, to let the person be, but he can’t. The voice is oddly familiar, like a distant dream he’s had months ago. He should probably let it go, yet he is too tempted not to follow the sound and hear what’s being said.
The back of the gravestones is to him, the rows are empty of people and crowded with phantoms one can only witness in the moment before sunrise.
He walks further through the path, the grass crunching under his steps as he deliberately moves between the graves. He should stop, turn, and leave before he upsets someone.
He spots the person quickly, sitting on the grass, leaning on the stone with her curls around her shoulders. They look familiar, too. He can hear the words a bit better; they aren’t anything impressive, just a few words about how life has been busy, how repetitive the days have become. Just the usual catch-up with someone you deem important.
“And there is… him.” The girl says, “I have been drowning in the hospital for years. My work is my life, but… when I am with him, when we are together in a room, everything feels different. He challenges me to be better, he… wants me to be better, he’s said it multiple times, I’m the smartest among them all. Funny, huh? Maa wouldn’t approve much, but I think you’d like him.”
He freezes when she turns around at the sound of his shoe breaking a dry branch, both of their eyes widening in realization.
Samira Mohan.
He blinks at her, but his surprise is gone the second he catches her wiping her tears with her sleeve, sniffing, and trying to get up.
“Please,” he rushes the word out, walking a bit closer with his hand out so he stops her from getting up, “I didn’t mean to interrupt, I– no one usually comes here at this time.”
“No-no, it’s okay, Doctor Abbot, but it would be rude to–”
“Please, I was just curious, I’m gonna leave.” He nods at her, hazel eyes running all over her face, catching the remembrance of lack of sleep in her exhausted and swollen eyes.
“You don’t have to.” She sends him a small smile, pulling her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs so she can rest her head on the stone as comfortably as possible, “I have already talked to him; we both could use some company.”
“I don’t want to bother you,” he doesn’t wanna leave, not yet anyway, because he would rather be damned than leave her alone like this. “If you are sure…”
“Please,” she points at the solid ground next to her feet, “Much better than spending another hour alone before I leave for my shift.”
“You’re going to the hospital today? Of all days?” His tone isn’t accusing, fuck no, never, not with her, he is just shocked. Because he knows what day it is today, she let it slip two months ago without meaning to.
He just has the habit of making her so weirdly comfortable that she starts rambling when he is around.
“It’s better than thinking about Baba in an empty apartment where I can hear the leaking of my shower head,” she shrugs, wiping the tear that falls from her cheek with the heel of her palm, “The adrenaline keeps my head away from running ten miles per second.”
“You can’t live your life by getting lost in other people’s problems,” he replies, sitting crisscrossed in front of her, looking at the freshly planted violets, then looking at the dirt under Samira’s nails, smiling softly as he looks back at her, “You don’t need to do it alone.”
“I’ve been grieving like this since I remember,” Samira sighs, her nose tingling and eyes stinging as a fresh set of tears fills her brown orbs. The sight is like a dagger to Jack’s heart, and he wishes he could reach forward and wipe them off himself. “I miss my Baba so much that I can’t trust myself to be alone on the day before his anniversary.”
“Drowning yourself with work is not a good way either,” he says, making sure his stare is strong enough for her not to cave and look away. She doesn’t, instead she blinks her tears away, keeping her eyes locked with his as the drops stream down her face, “You sound like Robby, that’s not good.”
“It really isn’t,” she snorts, chuckling waterily when she notices his satisfied smirk, “I’ve worked with him long enough to be a younger version of him.”
“That’s bad, that’s really fucking bad, Doctor Mohan.” Samira smiles, wiping her tears as she tries to stifle her laughter.
Jack notices how the dark clouds fade away as soon as her cheeks are pulled upward, her lips painted with a smile he is the reason for. The sun rises right in his line of vision, casting an angelic halo around Samira’s unruly curls like she is the reason the moon goes down.
No sign of rain, dullness, and ghosts of the dead when she is smiling. If she keeps giving him one of her bright, toothy grins when he makes another joke, he will be sure the flowers bloom because of her happiness.
“You know, you can call me Samira,” she tilts her head, frowning a little when she notices he is staring at her with a tiny gap between his lips, “Are you alright?”
“I am! I am!” He scratches the top of his head, nodding before he meets her gaze after a quick shake of his head, “I have called you Samira before, it’s you who refuses to address me by my name.”
“You’re my attending–”
“I’ve heard this line before,” from Samira, from his Darya, “But I’m here with you as Jack, not a doctor or a vet. Just… Jack.”
“I can’t be home, not because it’s empty,” she says this out of nowhere, looking down at her knees when she thinks his sympathetic eyes are too much to handle, “Because I need to find the courage to go home to Maa tomorrow. I can’t bear to see her sad anymore; she still cries like she’s lost him all over again, and I can’t do anything but hold her. I need to be strong for her, but I’m also aching for her. I can’t do anything to help her like I can with my patients.”
“Take the day off, Samira–”
“I have tomorrow off,” she purses her lips, resting her cheek against the cold stone as she takes a sharp breath, “Not now, not today. I’m not strong enough today.”
“You are strong,” he scoots a little closer, leaning down until he is able to catch her gaze, “But you also need to take some time off for yourself.”
“Tomorrow,” she nods, and this time, doesn’t bother with wiping her tears, “I’ll go home tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he nods, smiling reassuringly, “I’m here, I know your pain, I understand you. Robby does too, but he is a pain in the ass. I doubt you’d like to talk to him about this.”
“Yeah, no, I'll pass on that,” she cackles, beaming at him, “Thank you… Jack. I didn’t know I needed this.”
“Anytime.”
He wishes he could bottle her smile and hang it from his dog tags like he used to do with Darya’s wedding ring. Or take a picture of her face shining under the sunlight as she looks at him. He wishes he could do more than just a few words, maybe a hug, a caress to calm her nerves, to stand next to her for moral support, and watch her do whatever she wants to do.
“Let me take you to the hospital.” He says, standing up and brushing the dirt off his pants, extending his hand to her, “It’s the least I can do.”
“I don’t want to bother you–”
“You’re not bothering me at all, never say that again,” he shakes his head, wiggling his fingers at her, “Come on, I’ll drive you there, unless you want to stop somewhere–”
“No, I already have everything I need in my backpack,” she places her hand in his, letting him pull her body up with ease, steadying her with his hand on her arm when she stumbles over her step a little. She grabs her bag and smiles at him, “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he says, shaking his head slightly, letting go of her arm so he doesn’t make her uncomfortable, taking the lead to the path that ends with the exit, waiting for her to join him as she walks through the grass.
He tries to look away, not really, because who would want to miss the way a curly hair falls on Samira’s forehead as she jumps over the edge of the field to walk on the cement path, especially with the sun highlighting her skin?
“You were off today?” She asks as they start walking side by side, “Also… I wish I knew that you were here; I could have kept you company.”
“Don’t worry about it, I don’t come here anymore, once a year is enough," he says, pushing his fists into the pockets of his jacket, “It’s not that I don’t want to… I don’t want to live in the past anymore.”
“Understood,” she nods, following him out of the graveyard and to his truck, watching as he unlocks and opens the door for her, “Thank you.”
“Of course,” he gives her a quick smile and shuts the door, rounding the car to get into the driver’s side, “You sure you want to go to the hospital?”
“Yes, please,” she sighs, fastening the seatbelt before she leans back against the car seat, dropping her backpack between her legs, “I’m grateful for what you did for me, Jack.”
“I’m glad I could help even just a little,” he smiles at her, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening when he notices the way she looks away from him with a shy smile, “You should take a nap until we get there.”
“You wouldn’t mind?” She asks, already yawning and positioning her head in a way that makes her feel comfortable, “I couldn’t sleep well last night.”
“I know–”
“Do I look that bad?” She asks, seeming a little serious, opening her eyes to look at Jack’s confused face before his eyes widen and he shakes his head vigorously.
“No, no, fuck no,” he starts the car, “You look good, you look beautiful! I didn’t mean it like that–”
“That’s a relief,” she sighs, an easy grin forming on her lips, “I’ll take you up on the offer, thank you again for today.”
“Anytime.”
With that, he drives the car out of the area with care, glancing between the mirrors and Samira as her eyelids flutter shut, her lips parting as she breathes through her mouth.
The ride is silent except for the police scanner’s soft sound filling the air between them. He keeps his eyes on the road, checking on her a few times as he goes through the familiar streets of Pittsburgh until he arrives at the ambulance bay.
“Hey, we’re here,” Jack gently nudges her, making sure she’s not startled awake, sighing in relief when she slowly opens her eyes and yawns, “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
“Hi,” she scratches the back of her neck, grabs her backpack, unbuckles her belt, and looks at Jack, “Thank you, I know you probably didn’t want to see this place today, but I appreciate it.”
“You’re safe and well, that’s all that matters, no need to thank me,” he shrugs, watching her closely as she nods a few times before she opens the door, jumping off the truck before she turns back to him, “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
•
Life has a funny way of reopening the wounds Samira has been trying to close for years. The patient was unstable, sure, the entire team worked on keeping the guy alive, and they had a pulse for about a minute before he crashed again.
That was all until it wasn’t. There came his thirteen-year-old daughter, tear-streaked and puffy face while she tried not to shake so hard as she watched Samira and Robby working on her father.
It felt like watching her life from a third point of view. The grief that the poor girl felt, the sudden loss of someone she loved dearly, but this time, he wasn’t ignored for who he was; the guy received the best care he could possibly get, yet nature was ready to take him.
Samira tries to breathe, she really does, but she is a wreck. Her breaths are too short, and her palms are itching, the staff lounge is spinning around her head, and the beads of sweat are gathering at her hairline.
She braces herself with her hand on the wall while the other rubs her neck, but her efforts are in vain. She heaves as the door swings open, and Jack rushes into the room with worry written all over his face.
“Samira?” She pushes herself off the wall, seeking solace in his arms as he grabs her with ease, cupping her face in his hand as he gently leads her to the chair next to their feet, “I have you, I have you.”
Samira gasps for air, sitting down while her hands shake uncontrollably. Jack falls on his knees in front of her, still not letting go of her cheek as he tries to calm her down slowly.
“Samira, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?” He asks, wiping the tear that falls from her long lashes, sighing when she nods, “Good, good, can you tell me five things you can see?”
“I-I…” she takes a deep breath, her glistening eyes finally meeting his, “You,” she blinks rapidly as a fresh batch of tears pour down her cheeks, looking around the staff lounge in haste, “Table, chair–” stuttering as she tries her hardest to do what he asks, “Coffee maker, posters.”
“You did great, I need you to take a deep breath for me,” he nods at her, caressing her cheek gently as she clutches his hand that is resting on her thigh, “Tell me four things you can hear.”
“Shouting, coffee maker,” she takes a deep breath when he leans a bit closer so he can look into her eyes, “My voice, AC.”
“Good job,” he wants to kiss her forehead, but he can’t, not now at least, he wants to do it on her terms without pushing her in the moment she needs him the most. So he rests his forehead against her, never taking his eyes off her while she finally breathes better and squeezes her eyes shut, “You’re okay, Samira. I’m here, I have you.”
“I’m sorry, I’m usually–”
“I know, that’s why Robby called me,” he pulls back a little, tilting her head upward so he meets his gaze, deep brown eyes that could rock his world entirely finally blinking in regularly and not out of anxiety, “Go to my place, it’s not home, and I’ll be there when you wake up, okay?”
“I can’t go to your place, Doctor Abbot,” Samira wipes the remains of her tears, sighing and looking down at Jack, who is still kneeling in front of her, “That’d be awfully intrusive.”
“Don’t make me do something stupid, Samira.”
“Are you threatening me?” She huffs out in disbelief, biting the inside of her cheek when Jack gives her a ‘I mean if I have to’ look with a raised eyebrow. “No, Dr. Abbot–”
“Samira,” she bites the inside of her cheek when he says her name sternly, “Get your stuff, I’m walking you to my place.”
“I don’t want to bother you,” she sighs, but she knows undoubtedly he has already won the argument. “Thank you.”
“I’m not even there to be bothered, darling–” Jack freezes on the spot when he hears the pet name drop from his lips, running a hand down his jaw before he looks at her with a bashful smirk, “Sorry about that.”
“I still have an hour left from my shift–”
“Robby cleared you already. Get your stuff, we’re leaving,” he says, shaking his head when she opens her mouth to protest, but stops when she sees the deadly glare Jack gives her. She throws up her hands in defeat and gets up slowly, Jack following closely as she makes her way to the door.
“Fine, fine, you men.”
“Yes, the men who are worried about you.” He rolls his eyes at her and opens the door for her, waiting until she is out before he goes to the Central, meeting Robby and Dana there while Samira goes to her locker and pulls out her stuff.
“I’ll be back in ten,” Jack tells them, tapping his foot anxiously on the floor as he waits for Samira to gather her things, relaxing instantly when she walks out with the same outfit he saw her in this morning, “Don’t have too much fun without me.”
“Don’t worry, we save you the best cases,” Robby nods, clapping Jack on the shoulder, his eyes softening when he notices Samira making her way toward them, “Take care, alright?”
“I will. Thank you, Robby,” she replies, nodding and giving him a small smile when he grins at her broadly, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, kid,” Dana waves goodbye to her.
The pair moves together through the floor with Jack following Samira closely as they maneuver around the people in the triage, and she can already feel the guilt bottling up in her. She is leaving her shift already because she was so lost in her head she couldn’t function–
“Don’t,” Jack guides her upstairs to the pavement, where they will be taking their walk towards his house with his hand on the lower part of her back.
“Don’t what?” She asks, swinging her backpack over her shoulder, feeling the heat of his palm on her skin even through the layers of her clothes, “I’m not doing anything.”
“Yes, you are,” he nods, finally taking off his hand and pushing it into his pockets as they begin to walk side by side, “I’m here because I want to be. Everyone loves to get the fuck out of this place sooner than their shift if they can, except for you, it seems.”
“It’s because I have a responsibility, and dumping them on someone else is cruel–”
“Cruel is when you don’t put yourself first, Samira.” his tone is dead serious, and it makes her oddly calm. Someone is looking after her without tiring themselves to death — unlike Maa, who loves Samira so dearly she has been putting her daughter first for many, many years, and has neglected herself.
“Why did Robby call you?” It’s a simple question, maybe to change the subject, maybe not, but it has to be asked. There is a complex process of emotions between her and Robby. They are two sides of the same coin; guilt trapped by their own minds, driven by kindness and compassion, yet he goes hard on her sometimes. Like a father pushing his only daughter to be better.
“He was worried.”
“That’s it?” She snorts, covering her mouth when the ungodly sound leaves her lips, “Sorry…”
“Yeah, that’s it. To be honest, it kinda took me off guard too.” Jack shrugs, pointing at the alley they need to take the turn, “He isn’t that bad, you know. Yeah, who isn’t fucked in the head – even though he is more fucked than any of us – but he knew the case would… yeah.”
“That’s unlike him,” she says, “Sometimes I can’t read him. He is… so different nowadays.”
“Pittfest fucked us all over real bad,” Jack sighs, putting his hand on her waist again before he unlocks the door to his house, “After you.”
“Thank you,” she smiles softly, taking off her shoes before she bends down to grab them and put them silently behind the door when he closes it, “Still… he is a dick to me more than anyone else.”
“He is a fucking dick in general,” he laughs quietly when she chuckles and nods, “But you’re the smartest person he knows, that takes him off guard sometimes.”
“What?” She asks, her brows twisting in a confused frown as she watches him take off his shoes and put on an indoor pair before he walks through the hallway and into the TV room.
“This is where you can have a drink, watch some shitty romcom,” he starts, pointing at the doors at the end of the hall, “My bedroom and a guest bedroom. You can wear whatever you want. Clean shirts, shorts, anything, they’re all in the top two drawers in front of my bed. Sorry, no women’s clothing ‘cause I donated all of Darya’s stuff.”
“I’m not gonna wear your clothes, Jack,” she replies, moving to stand in front of him, doing something even she didn’t think she’d do – let alone Jack; she wraps her arms around his middle and hugs him tightly, “Thank you.”
He is shocked. There is something so surreal about Samira that pulls Jack into her orbit like a magnet. She is so soft and dreamy that he can’t help but melt in the hug, wrapping his arms around her waist, praying to the god, nature, or whatever source there is for her not to notice his shaky hands.
“Anything for you,” he means it with his whole fucking chest. Anything for her, he would do anything. He’d move mountains for her, make the moon shine brighter just to see her smile, hell, he would even fight Robby like a mad animal in The Pitt if she asks him.
“I gotta go– oh, and one more thing! There’s food in the fridge if you wanna eat, alright? Make yourself at home, take whichever bed you want.”
“I don’t know how to thank you, Jack,” she pulls away enough to look into his eyes, lips parting as his stare burns all over her face with such a deep devotion.
“You don’t need to thank me, but we can compromise later,” he smiles and runs a hand over her head before he walks away toward the door, “Call me if you need anything.”
“Will do, thanks.”
•
Jack tries his best to keep the noises to a bare minimum when he opens the door slowly. He thinks she might be sleeping, and he desperately hopes she is because she needs it; she needs to rest and take care of herself. If he has to force her to do so, he will.
“Jack?”
He stops when he notices her walking out of his bedroom in one of his gray t-shirts and boxer shorts, the fabric standing loose around her thighs as she pads barefoot inside the TV room.
“Did I wake you up? I’m sorry…” he hangs his coat in the hallway, already changed into his comfortable indoor shoes. He tries not to look, he really fucking does. He has mustered all the courage to not let his gaze wander over the way her skin shines under the dim light that seeps through the curtains, but he can’t.
He is a weak man when it comes to Samira Mohan.
“No, I’m used to waking up this early,” she replies, locking her fingers in front of her body as she rocks on the balls of her feet, “Thank you, Jack. I didn’t want to leave without thanking you first.”
“You don’t have to,” he walks toward her slowly, his steps echoing in the house, “I’m glad you feel better.”
“I kind of do,” she waits with bated breath for him to get closer, he notices it in the way her eyes roam around his face, only ever going down to his chest and never lowering out of respect, “I… I wouldn’t be able to make it past the night if you didn’t come to the hospital to get me.”
“How are you going to thank me, darling?” He swallows harshly as he stands in front of her, looking down into her big eyes, watching closely as her pupils dilate when he leans forward a little.
“Like… this…” she stands on her toes to press a quick kiss on his lips, eyelids opening after she drops her weight back on her feet, watching as Jack’s eyes flutter shut, lips parted in shock, “I’m so–”
She doesn’t have time to apologize for stepping over his boundaries, which Jack is really grateful for because he stops her by crashing his lips to hers, swallowing the surprised gasp, his thick fingers finding home on her hips.
He is gentle yet firm with how he kisses her. He’s been wanting to do this for so fucking long, and he will cherish it for as long as he has. Jack kisses her with a passion he has bottled up for two years now, wrapping an arm around her waist as he pushes his body against her.
She pulls back to gasp for air, her hands moving to cup the back of his neck as he finally kisses her forehead, letting his lips rest there as she tries to regulate her breathing.
“Bedroom?” She asks with a daring smile, her palms moving up and down his shoulders to his arms, “If you are too tired, I understand–”
“You let your head run away with so much nonsense a lot, I have to change that,” he playfully pinches her waist before he bends his knees and grabs the back of Samira’s thighs, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder with ease, “For the next time, I’m never tired when it comes to you.”
“Jack! Your leg!” She shrieks, letting her head hang against his back, her curly hair swinging with each step he takes towards his room, “Put me down!”
“Don’t wiggle!” He chuckles and slowly lowers her on his mattress, straightening his back as his eyes glide over her form, hands caressing the skin of her thighs, “If you want to, we can stop–”
“Don’t stop,” she shakes her head, pulling him on top of her so she can capture his lips in a messy kiss, sighing into his mouth when he lets his hands wander under her shirt, caressing her sides while they move in sync.
“Take this off for me,” he mumbles against her lips, detaching himself from her for a second so she can pull the t-shirt off her head, throwing the fabric somewhere on the floor, exposing her naked breast to the chill air of the room. Jack lets out a quiet ‘sigh’ as his eyes fall upon her hardened nipples before he leans down to lick a stripe from her sternum to the fat of her breast, pulling the bud in his mouth with a soft suckling that makes Samira’s mind clear off any thoughts.
Jack carries on, sucking and nibbling around her dark nipples while he makes home between her thighs, pressing his crotch against hers while his other hand goes to her other tit, squeezing the perky flesh in his large palm.
“More, please.” She doesn’t need to beg him because he would listen on command like a dog. He is ashamed to compare himself like this, but for her, he would follow her around like a lost puppy and speed after every single thing she orders.
He trails his kisses down her stomach to the edge of the shorts she is wearing. With one last nod from her, he pulls them down, kissing her navel as he does so, before dropping them carelessly.
Jack doesn’t break eye contact as he grabs Samira’s thighs and places them over his shoulders, kissing and biting the flesh of her inner thigh while he inches closer to where she needs him the most, finally, finally pressing a kiss to her mound, making her body twitch in anticipation.
He gets to work quickly; the last thing he wants is for her mind to wander to her damaging thoughts about today’s mark on the calendar. He stares at her face; eyebrows furrowed, lips parted and swollen from his kisses, chest heaving with each breath as she waits for him to do something.
Licking a fat stripe of her wetness, Jack groans at the taste, his fingers tightening around her thighs as he starts eating her out like she is the last meal he is ever going to have. Fine by him, he’d starve to death as a happy man.
He sucks on her clit vigorously, wrapping his pink lips around the bundle of nerves, making her back arch in pleasure as soon as he finds the right pressure and angle. Samira is putty in his hands, melting under his sweet movements on her cunt as he brings her closer to her high.
He knows she is too much in her head sometimes, so he goes faster to prevent that, making sure she is relaxed and moaning for him as long as he gets to be between her thighs. She doesn’t seem to object; in fact, she throws her head back, fingers tugging at the roots of Jack’s hair as he finally pushes his tongue in, fucking her with the skilled muscles until her legs begin to shake around his head, her fingers pulling a bit rougher, and her moans turning into high-pitched whines.
She comes on his tongue for the first time, and he drinks her juices up with such delight she nearly blacks out from all the stimulation. She lets go of his hair, her body resting limp on the mattress as she tries to catch her breath while he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Fuck, Jack…”
“I know, darling, I know.” he kisses her thigh one last time before he straightens his back, grabs the hem of his scrub top, and pulls it off fast, wiping the seat off his body with the fabric before he drops it on the pile clothes on the floor, soon to be followed by his undershirt, cargo pants and underwear. His comfort shoes are next, kicking them off with care before he crawls on top of her again.
“Do you want me to–”
“No, I like looking at you like this,” he cages her under him with an arm on top of her head, protecting her from hitting the headboard while the other moves to his aching cock, slowly stroking himself before he guides the leaking tip to her entrance, “You can slap and kick me if you want right now if you don’t feel like–”
“Just love me,” She wraps her arms around his shoulders, molding their lips together as he slowly pushes himself inside, making her breath stuck in her throat. He is big, probably bigger than anything she has ever experienced, but it feels so good to be filled like this, consumed entirely by his weight and grounded by his adoration.
“Fuck, ‘mira–” he grunts against her lips, his other hand going to her hips as he slowly pulls his cock out a little before pushing back in swiftly, dropping his forehead on top of hers as he begins to pick up his pace, “You feel so good.”
Of course, she feels good. There is no way, no possibility in Jack’s mind that Samira Mohan isn’t good at something. She is an outstanding doctor, a much better person, and the most intelligent woman alive. She is everything and all in his universe.
So he makes love to her because that is the only way he knows how to worship her. He wishes he could do more, maybe following the trail of the bead of sweat that falls from her forehead on her shoulder, somehow, and trickles down her arm, passing a mole he should kiss. Yeah, he could kiss her moles. That’d be a great start after he makes her come again.
They breathe each other’s exhale, their bodies moving faster, rougher, and more desperate together. Both of them are close to their orgasm, but it is Samira who breaks first, gushing around Jack’s cock as he gives her the pleasure she has never experienced before.
He isn’t too far behind either, pulling out with a groan before he strokes himself once, twice, and by the third time, he comes over her stomach, painting her belly with his cum before he drops forward, keeping his weight off her body with his forearms next to her head.
“I don’t want to say this, but I think I should go home,” she says softly, threading her fingers through his greying hair, “Not because I regret this, but I do need to get to my mom. Today is the day.”
“I know, darling,” he kisses her nose before pecking her lips, “I’ll take you there myself.”
“You don’t have to,” she whispers as he moves away slowly, walking inside his en-suite bathroom and coming back with a clean rag to clean up his mess, “I can Uber–”
“Nope, not happening,” he pulls her into a sitting position, “You’re stuck with me now, and that’d be reckless to let you go alone when you have me to drive you around the town.”
“Thank you,” she smiles and captures his lips in a quick kiss, followed by another from him, this time.
“No need to thank me.”
•
“I’m putting my trust in you.”
“You’re doing the right thing–”
“Oh, Samira, baby!” Maa opens the door, enveloping her in a tight hug, “I was worried you didn’t come home last night.”
“I texted you, Maa.” Samira hugs her mom back just as tightly, the sadness creeping back inside her slowly, “I was safe and sound.”
“Well, I’m glad,” Maa kisses her head, her lips grazing her hairline before she noticesJack standing in the doorframe with a bouquet of lilies, “Thank you for bringing her home.”
“Of course, Mrs. Mohan,” he nods, offering the flowers to her with an awkward smile, “These are for you, and I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Mr…?”
“Jack Abbot–”
“Oh, you work with my daughter,” Samira gulps when Maa turns around to look at her with a curious glint in her eyes, “I’ve heard a few things about you, wish my husband were here to finally meet you.”
“Maa, please, not today–”
“Would you like to join us for the day?”
This catches Samira off guard; all her life, she thought Maa would be harsh about meeting the boys she had dated, but now, seeing her a bit more free and smiling more compared to previous years on such a day, maybe she has been thinking wrong the whole time.
“I don’t want to intrude–”
“I think Baba would’ve liked it if you were here with us.”
Tags: short and sweet, mohabbot, mostly jack’s pov, angst, flirting, insecure jack, disgustingly in love jack, samira took the fellowship opportunity in NJ, optimistic ending
Author’s Note: my first mohabbot monday!! i loved writing this. stay mad, stay mystified.
–
When he rounds the corner to get to the lockers, Jack doesn’t think he’s ever felt so nervous before.
Several combat tours in the Middle East, a lower-leg amputation, and countless deaths under his care as lead night shift attending– yet this is what he’s the most afraid of.
It’s pathetic, he thinks.
“Heard today was your last shift. Not working a double?” he croaks as Samira shuts her locker with a sort of finality. His sudden appearance startles her a bit. They’re usually two ships passing in the night, save for the occasional double-shift.
Samira shakes her head with a soft smile. She’s got her backpack slung over her shoulder and already let her hair down too, a rare sight for Jack, since he’s never really seen her outside of work. “No, not tonight.”
“Bummer. Shen was gonna start a new betting pool for our next MCI.”
“That’s a little morbid.”
“Think I’ll bet forty on ‘chemical spill.’”
“Good choice.”
They’ve had quiet conversations like this many times before, but neither of them can ignore the overwhelming feeling of goodbye that comes with this one. Jack just hopes that Samira cares half as much as he does.
Whether he knew it or not, Jack liked her from the start. Never once did he feed into the critiques of his colleagues about slo-mo. In fact, he never thought he’d ever meet anyone that absolutely thrives in the chaos of the ED in that way that he does– not until wildly intelligent, unbelievably pretty Dr. Mohan came around– so what type of man would he be to dim her light in that way?
Jack doesn’t realize that he’s been staring silently until Samira clears her throat. “Well, it’s been–”
“Let me walk you out.”
She stares blankly up at him, chapped lips parted ever so slightly. Wordlessly, she nods, initiating the first step before Jack follows.
“So, New Jersey’s really it for you?” He mutters.
“I think so, yeah. Lease is up on Friday, so it’s New Jersey or nowhere.” Samira tiredly grins to herself, and Jack shamelessly soaks up that look on her face like it’s the last time he’ll ever see it. If he fucks this up, there’s a chance that it may be.
“”Least it’s not Philly,” he teases. “You ever taken a self-defense class before? I know a guy in Trenton that could–”
“Dr. Abbot, I’ll–”
“Jack.” he corrects.
“Jack,” she tilts her head, giving him that look that never fails to make his heart flutter a little. They’re both in the ambulance bay now, lingering by the dying shrubbery that Dana used to toss her cigarette-butts in before she quit smoking. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”
He breathes. Pauses. “I know.”
He remembers telling Robby once, she’s the future. Maybe just not his future.
Jack knows that if he doesn’t ask now, she’ll pivot on her heels, never to be seen again. But now, he’s stalling. The same man who never hesitates to throw himself in the line of fire to drag a wounded brother across a combat zone, the same man who doesn’t bat an eye when he gets chastised by administration for his lack of standard of care, is terrified of what he’s about to do.
“Dinner,” he chokes out before his chest tightens up too much.
“Huh?” Samira’s eyes squint with confusion.
“Let me take you out to dinner before you leave. Please.”
She stares at him with a blank expression again, and he thinks for a moment that he’s completely fucked up. That she’ll scurry back into the ED with disgust, or worse— fear— in her eyes, report him to HR, and make one final escape through chairs.
But to his relief, she smiles.
“I’d like that.”
Jack can’t help the dumb grin that appears on his face. “Yeah?” he says with a sigh and a nervous laugh.
“Yeah. It’d be nice to see you somewhere outside of work that isn’t a park bench.” Samira’s eyes seem to sparkle, and a selfish part of Jack thinks that sparkle is because of him. He’d like it to be, anyway.
He’s too overjoyed to respond with a teasing quip. “I’ll uh– I’ll give you a call after my shift.”
