#slowmo-md

[pittresilience]

continued from here {x}

The tablet tucked beneath his arm never makes it back to the nurses' station. One second, Jack is halfway through reviewing lab results as he heads through the north hall, mentally counting down the last hour of his shift. The next, the light spilling from Room 14 catches something dark across the tile just inside the doorway. Blood. Too much of it. His stomach drops before his brain catches up, his pace breaking into a run as he shoves through the door.

"Sam?" The name leaves him before he can stop it. He's on the floor beside her in an instant, the tablet forgotten somewhere behind him. One hand slips beneath her shoulder while the other clamps hard over the wound at her right side, blood immediately soaking through his fingers. "Samira." His voice is steady because it has to be. "Hey... stay with me." Two fingers press against her carotid as his eyes race over the injury, his mind assembling the picture faster than he can think it. Right abdomen. Significant blood loss. Unconscious. She'd been alone. Whoever did this could still be in the building.

Then another thought lands. Not again.

It isn't a sentence so much as a feeling. A sickening weight that settles behind his ribs and steals the air from his lungs. For the briefest instant, blood on hospital tile isn't blood on hospital tile anymore. It's another floor. Another person he loved. Another moment where he'd arrived too late, where every ounce of training and every frantic intervention still hadn't been enough. The guilt he'd spent years burying surges to the surface with brutal force, clawing at him before he shoves it back down. He can't let himself go there. Not now. If he does, she'll die.

His head snaps toward the hallway. "Staff assist! North Fourteen!" The command tears from him, sharp enough to echo down the corridor. "Stab wound! Trauma stretcher now! Massive transfusion protocol! Get trauma surgery down here!"

Footsteps thunder toward the room, but they sound impossibly far away. Jack barely registers them. All he can feel is the warmth of her blood soaking through his glove, all he can hear is the frantic pulse pounding in his own ears. His hand presses harder against the wound, refusing to give up even a millimeter.

Not her.

The thought repeats itself over and over, relentless. He'd spent years convincing himself that loving someone only gave fate another target. Samira had somehow slipped past every wall he'd built anyway, quietly becoming the one person he looked for at the beginning and end of every shift. The one person he couldn't afford to lose.

"Come on, Sam," he says, low enough that only she could have heard him if she were conscious. His voice nearly catches, but he forces it steady again. "Stay with me."

By the time the rest of the team floods into the room, the attending's mask is back in place. Orders come quickly, calmly, each one precise. No one would know that beneath the composure, panic is threatening to tear him apart. He refuses to let history repeat itself. He refuses to stand over another person he loves and wonder, for the rest of his life, what he could have done differently.

@slowmo-md

[pittresilience]

@slowmo-md gets a plotted starter

A month into the transfer, and Jack has somehow become everybody's favorite resident. The nurses wave him over when they need a hand. Consultants take his calls without immediately sounding annoyed. Patients leave their rooms smiling even when he's delivering bad news. He's always been good with people—good at making conversations feel easy, good at putting others at ease. Most days, he can talk to just about anyone without thinking twice about it.

Samira Mohan is apparently the exception. Not because she intimidates him. At least, that's what he tells himself.

The department has finally settled into one of those rare lulls between disasters when Jack spots her across the nurses' station. He's supposed to be finishing his notes. Instead, he finds himself heading in her direction with a coffee in hand and a chart tucked under his arm as a half-hearted excuse.

"You know," he says as he reaches the desk, leaning one hip against the counter, "I've been here a month now, and I'm starting to think I've been lied to."

A faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.

"Everybody keeps talking about this mysterious thing called a life outside the hospital." He gestures vaguely with his coffee. "I've seen evidence that most of the staff possesses one. Friends. Hobbies. Apartments. Some of them even claim to sleep." His gaze settles on her for a moment.

"I haven't found any proof that applies to you yet." The smile lingers, easy and warm rather than challenging.

"Which is a shame," he adds. "Because at this point you've become kind of a mystery, and it's starting to bother me."

[pittresilience]

@slowmo-md liked for a starter

The rooftop air bites cold against his skin, sharp enough to keep him moving. Jack paces near the edge with restless energy, one hand dragged repeatedly through his hair while the city glows far below in restless streaks of light. He’s been up here long enough for his coffee to go cold somewhere behind him on the ledge, long enough to replay the conversation in his head so many times the words barely sound real anymore.

The rooftop door finally creaks open behind him. Jack turns immediately at the sound, and the second he sees Samira step out onto the roof, whatever carefully rehearsed version of this conversation he had planned disappears completely. He stops pacing outright, breath catching hard enough to make his next words come rough around the edges.

“I played it safe instead of chasing after you to say stay,” he says immediately, like if he hesitates now he’ll lose the nerve entirely. His eyes stay locked on hers, tired and honest in a way he usually avoids at all costs. “But that’s not what I want.” A humorless breath escapes him as he shakes his head once, frustrated more with himself than anything else.

Jack swallows hard before continuing quieter, more vulnerable now that the words are already out there. “I know I shouldn’t, and I know this is complicated and probably a terrible idea, but I don’t care anymore. I want you, Samira."

[pittresilience]

@slowmo-md liked for a starter

Jack stands in the kitchen with flour dusted across the front of his black t-shirt and one forearm, focused intently on sliding the pizza peel beneath the margherita like the process requires surgical precision. The apartment smells like fresh basil, garlic, and blistering dough, warm enough now from the oven that the windows have started fogging faintly around the edges. Music hums quietly from his phone on the counter while he works, shoulders finally loose for what might be the first time all week.

“You laugh at my technique and you’re not getting any,” he warns dryly the second he catches Samira watching him from the doorway. There’s no real threat behind it though, especially not when the corner of his mouth immediately twitches upward afterward. He glances over briefly, eyes softer than the teasing tone suggests. “And before you say it—yes, making the dough from scratch was necessary.” A beat passes. “Store bought dough tastes like disappointment.”

[pittresilience]

continued from here {x}

Jack glances over at the sound of her voice, the shift immediate but not subtle this time. There’s recognition first, quick and automatic, but it doesn’t stop there. His gaze lingers a second longer than it should, taking her in properly, and something in his expression flickers. It’s brief, controlled, but there. She looks… different. Not really. Just not in scrubs, not half buried under a shift and fluorescent lights. It catches him off guard enough that he forgets to answer right away.

“Yeah,” he mutters finally, a little slower than before, one corner of his mouth pulling slightly as he drags his attention back where it belongs. “Pretty sure that gets you escorted out.” A faint huff follows, but there’s less edge to it now. “Might still be worth it.”

He shifts his weight against the column, angling toward her a little more fully this time. The whiskey glass lifts in a small, absent motion, but his focus doesn’t drift back to the room like it had been. It stays on her, steadier now, like he’s still adjusting to the change in context.

“McKay didn’t rope me in,” Jack adds after a second, voice settling back into something easier. “Gloria needed bodies in suits. Guess I drew the short straw.” His brow lifts faintly, a hint of dry amusement slipping in. “Robby’s smarter than me. He probably found a way out of it.”

His gaze flicks over her again, not as openly this time, but not exactly subtle either. The green dress, the way she’s loosened up now that she’s out of the crowd, the shift in her posture now that she can breathe. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You clean up…” he starts, then pauses, like he’s deciding how much to say, before finishing it a little more carefully, “different.” There’s a beat, then his mouth twitches faintly, like he’s aware of it.

“Good different,” he adds, quieter. He takes another slow sip, more for something to do with his hands than anything else, then nods slightly toward the ballroom.

“And yeah,” Jack continues, tone dropping just enough to keep it between them, “you look about five minutes from making a run for it.” A small pause, his eyes settling back on hers. “So what’s the plan? Subtle exit… or we causing a scene?”

@slowmo-md

[thelongrotation]

@slowmo-md liked for a starter

A chart is tucked beneath John's arm as he rounds the corner toward the nurses' station, his attention split between the tracking board and the notes he'd just finished updating on his tablet. He nearly walks past before realizing another physician has stopped beside him, prompting him to glance up with an apologetic smile. "Sorry." His eyes flick to the badge clipped to her scrub top. "Dr. Mohan?" He shifts the tablet against his hip and offers a hand. "John Carter. I don't think we've officially met yet." His gaze drifts toward the board for a moment before returning to her. "Looks like we somehow keep working the same shift without actually crossing paths."

[pittresilience]

@slowmo-md liked for a starter

The kettle clicks off with a soft snap, breaking the quiet that has settled over the house. Jack reaches for it, then catches himself, switching hands when the cast on his left wrist bumps awkwardly against the handle. It takes a little longer than it normally would, but eventually two mugs sit side by side on the counter, steam curling lazily toward the ceiling. The last few days have slipped together in a haze of medication, interrupted naps, and the persistent ache behind his eyes that never seems to disappear completely. He sleeps more than he's awake now, often waking unsure whether it's morning or afternoon, only to find Samira nearby with another glass of water, another reminder to eat, another quiet reassurance that he's exactly where he needs to be. Each time he opens his eyes, the house feels a little less unfamiliar, though he still couldn't say why being here feels so instinctively safe.

His hand lingers on the second mug. Something about it makes him hesitate. It's the same feeling he's been chasing since the accident—like standing on the edge of a memory he can't quite reach. He waits for it anyway, hoping this time something will click. It doesn't. The moment passes, leaving behind only the dull frustration that's become far too familiar.

The soft sound of footsteps draws his attention. A tired smile finds him before he has a chance to think about it, and he lifts the untouched mug in a small, almost apologetic gesture.

"Morning." His eyes drift back to the coffee. "I got this far... and then I realized I don't know how you take it."

He falls quiet for a second.

"I feel like I should."

[alwaysxinxtrouble]

The orthopedic workroom door swings open just long enough for Park to step inside, tablet tucked beneath one arm as he scans the room with the same detached efficiency he brings to every consult. His eyes land on Samira, lingering for half a second before he lets out the faintest hum. "Well," he says dryly, "either the ED finally got quiet... or you are hiding from someone." He drops into the chair across from her without waiting for an invitation, setting the tablet on the desk before leaning back with easy confidence. "Which is it?"

@slowmo-md