Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Samira Mohan, if you walk away from me one more time—”

Trinity’s voice echoes through the ED as Samira continues to walk away. Princess stands at the nurses’ station and hangs garland across the counter to help with morale. She glances at Trinity before returning to her working, trying to keep her nose out of it but struggling. Perlah has always been the same way with her when she gets sick, so Princess knows she has no room to judge. Christmas is always a low time of year in the ED, but they try to decorate it to keep the spirit high. So far, they’ve had mediocre success.

Samira doesn’t stop moving, though, despite Trinity’s thinly concealed frustration. She’s not sick, dammit, she can handle this. “I’m fine, Trinity,” she snaps. “I don’t need you interrupting my work.” She goes to enter a patient’s room when Trinity’s hand lands on her arm and pulls her back, forcing her to stop.

Trinity stares into Samira’s eyes, desperately trying to get through to her. “Mira, don’t lie to both of us,” she presses, digging her fingers into Samira’s wrist. “You don’t have to pretend to be okay.”

Samira tries to wrestle her arm free from Trinity’s grip to no avail. “What do I need to do to prove that I’m fine?” She turns to walk away, but Trinity doesn’t move. “Trinity. We have work to do.”

Trinity shakes her head. “Nope, not until you let me take a look at you.”

Samira recoils at the notion. “I don’t need you to do that.”

Trinity doesn’t back down. “Then, we’re stuck here until you cave.”

Samira opens her mouth to make an indignant comment when Mel approaches Samira and Trinity, spotting the tension between the two of them. “Whoa, what did I—” Mel’s voice stops when she glances at Samira, who very clearly is not feeling her best. Her knees wobble as sweat gathers at her hairline. “Mira, what’s going on? Is she being stubborn, Trinity?”

Trinity nods, and Samira huffs angrily. “Samira won’t admit she’s sick.” Samira tries to wriggle away from them, but Mel grabs Samira’s other arm to keep her from leaving. “She’s been ignoring me every time I try to get her to slow down.”

Samira closes her eyes and pulls her arms against both Mel and Trinity’s grips. “I’m fine! I don’t need you two to look at me!” She tries to move once again because slowing down means everything is hitting her hard, and she can’t stop. She knows she can’t stop moving because she’ll never get back up if she stops—

Trinity shakes her head, pulling Samira closer. “Mel, will you go find Dana and Dr. Collins? Someone needs to talk some sense into her.” Samira opens her mouth to argue, but Trinity doesn’t let her. “Mira, don’t even think about it. You’re not winning this fight.”

Mel nods and lets go of Samira’s arm. “I’ll go get them. Be right back!” She speeds off and leaves Trinity and Samira in the middle of the hallway.

Trinity tries to guide Samira out of the corridor, but Samira won’t move. Trinity sighs exasperatedly, but she knows she earned this. “I told you I don’t need taken care of!” Samira huffs angrily, refusing to move. Trinity places the back of her hand against Samira’s forehead, and Samira rips it off. “I feel fine.”

Trinity bends over and hooks Samira’s knees with her arm, sweeping Samira off her feet. Samira clings to Trinity in surprise as Trinity walks her into an empty patient bay. “You don’t look fine, so you’re going to wait here until Mel returns with Dana and Heather.”

Samira exhales, knowing she can’t run from Trinity anymore, even if she wants to. “This is egregious, I hope you know,” she comments, avoiding Trinity’s eyes. She tries to rest her head on the pillow, but her claw clip prevents her from getting comfortable.

Trinity pulls Samira’s clip out and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Not true, and you know that’s not true.” She sighs softly. “Will you please let Mel and me care about you? We’re literally dating you, Mira.”

Samira closes her eyes. “I get that, but if you worry about me every time I look remotely ‘not fine,’ you’re gonna worry yourselves sick over me.” She covers her face with her hands. “I can’t let you do that.”

Trinity pulls Samira’s hands from her face. “That isn’t your choice to make.” She presses a kiss to the back of each of Samira’s hands. “You don’t get to choose who cares about you, and we’re going to worry whether you let us in or not.”

Before Samira can say anything else, Mel returns with Dana and Heather in tow. Mel glances around the hallway, confused about where Trinity and Samira went. “Trinity?” she calls.

Trinity sticks her head out from the patient bay. “We’re in here!”

Mel spins around, her face lighting up. She runs over with Heather and Dana in tow, leaning over the opposite side of the bed from Trinity. “Hey, Mira,” Mel says softly, pulling a fresh pair of gloves on. “Is it okay if I—”

Samira doesn’t let Mel finish her sentence. “No,” she answers flatly. “I don’t need you poking and prodding me right now. I just want to go back to work.” Trinity and Mel share a look, knowing all too well that Samira pushes people away when she feels like shit. The last time she pushed them away was when she came down with COVID during one of the worst bus accidents Pittsburgh has seen in a long time. Her limbs ached, but she couldn’t slow down, couldn’t stop. She had lives to save. Now, though, there’s no MCI to justify why Samira is refusing help.

Dana steps to the edge of Samira’s bed and sighs softly. “Why don’t the two of you take five in the break room and head back to your patients?” she suggests, watching Samira’s eyes glaze over. Trinity and Mel nod carefully before withdrawing themselves from the room. Dana takes a seat beside Samira’s bed, meeting Heather’s eyes. Heather takes that look as her sign to start examining. “Hey, Mohan,” Dana says softly, taking Samira’s hand in her own. “Will you tell us what’s going on?”

Samira doesn’t take her hand from Dana’s, but when Heather gently presses her abdomen, Samira swats at her hands. “I’m not sick! Stop poking me!” Samira realizes, after these words come out of her mouth, how petulant they come off. She sounds like a small child fighting her parents about naptime, and she knows that’s not helping her case.

Heather waits until Samira stops moving to speak. “Samira, if that’s true, we can do a quick exam and clear you, send you back to work without any issue,” she explains, sharing a look with Dana. “But if you are sick, we can help. That’s all Trinity and Melissa want.”

Samira exhales, her shoulders sagging. She does feel awful, even if she’s been fighting it. “Okay,” she relents. She knows she can’t fight both Heather and Dana, so she decides self-preservation is more important.

Dana jumps up from her spot beside Samira’s bed and attaches a pulse oximeter to Samira’s pointer finger. “Thank you, Samira.” She pulls on clean gloves and presses the back of her hand to Samira’s forehead. Her face contorts with something Samira can’t place as she grabs the thermometer, aiming it at Samira’s forehead. “What’s going on? Talk to us.”

Samira closes her eyes, her stomach churning as a migraine pounds behind her eyes. “Trin and Mel always overly concern themselves about me, and I don’t want them to focus so much on all of that.” Heather flashes a light in Samira’s eyes, testing her pupils, and Samira winces.

Dana pulls her thermometer back and freezes. Heather notices and puts her pen light away. “What is it, Dana?”

Dana tears her gaze from the thermometer and looks up at Heather. “Temp is 101.3.” Heather nods and passes her a mask, pulling her own on, too. “Do you feel nauseous? Warm?”

Samira becomes keenly aware of how dry her mouth is. No wonder her brain hurts; it’s on fire. “I’ve been getting hot flashes all day, and my nausea has been rampant, but…” She shrugs. “I get nauseous with my migraines, and my periods always take me out, so I assumed it was just that.”

Dana puts the thermometer down and takes the pulse oximeter. “Blood oxygen is 89, pulse is 125,” she relays. “So you’re on your period right now?” Samira nods, but before Dana can ask any further questions, Samira curls up tighter as tears slide down her cheeks.

Heather runs around the other side of the bed and sees the pain furrow in Samira’s brow. “Dana, will you grab 10 olanzapine, 1000 acetaminophen, and 5 cyclobenzaprine?” Dana nods and slips out of the room, leaving Heather with a writhing Samira. “Hey, Samira, look at me,” she soothes. “I need you to look at me. Describe how it hurts.”

Samira tries to flex her fingers in an attempt to ground herself. When Heather asks her to look, she forces herself to open her eyes, but everything is still blurry. “My brain is on fire, my legs feel like jelly, my cramps hurt so bad, I can’t breathe,” she gasps, overwhelmed by the everything of it all.

Heather hugs Samira tight, letting her cry as much as she needs to. “It’s okay, Samira,” she whispers. “We’re here to help. Dana and I are taking care of you.”

Samira wraps her arms around Heather, clinging to the lifeboat being offered. “I don’t think the non-opioid painkillers are going to work,” she confesses. “Last time this happened, they wore off in an hour.”

Heather pulls back and stares at Samira with her jaw dropped. “An hour!? That’s it!?” Samira nods just as Dana returns. “Dana, baby, will you grab something stronger? Like morphine or hydromorphone? Whatever you find first!” Dana sighs and nods diligently, leaving the room once again. “We’ll get this handled, don’t worry.”

Dana returns once more, triumphant this time. “Okay, let’s get this IV going, yeah?” she announces, prepping the needle and everything. Heather slowly lets go of Samira and brushes her hair out of her face. “After this, you’re headed home, Samira. You hear me? Home. I don’t wanna see you here a moment after discharge.”

Samira laughs a watery laugh. “You got it, cap,” she jokes, a tear sliding down her cheek. Dana wipes it away. “I’m sorry.”

Dana shakes her head. “What are you sorry for? This isn’t your fault! You’re doing your best. You deserve to rest, Samira.” She holds Samira’s arm while Heather focuses on finding the vein. “Besides, I should be the least of your concerns. Santos and King are probably going to have a worse punishment for you than I will.”

Samira groans, just as Heather inserts the needle. “Don’t remind me. I just know they’re going to freak out when they find out—”

An all-too-familiar voice cuts Samira off. “Oh, we already know,” Trinity says, crossing her arms as she stands at the foot of the bed. Mel runs to Samira’s side and takes her hand. “And you had the audacity to tell me you were okay—”

Mel squeezes Samira’s hand. “Trinity, you don’t have to—”

Trinity barrels on. “Do you have any idea how bad this could’ve been? How much worse it would’ve gotten?” She bites her lip to keep the tears from spilling out. “That was incredibly stupid and reckless and stubborn. Just because you can doesn’t mean you—”

Samira closes her eyes. “I get it! You don’t have to keep reaming me in front of everyone.” Samira knows how stupid this was, how foolish. How she should’ve asked for help and didn’t. She knows she did all the wrong things, but it’s over now. She doesn’t want to relive any of this.

Heather pushes the last of Samira’s medications through her IV. “So, we’ve pushed everything through your IV, which will probably hit you in 20 minutes. We’re going to keep you here for another hour for observation, then all three of you are going home.”

Mel glances around the room. “All three of us? But only Mira is sick.”

Dana laughs. “Well, she’s gonna need people to look after her ‘cause we all know how stubborn she is.” She smiles softly. “I’ll clear it with the big boss, but you’re near the ends of your shifts anyway. I don’t see why you couldn’t all head home.”

Heather glances between Samira, Trinity, and Mel and motions to Dana. “We’ll leave you three for now. If you need anything, you know how to reach us.” And without another word, they leave.

Trinity exhales heavily, taking Dana’s spot by Samira’s bedside. “I’m sorry for snapping, Mira, I know I shouldn’t have—”

Samira shakes her head. “Trin, please don’t apologize to me.” Her voice is hoarse, tired. “I’ve been pushing myself too far. You know that. You’ve been trying to get me to slow down, but I haven’t been listening. I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I promise.”

Trinity smiles, mostly to herself, but she’s not hiding it. “You better hope so because I will do shit like this again and again until you learn.”

Samira laughs. “I know, I know.” She reaches out her arms for Mel and Trinity to lay in her bed beside her. “Thank you two for being the voices of reason. I need that.”

Mel smiles, cuddling up close. “Of course. Someone needs to tell you when to quit.”

That’s how an hour and a half later, Samira finds herself sitting on the couch in her apartment with a mug of hot cocoa in her hands, snuggled in between the two most important people in her life with a cringy Hallmark movie playing on her tiny TV. She has a small tree in her living room because her apartment felt empty without it, but the tree is only half-decorated, so it’s even sadder.

Samira Mohan has always found the holidays to be stressful. She’s never had anyone to bring home, never had any reason to care about traditions because her family is just her and her mother. Once her father died, her entire family fell apart. And she’s never really been good at letting people in, at letting people take care of her in the ways she needs. She’s always taken care of herself, relying on the one person she knows she can count on.

But now, she realizes that maybe she needs to rely on other people outside of herself. Mel and Trin are right: someone does need to tell her when to quit, to tell her when to slow down and listen to her body, even if that’s hard. She can’t wear herself down all the time because she thinks she should. That’s not healthy. Most normal people don’t think that way.

But Samira Mohan is not normal. And she will never be normal. And that’s okay. At least now, she’s not alone. For once, the holidays might actually be something that makes her feel anything but empty.