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Lately, Jack Abbot has been feeling… Nothing. Numb. The thrill of work isn’t stimulating anymore. The comfort of home isn’t relaxing anymore. No adrenaline can keep his blood rushing for more than a few seconds; no soft mattress can offer him a decent night's sleep. The explanation is simple: Samira Mohan is not with him. She’s been away six months. Six and a half. And he just... Can’t handle it anymore.
To sum up, she’s doing a free six-month paramedic training course in another state. Travel and stay costs are all covered in exchange for some weekly hours of work at one of their hospitals — she could help in their ER — show them what a good fucking doctor looks like. It’s good for the curriculum: different experiences, extra qualifications. He’s proud of her for it, don’t get him wrong. He’d hate to stop the promising career she has ahead of her. In fact, he was the one who insisted she take the opportunity. That was his mistake.
Because Samira didn’t want to go. Jack made all the necessary arrangements, sure, but she didn’t want to go. At least a seven-hour flight, away from everyone she knows, in a cubicle with nothing more than a bed and a bathroom, for a training she didn’t need. He should’ve listened; it was her choice.
Yet he didn’t. For weeks, he pressed. For weeks, they argued. For weeks, until she budged. Only then, too late, did he realize his fuck up.
After their last quarrel, Samira left his place and got on the first flight she found to the right destination. No goodbyes, no warnings, no anything. She simply did. Jack only found out when he got to the PTMC for his shift and didn’t find Samira working. Went to call her, voicemail. Messaged, delivered, unread. He connected the dots.
Pissed does very little to describe how he was in the beginning. Fought patients, challenged other doctors, even made Mittens sleep outside. He almost got fired twice. Then came his weekly therapy session, and whatever anger he had in his body evaporated. He left destroyed (and even destroyed is a weak term to describe it). The possibility that it wasn’t just an argument and that it could've been a break-up hadn’t crossed his mind. Although it wasn’t. Not a break-up. Everything she brought to his place was still there. Hell, Samira would never leave the cat if she wasn’t coming back.
Still, the thought wouldn’t leave him be. Jack tried to keep himself occupied, to work shift after shift in hopes it’d shut his head down. Futile attempts; whenever he got back home, he was reminded she wasn’t there. And who is he kidding? He’d always ask the whole department if they had any news from Samira. Turns out their messages were all left on delivered, too.
So no Samira. No news from Samira. No messages from Samira. He needed distractions.
Downing whiskey until he passed out worked well to ease the ache in his chest on the first day. And the second. The third, he worked a double; he didn’t have to resort to drinking. The fourth, he didn’t try; lay on the couch and pampered Mittens instead. She reminds him of Samira. She’s not there for him to coddle; makes the cat the second-best thing. Yet at the end of the week, nothing worked anymore. No alcohol and no purrs could make his insides feel less dull.
Jack considered more brutal approaches. Breaking glasses on his own head, popping some pills and drowning in the bathtub, russian roulette by himself. Wouldn’t help; death couldn't change his feelings, only silence them. So he kept going — forced to keep living. He socialized when he couldn't work; went to the meet-ups after messy shifts, checked on the gossip, hung out with some old acquaintances. Interacted. At some point, he was told Samira called the emergency once to check in, though even that didn't change the weirdly familiar void growing inside of him, despite his tries.
He just... Missed her. He missed Samira and everything about her. Missed getting to twirl the strands of her hair around her finger. Missed watching her go in and out of his bathroom while preparing some oddly specific shower ritual. Missed waking up with her face buried in one of his shoulderblades and not being able to move. Missed… Getting to love her. Hell, it’s by loving what she left that he’s survived these last months. Cuddling with her pillow on her side of the bed. Making the tea she’d usually have and drinking it after it cooled. Using her lotion on his wrists to get a whiff of her whenever he wants. Hell, he’s been writing her letters — Mittens keeps him company sleeping under his desk. Throwing them into her drawers since he doesn’t know her current address — tried asking, but all his messages were left as delivered. He doesn’t even like writing. It’s his miserable way of coping.
And still. Numb.
Though, now? Worse. It’s already been months. Depressing months. Overworking-until-forced-to-go-home months. Her course should be over. But she’s not back.
He doesn’t know when she will be.
This got Jack to stop taking shifts at the hospital and jump into a new routine: every day since the course ended, he has bought her flowers and driven to the airport. Two or three flights a day could have Samira, so he’s there for the arrival of all of them. In long gaps of time, he drives back home to give Mittens attention — occasionally writes another letter — before driving back and waiting some more. In no way is it exciting. It’s… he needs it. Needs her.
Today isn’t any different. He sits at the terminal, stares at the bouquet in his hand. Lillies. White lilies, pink lilies, stargazer lilies. Sometimes white, orange, and red. Samira probably still likes lilies. His place is filled with them — older bouquets. Hopefully, she still likes him, too.
The long hours he spends waiting are spent thinking. Thinking about what he shouldn’t. Not only this time; in every airport visit. What if she’s really done with him? What if it is truly a breakup? His stomach churns at the mere idea. Actually, the first time he considered it, he threw up. He’s not sure why he’s mentioning that.
Staring out the window from his seat, he watches airplanes come and go. Pays attention to the announcements; glances at the board above the bench in front of him whenever a plane from the same company as the one she could be in arrives.
Not today. Passenger after passenger disembarks, none of them Samira. It’s alright. He’ll wait for her tomorrow.
He’s getting used to the time spent on the road. Flowers sitting in the passenger seat are his usual companion. He’s getting used to not finding his love in his place. Mittens welcoming him by rubbing herself against his feet instead, along with the strong scent of lilies — a strange mix of grass and honey. Honey. Samira. Jack ran out of vases on the second day of buying her bouquets, yet refused to throw or give them away. The faded greys and browns of his house looked nicer in contrast with the colorful flowers.
Around five hours until the next flight. Jack lies on the couch, manages his prosthetic off. He has messages — lots of them. He stopped checking them soon after Samira left; when he's needed, he's called. Mittens curls up on top of him, biting the buttons in the collar of his shirt. She lets him caress her fur for a couple of minutes before jumping down and disappearing into the hallways, tired of him. A pointless attempt to rest is what he settles for during the time he still has before another trip to the airport.
He was right. Pointless. No more than a waste — he can’t say he’s upset about it, he has no use for his hours and days besides using them to work if Samira isn’t around. Waking up every twenty minutes, another ten to manage back to sleep. On the fourth or fifth time he gives up. Cold shower, decent shirt, fresh flowers, lonely drive. He arrives around half an hour before the predicted landing, though the boards show the plane arrived early. It’s best he checks on the luggage–
Samira. Coming down from the escalator, struggling with her baggage, Samira. He can tell it’s her despite the distance. He can tell she’s tense despite the distance.
His feet seem rooted to the spot; he doesn’t move. Can’t move. What he manages to do is call out to her. Not Samira. Not honey. Not sweetheart. Seeing his love so near only emphasizes she might not be his anymore, and he’s fucking panicking.
“Miss Mohan.”
Too low. Only now does he bother noticing how hoarse he sounds. Perhaps she didn’t even listen.
Actually, she did. Her eyebrows furrow; her head turns to both before stilling, her eyes finally settle on him. Samira glances back, tugging her bag off the escalator, before walking in his direction and meeting his gaze again. She furrows her eyebrows.
“Miss, Jack? I’m very much taken.”
Taken. Still his girlfriend. Still his love. The next thing he knows, her lips are against his, one of her hands on his jaw. His surroundings aren’t numb anymore. He can… Live with himself again. Fuck. Samira is back. Samira still wants him.
Jack’s completely out for… Seconds? Maybe minutes? The flowers aren’t in his hand anymore. His vision’s blurry. His hands are now on her waist, trembling. Samira. Samira’s talking.
“Jack? Can you hear me? Are you okay? Hey. Hey, breathe with me.”
He nods. Snakes his arms around her, pulls her close, nestles his face against her neck. Just… Weeps. Sobs, even, muffling the noise against her skin. In no way does Jack mean to; tears escape him, he has no option but to let them flow. Call him a crybaby, call him a clingy bastard, and he’ll shamelessly agree. He's a fucking loser; he's well aware of it. But it doesn't matter. The only thing he needs to win is her heart, and that he can do.
“Jack, don’t- don’t cry…” One of her hands finds his hair, lightly clenches and unclenches a few locks, rubbing his scalp with her finger knuckles.
He breathes out through his nose. “I really fucking missed you.” Swallowing hard, he clears his throat, then sighs. “Thought you’d… Leave. Because of the stupid… Argument.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You- you didn’t reply to any of my messages.”
Her breath hitches. Her neck heats up under his cheek. “I- I forgot my phone charging at your place. I was too upset to go back and grab it, so I had to settle for an old one I had. I don’t… Have your number memorized, so I couldn’t message you.”
At his place. Is it an excuse? No. She wouldn’t lie to him. Her charger was there, he remembers that. The side of the bed she picked for herself doesn’t have an outlet. She puts it on the outlet under his desk, next to the cabinet. If her phone were there, Jack would’ve seen it. Almost every day he...
Fuck. Mittens. You motherfucker.
He pulls away, coughing. Good, his tears have stopped. “I didn’t… See it. The cat’s...”
“But you’re here. So you heard about my last call.”
“You called?” He forces out a breath with a groan, rubbing his eyes with his forearm.
“I- What do you mean? Yeah, a few days ago. Called the hospital to let them know I’d be ready to work next week. If you didn’t- how did you find out when I’d be back?”
“...I didn’t.”
She stares at him. Her chest rises, then she sighs. “Please tell me you haven’t been coming here every day.”
His answer is incoherent. A short mumble and a purse of his lips; then he’s nuzzling the crook of her neck again. Samira doesn’t pry. She could; he’d answer if she did, though he likes that she doesn’t.
“Okay. I’ll… drive us to your place, yeah? The flight was tiring, and you… Look like you could use some rest, too.”
“That’s a nice way of saying I look like shit.”
“Don’t love you any less for it.”
A groan leaves his lips at the words. His hold tightens automatically. “Again, please.”
“I love you again?”
“Mmhm."
“I do. Love you. A lot. And I missed you. A lot.”
“Both a lot?”
“To be honest, I love you more than I missed you, but does it matter some infinities are bigger than others when they’re both infinite?”
He’s not sure. Would come up with an answer if it meant anything. It doesn’t. Samira misses him. Samira loves him even more. That’s enough. He pulls away after leaving a kiss on her neck, slipping her hands off her luggage, and lifting it. “No.”
They walk together to his car. Samira cradles the lilies carefully as he sets her things into the trunk. Only when he closes it does she settle in the driver’s seat. Fastens the seatbelt, starts the engine, picks the radio station. She places the bouquet on his lap as soon as he’s seated beside her. Carefully pulls out of the parking lot, then drives off.
It’s nice of her to drive. Despite her going over the speed limit, his body remains lax against the seat. The silence isn’t charged with what’s left unspoken. Her presence does that. Jack’s almost asleep by the time they arrive. Samira gets the truck into the garage with ease.
Yet she doesn’t open her door. Her hands unbuckle the seatbelt without any help from her eyes. And she stays seated. As the gentleman he is, he waits for her. Her chest rises high in a deep breath.
“I- I really missed you.”
“I know.”
“I’m still bad at showing it. But I missed you. More- more than anything. More than Mittens, even.”
“I know, honey.”
Finally getting to use pet names once more is a relief.
Her throat bobs. “I love you. Being away… I hated it.”
“I know. I love you too.”
Her lips twitch. Her eyes… Well. Now she’s the one about to cry.
She doesn’t. She’s stronger than he is. Her tears are blinked away; she opens the car door to avoid talking about it. He does the same.
“We sleep. Then we have sex. Then we sleep again and stay in bed for as long as we can.”
“Sounds good.”
She steps out and shuts the door behind her. He does the same, crossing to her from the front of the car, careful with the bouquet. Samira throws herself onto the couch as soon as it’s in her view. Jack throws himself onto the sofa as soon as he places the bouquet on the counter, and she makes space for him. Wraps his arms around her torso, presses her front against his own. Nestles his face in the crook of her neck, peppering kisses where he can reach. When she curls up closer, he tucks one of her thighs between his own.
With Samira beside him, some good shut-eye can finally show. He doesn’t even know what time it is. Nor does he care. He doesn’t know where Mittens is — if she’s napping on his pillow or scratching the bedpost until it tears down at any weight. Nor does he care. All he knows is the woman he adores is falling asleep in his arms, and he is falling asleep on hers.
Though the day — or night, since it’s dark — doesn’t end there.
Jack’s out for… He’s not sure. But when he stirs, Samira isn’t with him. His head hurts.
Has he finally gone insane? Was he hallucinating? No, what? No. Her shoes… Not at the entrance. She left? Hang on, did she even take them off? No, he doesn’t… Remember. What the fuck? Samira was back. And he didn’t drink. He’s not drunk, he’s not imagining things. Where’s his love? Jack stands up.
No he doesn’t. He immediately falls back onto the cushions. Fucking… Vertigo? Ah. His prosthetic is off. He didn’t take it off. Maybe he did? He doesn’t remember. Samira could’ve been the one to do that. Which means he’s not insane.
Noise. Not voices. Not Samira. The dryer? Hm. Can’t be. He didn’t turn that on. The… Dishwasher? He hopes not. They’re difficult to fix. What? No. He doesn’t have a dishwasher. Air conditioner? It’s hot, his shirt is stained with sweat, it’d make sense. Air conditioner. Bedroom. With a hand clutching the wall, Jack struggles his way to the hallway, then the bedroom door. Uses his free hand to turn the handle and push it open.
There she is. The proof of his sanity. Samira. Seemingly asleep, splayed on her stomach, head resting on his pillow. He should be arrested for not taking in her beauty as soon as he saw her. He’ll do so… Hm. As soon as he’s in bed with her, not hovering at the door like a fucking weirdo.
Gripping whatever is in reach, Jack sits on the edge of the bed beside her. And admires. Her sable locks are tangled on themselves, wildly spread around her face. Oh, her face… The little gap between her upper and lower lips, her eyelids hiding the wonderful shade of her eyes, the glisten of sweat in her right cheek he doesn’t know how he's noticing in the dark. Then her body, uncovered by the sheets she lies atop, restrained of nudity only by her underwear. Wondrous.
Quietly, Jack undoes his shirt. Struggles with his pants, but manages. Then crawls on top of her; slow movements, in order not to startle her out of her beauty sleep. Kisses her neck, breathes her in, supports himself with an elbow on the mattress. She reeks of deodorant. His deodorant. Strange. He missed her natural odor — bitter sweat mixed with the sweetness of lotion. Now she smells like him. Not… Bad. One of his hands runs up her back, over her bra, then slips a strap down her shoulder. Samira hums under him, crosses her arms under her head and opens her eyes. It goes back to its proper position. Jack nuzzles her back, switching the forearm supporting his weight.
“Thought you had left…”
A hum escapes her again. “T’was too hot… And my back hurts.”
“Mmhm. Let me.” His knees adjust to press against her sides. He straightens up as best as he can, careful not to put too much weight on her lower back. Then leans forward; massages her shoulders, drags his touch down her spine. Fiddles with the clasp of her bra until she reaches back to undo it. The more he kneads her flesh, the more she melts into the covers. Her eyes are closed again. Quiet sighs and little sounds of pleasure are constantly leaving her lips; she’s practically purring to his caresses.
“Jack…”
“Mm?”
“Missed you,” she gasps, though he doesn’t miss the whiny undertone of her voice. He knows Samira doesn’t, too; she’s willingly letting him hear it. “Couldn’t…”
His fingers thread through each and every strand of her hair, untangling them. “Missed you too, honey.”
She mumbles something he can’t make out. Jack doesn’t question it, humming in agreement. Coherent words come out after a few seconds. “Feels good.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmhm.”
“Glad to please you”, he whispers. “Always.”
“Mm…”
Jack leans forward again, a hand pressing on the mattress over her shoulder. He lowers as best as he can to kiss her temple. “I was scared I’d lose you.”
A breathy chuckle comes with her answer. “Like you ever could.”
“Not… Waking up with you beside me was enough for me to consider I was insane.” His throat is dry out of nowhere. He swallows hard. “When you’re out of sight… It’s enough for it to feel like a goodbye.”
Samira merely hums in response. “Then… When your eyes find me again, I’ll welcome them with a smile.”
It makes him weak in the knees to hear her. Just… Tender words. Directed at him. Her voice, after so long. Is there anything he could desire more? Jack sighs, nestling his face into her soft curls. “Whenever you left, you used to kiss me, and… Now I fear every time you kiss me will feel like the last.”
Lifting her head, she breathes him in. He doubts he smells even remotely nice, yet even so, she doesn’t complain. Lets his scruff prickle her cheek. “I’ll make sure every time I’m back, I’ll kiss you again… Make it feel like the first.”
Romantic. His neck burns, the tingle not unwelcome, simply… Odd after so long. Jack almost forgets about his own weight. It’s truly an effort to hold his elbows in place and not crush her below him. In a loving way; all he wants to do is pull her into a tight hug, help her make a home under his ribcage, and never let her go again.
This woman is his will to live. Losing her… Is simply not an option.
“I’m going to marry you. Then you’ll have to bring me along wherever you go.”
Perhaps she doesn’t realize the depth of his words in this half-asleep state she is — though he means every single one of them — because all Jack gets once more is a hum. As if it is obvious they'll get married. Good; it's supposed to be.
“That didn’t sound like a question,” Samira murmurs after a couple of minutes in silence. Finally, comfortable silence.
“It wasn’t. You can call it a promise or a warning, I say it’s a fact. Unless you stop me, I’m marrying you,” he breathes.
Under him, Samira shifts to the side. Jack gives her as much space as he can for her to do so. Admires her heavy eyelids. Her bra hangs loosely in place.
“You haven’t even met amma yet…” A yawn leaves her lips.
Careful not to jostle her, Jack lies down, pressing close enough for her back to stay against his chest. He envelops her in his arms to ensure that, kisses her neck and mumbles against her flesh,
“Your mother… I’ll deal with her when the time comes.”
“Mm, when the time comes?” She nudges her hair off her shoulders and scruff. Jack can appreciate more skin for him to kiss.
“Marrying you now… Could affect your career. I wouldn’t dare be a hurdle to your future.” He slips down the bra strap from the side he’s nuzzling. “But the moment you become an attending, I’m putting a ring on your finger.”
“Isn’t it… Too soon?”
“No,” Jack whispers as if it’s obvious. “When it’s you, it’s… Never too soon. I don’t know what you did to me, but now I can’t live without you.” Running his nose up her jaw, he sighs. “I’ll still wait if you tell me to. I can give you a ring, you put it on… When you’re ready.”
“A lot can happen ‘til I am.”
“I will twist and twirl the strings of fate myself if I have to.” A hand snakes to her waist, caresses her side.
“Mmhm… Doubt it will be necessary,” Samira hums. Doesn’t oppose when he lifts her arm and drags off one side of her bra, resting his chin on the crook of her neck. Instead, makes it easier for him. Reaches back to clutch his hair after her bare chest gets exposed to the chill air. The other strap stays hooked in place, though it helps cover nothing. Jack might not be able to see it, but he could still feel her skin under his palm; brushed against her bust when his touch drifted up.
“I’ll be cold…”
“You said you were hot just a few minutes ago.”
“You’re hot.” She mumbles, shifting beside him again. Settles when her chest is pressed against his; if the sweat clinging to his skin (and now hers, too) is a nuisance to Samira, Jack can’t tell. She doesn’t seem bothered. “Though your touch still makes me shiver.”
Selfishly, Jack doesn’t let her nestle her face under his chin like she used to do. Tilts her head up with his thumb, hand threading through her curls yet again. Perhaps Samira notes the reassurance he seeks — or perhaps she needs it too — because she meets his lips before he even leans in. Not a deep kiss, not a long kiss, a reminder of what they have. That it will last.
Jack sighs when she pulls away. Drops his face to her neck once more, peppering little nips and kisses lower every time. His arms wrap around her lower back to keep her pressed to his body in a snug embrace. “I’ll keep you warm.”