Chapter Text
Samira smooths out the skirt of her gown before taking a last look in the mirror. The deep, wine-colored fabric drapes gently across her chest, thin straps emphasizing her delicate collarbones. Her curls cascade over her shoulders, free from the claw clip she religiously wears to work. She reaches down and adjusts the strap of her heel, her long leg peeking out of the slit in the side of her dress. Heather has repeatedly assured her the slit is perfectly appropriate for the hospital gala– and even if it was a bit risque, the thought of Robby saying a word to her about it seemed nearly impossible. She could imagine him stumbling over his words with a grimace, flustered and slightly paternal. Samira straightens, gives herself a final once-over, and calls out, “You ready?”
“Are
you
ready?” she hears from the living room. She rolls her eyes and spritzes on her perfume.
“Yes. Let’s call the Uber.” She replies lightly as she peeks her head around the door jamb. Matt rises from the sofa, wolf whistles as he scans from her face to her toes, lingering on the gentle swell of her hips, the cowl neck of the dress. “Stunning. Really, Samira. Worth the wait.” She smiles kindly as she reaches for her purse on the countertop.
“You clean up well yourself.” He does. In a charcoal tuxedo with his dark hair gelled back, he looks like a stock image for Aspiring Respectful Boyfriend.
“The car will be here in 5 minutes, we should go downstairs,” he says, extending an arm for Samira to loop her own through. She follows him, locking the door behind her and pressing the elevator button. “You really do look gorgeous,” he says as the doors slide shut.
_
After PittFest, Cassie’s words echoed in her head. This job can’t be your life, Samira . Whether out of spite or embarrassment, she downloaded a dating app and somewhat reluctantly started swiping. She’s not sure if she was acting despite Dr. McKay or herself, but since she is unable to put less than 100% into anything, she started accepting invitations for coffee dates or drinks after work.
Samira hasn’t found anyone who matches her passion for their field, but she knows she’s an anomaly. Not everyone wants to spend their free time reading medical journals or picking up extra shifts. Not everyone knows the adrenaline rush of figuring out what’s ailing a patient, or finding a case study from South Korea that saves someone’s life. Even among her coworkers, she’s only found that hunger and drive in a couple of others– Dr. Santos definitely has the drive (even if she could work on her bedside manner), and Dr. Abbot seems to be the only other person who picks up as many extra shifts as her. Over the past few months, they’ve spent several shifts side-by-side, and it’s nice to feel like someone believes in her. She knows Robby does at his core, but the confidence Dr. Abbot has in her has helped her flourish.
He’s started bringing old medical journals to review with her during slow shifts. In between cases, they discuss pulmonary embolisms and the time he had to trache a guy in the field with a metal straw. On a particularly quiet evening (though they refused to acknowledge the lack of cases, superstition winning out), they discuss her research and he offers to proofread her final submission. She gladly accepts his offer and ignores Princess’ knowing smirk when they have to break away for an incoming MVC.
She tells herself the zing of electricity up her spine she gets when he leans over to tell her “solid work,” or “excellent job, Dr. Mohan” is from the pride of saving a life, and not the woodsy scent of his cologne or the way he holds her gaze across a gurney.
When she cancels a date to pick up an extra shift, she tells herself it’s because she was trying to let the guy down easy. She reminds herself that there were no other residents available that night. She ignores the warmth that spreads across her chest when Dr. Abbot says, “Oh, thank God it’s you, I thought they might call Shen.”
_
She’s been seeing Matt for a few weeks, and Samira is enjoying herself. Really. Matt works in finance. He has a dog, he enjoys running, and Italian food. They haven’t slept together, but he is a decent kisser. He’s tall, polite to wait staff, and really, Samira is having a good time. She doesn’t get butterflies, but she honestly thinks that’s a good thing. There’s no anxiety or wondering if he’s going to call her back. It’s comfortable.
_
Matt helps her climb out of the Uber, slides his hand to hover over the small of her back. They enter the foyer of the hotel and just as she is about to quiz him one last time on her coworkers’ names, she sees Mel waving from just inside the ballroom.
“Samira!” She beams, setting her glass on a nearby table and pulling her into a hug. “You look beautiful!”
“So do you,” Samira says, taking in her simple, yet quintessentially Mel lavender gown. Samira introduces Matt, who shakes Mel’s hand and introduces himself to Santos and Whitaker, who have also gathered near the door. Matt falls into conversation with Trinity quickly. Samira turns back to Mel.
“Are the attendings here yet?” She asks as she scans the room for familiar faces. She waves as she makes eye contact with Mateo from across the room. He’s speaking to Dr. Shamsi while Victoria observes with wide eyes.
“I saw Robby and Collins earlier, but that was a while ago. Ellis and Shen just got here.” Mel replies. “I haven’t seen Dr. Abbot yet,” she says, eyes tracking Samira’s face closely. Samira hates that she has to make an effort to keep her expression neutral.
Samira clears her throat. “Well, we should make the rounds, say our hellos,” she says, resting her hand on Matt’s bicep to regain his attention. “I’m sure we’ll be back soon.” They say quick goodbyes and break away from the group.
Samira dutifully circles the room with Matt on her arm, greeting her coworkers and making light conversation with donors. Matt is excellent at this, seemingly having an anecdote for every topic, a restaurant recommendation for every city. She excuses herself from a conversation to grab a drink, leaving him to discuss the best beaches in Montecito with an older couple planning their vow renewal.
She sidles up to the bar, ordering a gin and tonic. She’s laughing at a pink-cheeked Whitaker, clearly harangued from his conversation with an overly enthusiastic Dr. Shen, when she feels a presence to her left.
“Dr. Mohan,” he greets, sliding his glass tumbler back to the bartender. “Another whiskey, please.” The bartender nods and grabs the glass, sliding Samira her drink. She takes a sip, plasters on a smile, and turns to face him.
“Dr. Abbot, lovely of you to join us,” she says, decidedly not letting her gaze leave his face. His stare feels like a challenge.
“Oh, I could never miss out on the event of the year,” he jokes, his eyes tracking her movement as she brings her drink to her lips. “Plus, Robby would throw me off the roof if I made him do all the schmoozing himself.”
She breathes out a laugh, and the corner of his mouth ticks up. “He seems to be holding his own pretty well,” she offers.
“We can chalk that up to Dr. Collins,” he replies. “He would be absolutely lost without her. Trust me.”
Samira hums in agreement. “Wouldn’t we all? I think the Pitt would actually fall apart without her.”
“You are not wrong, Dr. Mohan,” he chuckles, dipping his head so she doesn’t see the full extent of his grin. They fall into a comfortable silence, watching the action from the sidelines. She sneaks glances when she thinks he isn’t looking. It’s not that she didn’t know he was fit- she sees his arms in his scrubs every day. It’s just… different. Seeing him in a tailored suit, drink in hand, he looks so… distinguished. Suave. She watches his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallows and forces herself to look away. What the fuck is she doing?
Dr. Abbot is about to open his mouth to say something when Matt appears from the crowd.
“There you are,” he says with a smile. Jack’s teeth click together as Matt slides his arm around Samira’s waist, once again high on her back. Matt extends his right hand, “Hi, I’m Matt. You are?”
Jack’s eyebrow twitches, but he shakes Matt’s hand. “Dr. Jack Abbot. I work with Dr. Mohan here in the ED.” His eyes slide between the two. “How do you know Dr. Mohan?” Samira must imagine the way his eyes seem to harden.
“We, um–” Samira starts, but Matt interjects.
“We’ve been seeing each other for a couple of weeks now. Samira has such great things to say about everyone at work. Wish I could get her off the night shift every once in a while, though.” He’s oblivious. Jack smirks.
“Well, as the night shift attending, I can say we work a lot better with Dr. Mohan there. She’s extremely valuable to the team.” Jack says, finishing his drink. His eyes don’t leave Samira’s face. “I should go relieve Dr. Robby. Nice to meet you, Mike,” he says. “Samira,” he nods, and walks away.
Samira’s cheeks heat. She’s not used to the sound of her first name from his lips. Something flashes in her mind- her name, rasped against her ear as a hand winds into her curls and angles her chin up to meet hooded brown eyes . She chokes on the sip of her drink, splutters a little.
“He seems intense,” Matt says. She murmurs in agreement, squeezing her thighs together. Is the AC on in here? She follows Matt over to their assigned table for dinner, half-listening as he recalls Dr. Ellis showing him a photo of a girl with a fork through her nose.
She needs to snap out of it. Here Matt is, surrounded by people he doesn’t know, chatting with her friends and coworkers, squeezing her hand under the table, and doing all the right things. He deserves her focus. Clearly, this… conundrum she has about Dr. Abbot is just projection. They just work so closely, she’s got to be conflating trust with a romantic connection. Is she that starved for attention? Matt meets her gaze. “You good?” he asks softly.
“Totally!” She nods vigorously. “Just like, starving,” she says, tearing off a piece of bread and chewing. “I’m fine.” He smiles, nods back. He’s so kind. She’s so fucked up.
Throughout dinner, she does her best to engage with her tablemates, telling stories from med school and reminiscing on her intern days in the Pitt. When dessert is cleared away and Matt holds a hand out to dance, she gladly takes it. The live band plays a slower song, and she rests her hand on Matt’s shoulder. They sway together, and she sees Robby beam as he twirls Heather into him. She smiles, turning her head the other way and chokes on her breath.
Jack is sitting at his table, the top buttons of his shirt undone, his gaze pinning her in place. She blinks, and he doesn’t break eye contact. Her heartbeat steadily picks up, hair on the nape of her neck standing as if he were running his fingers, feather light, over her skin. His grip on his drink tightens as he sees her lick her lips. He tosses back the last few drops, then rises. For a second, he looks like he’s about to come over and cut in.
Samira imagines it - his hand warm and low on her back, his stubble brushing against her temple, his solid chest under her fingers … Dr. Abbot takes one last look at her, then walks purposefully out of the ballroom and into the hall. Samira swallows, heart still hammering in her chest. She pulls back.
“I, um –” she stutters.
“Are you okay?” Matt asks, searching her expression.
“Yeah I– I just need some air. Will you excuse me?” She’s already moving off the dance floor towards their table. She grabs for her glass of water and finishes it, the cool water no reprieve. He follows after, concerned. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asks.
“No, no. I’m good, I just got dizzy. Stay here.” She clamors for her purse. “I’ll be back. I just need a minute.” She smiles weakly, leaving him confused and alone as she leaves the ballroom, ignoring Santos calling after her.
The hallway is brighter than the dimly lit ballroom. She looks both ways before heading right, towards the outdoor terrace she remembers from last year’s gala. She pushes open the door, night air cooling her skin. She takes a deep inhale, walking to the edge, closing her eyes, and grabbing the railing.
“What the fuck.” she exhales shakily, and presses her fingers into her wrist. She breathes in for a count of four and out for four. Her heartbeat is just starting to slow when she senses movement to her left.
“Hey,” he says gently, because of course he’s here. Subconsciously, she knew he would be. She opens her eyes, and his hands are out, as if she’s a doe he’s trying not to spook.
“I should have known you would find the closest ledge,” she says, not unkindly. He shakes his head.
“You know me, Mohan.” Her chest throbs. She steels herself.
“Matt is really nice, you know,” she starts.
“I’m sure he is.” Jack replies
“And I like him.” she says, not sure who she’s trying to convince.
“I’m sure you do.”
“And I’m happy.”
“I never–”
“So why do you keep looking at me like that?” she cuts him off. “I’m trying to have a life outside of work. And find some meaning that doesn’t start and end in the emergency room. Matt doesn’t know a thing about medicine. I’m serious. He asked me how much aspirin he’s supposed to take last week.”
Jack huffs. She steps closer.
“I want this to work. I want to leave the hospital and go home to someone who hasn’t felt the fear of someone actively dying in front of them, knowing they are responsible for saving them. I want someone whose idea of an adrenaline rush is bungee jumping, not a mass casualty event.” She’s aware her chest is heaving like she’s a regency heroine. They’re a foot apart. She can smell the pine of his aftershave.
“I want that. I do.” She sets her jaw. “But I can’t have that if you keep staring at me and… and distracting me and making me question my desire for a normal life.”
Samira meets his eyes and sees pure heat. He breaks the silence
“I don’t think you really want a normal life,” he swallows. “You are too brilliant for that. You’ve held a human heart in your hands. You’ve saved hundreds of lives. You’re an adrenaline junkie. This job changes you. Fundamentally. There is no ‘normal’ when you do what we do.”
She turns her head away, and he moves to find her gaze. The gentle breeze moves her curls.
“You followed me out here for a reason, and I don’t think it was to tell me you want to be with a normal man and have a normal life with two and a half kids and a fucking dog and a lingering fantasy of what could have happened if you had been brave. Fuck that. Be brave, Samira.”
“And to answer your question, I look at you like that because you are extraordinary. I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re a fucking supernova.” He scrubs a hand over his face, looks up at the inky black sky, then meets her eyes.
“You make me feel like I can have things that I’m not allowed to have.” His eyes darken, fixate on her lips. He brushes a curl away from her face. “So what do you really want, Samira?”
The first touch of their lips is soft, tentative. A delicate moment trapped in amber, until Samira whimpers and fists her hands in Jack’s shirt. He hauls her in closer, winding a hand into her hair and snaking the other around her waist. She was right, his hand hot and heavy on her lower back sends sparks up her spine. She swipes her tongue against his lips and feels him smile against her mouth. He’s pulling her back, away from the doorway and behind a large planter box, obscuring them should anyone look outside.
He presses her against the brick wall, mouthing down her neck. She mewls and slides her hands into his hair, tugging gently at his curls and eliciting a moan. She thinks she could kiss him through an apocalypse. He’s intoxicating, consuming all of her senses. The world could burn, and she would have no idea.
“This dress…” he rasps out, hand slipping down her hip to palm her thigh through the slit. Her head fills with static as he mouths across her chest, pausing to inhale where she sprayed her perfume earlier. She sighs. He bites down lightly at the junction of her neck. Her stomach flutters. Butterflies. She was so wrong.
“Samira.” he grits out. She gazes at him, heavy-lidded and mouth swollen. “Is this okay?” he asks, fingers toying with the edge of her underwear. She nods, squirming. “I’m going to need verbal consent, Dr. Mohan,” he says, brokenly and she feels herself clench around nothing.
“Please,” she whispers, “Jack, please.” He groans, kisses her soundly as he brushes his fingers over her through the damp fabric. Her mind goes blissfully blank as his hands slide beneath the lace.
She can hear her arousal as he touches her, feather-light through her folds. He’s such a fucking tease.
“Come on, Jack.” She murmurs, gripping his hair a little tighter. He skates by her clit and she lets out a frustrated sigh. He chuckles against her collarbone, and roughly circles her clit once before drawing back. Her hips buck into his hand. He slips the lace from her hips and shoves it in his pocket.
“Fuck,” she groans as he slips one finger inside, curling up towards her belly button. She exhales sharply.
“You’ve got this,” he says, leaning towards her so their foreheads meet. He slicks another finger inside her. “You’re doing so well.” She feels a new rush of wetness and intertwines her hand with his unoccupied one. “So gorgeous,” he murmurs. “Never seen anything like you.” She whines at the affirmation. She’s developing a rhythm, but she still needs something more.
“Jack,” she says. “I need–” and before she can finish, he’s pressing a kiss to her mouth and lowering to his knees.
“Oh,” she breathes as he hitches her leg up over his shoulder, never breaking eye contact. He’s going to kill her, probably. She flushes.
His nose bumps against her clit and she feels the muscles of her abdomen jump. His arm snakes around her thigh that’s slung on his shoulder, pressing it open and inhaling.
“I’ve… thought about this. So many times,” he admits, sounding strung out. He’s just as affected as she is. He nips at the junction of her thigh. “Thought about tasting you in the break room.” She lets out a soft moan, “Mapping out your whole anatomy with my tongue,” he presses a sucking kiss to her clit. “Knew you’d be so responsive, fuck.”
“Quit teasing,” she slurs out, rolling her hips against his face. She can feel his grin, sees the glint in his eyes. “And make me come, Dr. Abbot,” she commands. He moans and presses his face into her, finally putting his mouth to good use.
Samira’s pretty sure he’s ruined her for other men before she even climaxes. He’s making these desperate little noises that vibrate into her cunt, amplifying the sensation of his lips. He adds a third finger, and the stretch is enough to make her clamp her hand onto his shoulder and roll her hips in earnest. “You can take it. You’re so beautiful. Fuck, I’m so lucky to see you like this.” he exalts, working her through it. She idly thinks that he’s never going to be able to coach her through something in the ED again without her imagining this.
“I’m so close,” she says, feeling the tightening in her abdomen. Her legs are shaking, her nails digging into the meat of his shoulder through his shirt. “Come for me, Samira, let me see you fall apart.” He nudges his nose against her clit and curls his fingers just so, and she’s coming apart. “Jack–oh my god, Jack,” she whimpers as he guides her through her orgasm, fingers curling until she slumps against the wall, ears ringing.
“Holy fuck,” she says, coming back into her body. He withdraws his fingers, and she exhales sharply at the loss. He’s getting to his feet and about to draw his fingers into his mouth when she grabs his wrist, sucking the digits into her own mouth. His eyes darken. “You’re perfect, Samira,” he says, voice gravelly. His cheeks are ruddy, and his chin shines with her slick. She needs him inside of her.
She drops her gaze to the front of his trousers, reaching out to palm him. He grabs her wrist.
“Not now.” She starts to protest, but he cuts her off with a kiss. “I love this dress. I want to see it on my floor. I’ve wanted this for so long, and you deserve more than a hotel balcony.” She acquiesces, leaning against the wall but looping her fingers into his belt loops. She presses her chest against his, and he groans.
“So long?” she asks teasingly, leading him into a filthy kiss.
“We can discuss timelines later,” he says, breaking apart. “For now, we need to get out of here without anyone seeing.”
“Oh my god, Matt…” she wonders aloud. He scrubs a hand down his face. “We’ve been on four dates, do you think that’s too established for a text?” He huffs out a laugh.
“Samira, a text is going to be much kinder than going back in there looking like that and trying to explain the change of heart.”
Her hands fly to her hair, attempting to tame the tangles created from her head against the wall. Her lipstick is definitely fucked. He’s right.
She smooths her dress down and shakes her hair. “Okay,” she nods, and he nods back.
“I took an Uber here, did you–”
“I’m gonna get my car from the valet. Meet me around the corner in five minutes.”
“You valeted?”
“I’m a man of means, Samira. Come on.” He looks both ways, throws her a wink, and reenters the hallway like he didn’t just have his fingers inside her 30 seconds ago.
_
Samira finds his truck easily, parked around the corner of the hotel. She jogs over, confirming no errant coworkers are lingering outside, and slides into the passenger seat. His car smells like him, woodsy and clean. He’s blatantly eyeing her up and down, and she returns his wink from before to snap him out of it. He clears his throat and puts the car in drive.
“So,” she starts, a grin playing at her lips, “you said something about a timeline?”