Work Text:
9:53 P.M.
If Abbot is going to have some wrong-side-of-the-guard-rail time he has to climb all the stairs first, it’s a rule of his. He could breathe in the ambulance bay or the courtyard, sure, but the air just is not as fresh on the safe side of the rail. There’s no one who’s been up and down these stairs as much as him.
He’s not even certain why he’s going. This has been the best day at work he’s had in a long time. He’s a terrible person.
She’s lacing up her sneakers balancing on the shallow windowsill when his eyes trip over her hair.
There are a lot of windows at the hospital. Something about improved healing and natural light, joy connecting to sunlight, and the budget disconnecting from electricity. But the sills are not meant for sitting - they’re too high and too narrow, the kind of spot you can make your own only if you really want it. She hasn’t noticed him yet. He could turn right around or hurry past.
"You did good today, Dr. Mohan," he says on the exhale. When she looks up and locks eyes, he breathes just fine.
“We all did our best with what we had.” She’s got a derisive edge in her voice, the punctuation of ‘sir’ unspoken, barely. Fuck this day. The whole hospital has arrived at a darker place, the thready pulse of exhaustion running through them all.
So, she didn’t like his joke about the risk, or she didn’t think it was funny or a joke at all. He’s finally maxed out the successes pulled out of his bottomless backpack, six hours of sleep, and expressionless humor. Time to shift gears, come down from the MASH unit protocol.
"That’s the name of the game, yeah, but you found a win. You were the resident I wanted with me. You knew what you were doing and what you didn't know, you learned. All in the midst of fucking chaos, coming off of a full shift with who knows what else.” His words march out in a steady rhythm, now that there’s time to breathe and even elaborate. “You were a good doctor today.”
"Really?" Her small smile might be more dangerous to him than that wide grin from before.
"Don't push it, Doctor."
He unfolds his arms and paces, slow, across the stairwell space they’re sharing. "Why haven’t I heard more about you? You’re an R3, you should be the talk of the hospital.”
“Ah.” She breaks eye contact, reaching down to even the loops of her already-even laces. “If anything, you would’ve heard my nickname. Most stories about me end up tied to that.”
“Do I wanna know?” Pretty doctors often got bullshit like Barbie or Bambi. He met a Duchess once, slugging through a hellish day in the field. She had a fast Fig 8 stitch and swore better than any sailor.
“I’m Slo-Mo?” She offers with a searching tone, like it should ring some bells. It definitely rings one.
“Slo-Mo? Oh man, I’d forgotten about that. Didn’t realize it stuck.”
“Stuck? It was you?”
“Couple years ago Robby was grumbling about his new batch of students - I was teasing him more than you.” She watches him flips out a sharpie, spinning it with easy speed. “Dana thought it was funny, got a decent laugh. Had no idea it spread from there.”
“I’d always assumed it was Langdon and Collins, high off of their sophomore superiority streak. Some snark from people who knew my name at the time. Slo-Mo, Mo-han.”
He tilts his head, holding her eyes firmly. “I know your name.”
“I know your name too. And I knew it before today.” She lets her undercurrent of frustration simmer above the surface. He’s not a timid student or an intimidating teacher, she can have a flash moment to be almost an asshole and he’ll disappear back to the night shift without any important consequences.
“Samira.”
Shit. Maybe it’s that she didn’t think about what her name would sound like coming out of his mouth. More than just making a point. Samira, said like the shortest poem.
Dr. Jack Abbot knows her first name. Maybe she shouldn’t have assumed he didn’t know, even if this is their first real conversation in the years she’s been here and he’s not her shift attending. He is good at what he does. Leading.
“Look.” He slants his hands back in his pocket. “I didn’t mean anything by it. You were anything but slow today, I can set that record straight.”
Work, she remembers. They’re talking about work. He’s leaning against the railing and staring at her straight on and focusing - on her, just her - with the intensity that commanded an entire ER from disarray into efficiency. It’s heady. She craves more.
“So you heard about the IO drill today?”
“Wait, you weren’t the one who put an IO into a Yellow?” He laughs, “I thought that was some med student.”
“It was! No, I- I used an IO drill to do burr holes.” She’s right back to being slightly irritated at him and it feels... It’s not anything familiar. Feels like shouting at full volume, the whole body cathartic rush of being louder than the world.
“Badass, Dr. Mohan.” He’s nearly smiling, close enough for her to notice the crinkle by his eyes. The way he’s watching her is like nothing she’s ever seen but also comfortable, from his side, like he’s spent time practicing this and it just hadn't occurred to her to catch on. “How’d I miss that?”
“It all happened too quickly to get him to Red. Undiagnosed intracranial bleed and there wasn’t time to wait for Neuro.” She remembers that lightning strike, suddenly taking charge and knowing it wasn’t worth any hesitation. “I’d read a case report and I was the most senior resident in earshot, so. Did the best with what we had?”
“Journal of Emergency Medicine,” he nods approvingly. “I want to say, ‘21?”
“2022,” She says, a little shocked.
“Right, right. Good outcome, went home neurologically intact. I keep up okay, but honestly it’s still strange to get advancements from published journals with glossy spell-checked articles. How’s your patient?”
“I already checked, he made it out of surgery fine.” He nods again. And just like that they’ve landed somewhere comfortable. He’s slipped right into that rocking stance, at ease. She’s noticed his word count building up to a point that could almost be considered chatty.
“You do belong in the ER. That’s a sure thing, don’t let anyone tell you differently.” He leaves the 'not even Robby' unspoken. They respect the hell out of each other but if they’re working together it means the sky is falling, break-glass-in-case-of-emergency emergencies, all hands on the deck of a sinking ship. Abbot and Robby are built to take turns being the sane one. One of them gets beaten down for 12 hours then the other’s supposed to come in fresh, clearhead, well fed, well slept. Like if Atlas swapped out with a partner.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing your idea didn’t get me fired.” So she figured his joke out after all.
This is the third time she’s undone that shoelace. It can’t be about getting it perfect because she got it right the first time. She has that same thing, same as him, feeling so much calmer with movement than stillness. The lingering ink on the side of his thumb from capping and uncapping the sharpie for that soft click in a repeated rhythm.
“After a shift like this, I walk past the park to Sheehan’s so I don’t have to decide between breakfast and dinner food.” He’s braced against the railing now, facing her. “It’s good, have you been over there before?”
“That dilemma is why I stick to the day shift.”
“Right, right. I’m not saying there’s anything magic about either shift. It’s more about your turnaround afterwards. Next week I’m covering for Robby, think it’s Thursday. We’d finish at the same time if-”
“You trying to poach yourself a resident for the night shift, Dr. Abbot?”
“I was trying to buy you a coffee. Or tea, if that’s what you’d rather mull over.”
“I have my own, but thanks. It usually stays in the thermos in the locker room, Perlah brings a blend to share.” She makes a mental note to set aside enough for him to try. “Staying with the day shift is important to me. I think Robby and I finally made an inroad today. Usually I end up with a sense of mismatch, like I’m dragging too far behind for him to see where my mind’s at. Now it's like the push and pull between us has actually balanced out.”
The door below opens and all six feet something of Donahue starts bounding up the stairs. He clocks both of them on the landing, and gives a quick, “Dr. Abbot,” to him and slides a fist bump to her, “No-Mo,” without breaking stride.
He lifts both hands up in a surrender and says, “Swear that one wasn't me.”
She gives a full laugh, “No, I know exactly where that's from. Don't worry, you don't have to defend my honor.”
They both freeze for just a breath.
“I mean- no. Not like that. The new name’s all in good fun, complimentary even. Donahue just overheard... Robby and I are good now.”
“You’re the smartest one here. I said it this morning.” He says it quickly, like he wants credit for being ahead of the curve.
Her small smile should be medically regulated. Caution signs, measured doses, do not operate heavy machinery when in view. Until now there was the urgency to keep him safe from noticing her like this.
“About the night shift… I could be convinced.” She’s teasing him. She’s pulling his pigtails, and god it’s working. “Ask me again in a couple months.”
“Did I ask you anything, Dr. Mohan? I think it’s your turn now.”
“You got any nicknames, Dr. Abbot?”
“Medic.” He winces. And they were having such a good time. “I could be deep asleep or on the other side of a crowd and still respond to that in an instant.”
She takes that in with tired resignation. It’s too much to add to this day that’s dealt blow after blow. “I should go. Sorry, were you headed somewhere important?” When she hops off the window ledge, they’re suddenly much closer.
“Just getting some air. Don't need it anymore.” His voice sounds different, this close and this quiet. Rougher. “You’re not gonna hold Slo-Mo against me, are you?”
“Course not, Jack Rabbit.”
6:43 AM
It’s right before another shift when she walks past the desk, someone with a clipboard is lining up a small group of personnel. He’s there. At the front of the line with both arms crossed, leaning slightly back and forth.
“Actually, it’s just the one t at the end.” He looks away from the clipboard person, directly to her. “Like in rabbit.” The side of his mouth twitches upward.