Archive of Our Own ^beta

You're wondering if I'm lonely:
OK then, yes, I'm lonely

On an intellectual level, Samira knew it was the dumbest thing in the world to care about — she was far from the first person this had happened to — but when Robby called her out in front of everyone in the middle of morning rounds, she was mortified.

Samira shook her head. "I'm off tomorrow."

"Not anymore." It was a Dr. Robby special, that blend of aggravation and disappointment she hated with her whole heart. It never failed to make her feel like absolute garbage. "Eight AM, classroom D. Don't be late, or HR'll kill us both."

His piece said, Robby dragged one of the newer medical students off to see a dislocated shoulder. Samira waited until they were out of sight to slump against the counter. The second week of January and she was already fucking up; so much for this being her year.

"Yikes." Cassie slid in next to her. "Hope you didn't have plans."

She hadn't, but that wasn't the point. When she groaned, Cassie patted her back.

"Think of it this way: maybe you'll get lunch!"

**

It wasn't her fault, was the thing. Samira had meant to do the online modules, especially since Robby had hounded them all about it for like, three straight weeks. But every time she sat down to start them, something pressing came into the ED and dragged her away from the computer. And who had two free hours to sit through HIPAA training, anyway? Not to mention the sexual harassment training, or the IT security training, or any of the other nonsense she was supposed to bend time to take care of.

It was ridiculous, is what it was. She was still in a bad mood about it when she snagged one of the seats near the back of the classroom. It was set up like a lab, rows of tables with two or three chairs at each.

At least the room was kind of full. It helped that she clearly wasn't the only moron who missed the deadline.

"Dr. Mohan. And here I thought you were the type of student to sit front and center."

"Only for classes I'm interested in," she said, watching as Dr. Abbot pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. Samira blinked, momentarily stunned to see him dressed in something other than black scrubs. It felt like seeing one of her teachers in the grocery store, Abbot in jeans and a faded green t-shirt, no camo backpack in sight.

"Not interested in the importance of securing PHI?" He clucked his tongue. "Robby's gonna be so disappointed."

"He already is," she said before she could help herself.

Abbot rolled his eyes, laughing. "Whatever. He's only mad because we're bringing down the department's perfect scores. But no one really gives a shit so long as we're over eighty percent. You're fine."

"Dr. Abbot, welcome back," the instructor said, pausing by their table on the way to the front of the room. "I see you showed up prepared, as usual."

He looked from the table in front of them — Samira's water bottle, iced coffee, notebook, and pen all neatly arranged — to the blank space in front of himself and then half-shrugged. "You know me, Bev. I like to keep it all up here." He tapped his temple. The instructor shook her head, sending a commiserating look Samira's way before moving on.

"Welcome back?" Samira asked.

"It's like, eight hours of clicking," he said. "And the VPN to log in from home never works. I stopped trying years ago. It's easier to show up here."

Samira couldn't imagine deliberately ignoring all those threatening emails. She couldn't decide if he was insane or kind of a genius.

"Put that look away," he said, gesturing to her face. He rearranged himself in his chair, sort of facing the front now. "Look how many people are here. No one gives a shit about this. Not even Robby, really."

At the front of the room, Bev started talking, an agenda pulled up on the screen. The only courtesy Abbot showed her was leaning closer to Samira, lowering his voice when he said, "I will need to borrow a pen, though."

**

When Bev announced it was lunchtime, Abbot stood up, stretching his arms high. Samira watched the hem of his shirt start to rise and studiously looked away.

"What do you want?"

"What?" She turned to a fresh page in her notebook before she looked up. He was staring at her, waiting. "What are you —"

He tilted his head toward the table in the back where boxed lunches were laid out. Samira looked at her watch; it was only eleven AM. Then again, it was free food.

"Oh, I can get my own." It would feel good to move; she wasn't used to sitting for so long. "But thanks," she added belatedly.

He nodded once and then swept his hand out, gesturing for her to go first. The boxes had been picked over — apparently, she was being remediated with a bunch of vultures — so Samira took her time, reading the labels of what was left. Insanely, she was actually hungry, even though if she'd been working she'd probably have only eaten like, an eighth of a protein bar by now.

"All good?" Abbot was leaning against the wall holding a box and a bottle of water. When she nodded, he tilted his head toward the door. "Come on."

Samira looked back at the room; most of the people were eating in their seats.

"This way." He nudged her arm with his lukewarm water, urging her into the hall and up a flight of stairs. He led her through a surprisingly nice set of unlocked wooden doors, down another empty hallway, and into a sunlit conference room. Without comment, he sat down and disassembled his lunch box: sandwich, chips, cookie, tiny packet of condiments, questionable container of pasta salad.

Samira moved to the other side, so the sun was at her back, cracked open her Diet Coke, and then did the same. It was only when they'd been eating for a few minutes that she leaned back, looked around, and said, "I didn't know the hospital had rooms this nice."

He snorted. "Exec wing. This, Dr. Mohan, is where all the money goes."

Everything in the room was state-of-the-art. It took her a moment to realize the painting on the wall was actually a TV.

"I know," he said. "Disgusting, right?

"Yesterday, Robby told us we had to start shifting the majority of people to electronic discharge instructions because the toner was getting too expensive."

"Classic PTMC." Abbot frowned at his bag of chips — salt and vinegar; Samira's were plain kettle chips.

"We could trade," she offered, pointing to her chips and derailing whatever rant he was working up to. They hadn't spent a ton of time together the past few months, unfortunately — with Langdon gone, Samira was spending the majority of her time on days, plugging whatever leaks she could while Robby slowly unraveled — but whenever they had overlapped, he always seemed to find her, like he had today, and he always seemed to have some gripe locked and loaded. It used to be he had case reports to share, but nowadays it felt like he was purposefully picking the most absurd topics and watching her closely for the moment that broke her.

Today, it seemed, she'd broken him first. His mouth flapped, fishlike, and then he said, "Sure, I guess if you like having your tongue shredded."

"I do." She stuck her tongue out. His eyes widened and she realized immediately what an insane thing that was to do. He made her feel like a kid sometimes, but not in a bad way, just in a way where she forgot her manners and did the craziest things. Like emergency caths and sticking her tongue out at one of her attendings. "Sorry. I don't know why I…"

He waved her off. "Whatever, I don't give a shit." He ate a couple chips slowly, drumming his fingers on the table while he chewed. Samira stared at the Van Gogh TV and wondered how many toner cartridges it was worth.

"So tell me, Dr. Mohan, what's next? You've got what, eighteen months left, right? Then what?"

"Oh." It was nice of him to ask. Robby'd stopped worrying when he realized she was adhering to the schedule she'd laid out on day three of her residency; these days, his interest was on how she could be better, faster, smarter. He rarely asked about her plans beyond her current patient and the next three on the board. "Well," she started and then laid it out for him.

**

They ran out of time during lunch, but when Bev dismissed them for the day, Abbot turned to her and asked, "What are you doing now? I want to hear the rest of your five-year plan."

"I'm not — it's not — wait, is it really only two?"

"Yeah, that's why we're going out." He picked up the melted remains of her iced coffee and chucked it toward the garbage can ten feet away, looking pleased when it banked off the wall and into the bin. "What do you feel like, Italian? Wings?"

"We just ate."

"Drinks, then. Come on, let's go."

Samira had never been herded somewhere so much in her life, but she let him hustle her out of the building and down the block. She'd assumed they would end up at the shitty bar across from the staff entrance, but he walked them past it, around the corner, and into a dark wine bar she'd never seen before.

"I didn't know this place was here," she said after they'd ordered, their coats stuffed onto the empty third chair at their high top.

"And I didn't know you were considering a research fellowship."

"Not considering. It's what I plan to do."

He hummed. She waited for him to say something, but he just gestured for her to keep talking, so she did: told him about her dad, and her current research, and the fellowships she was planning to apply to. It was exhilarating, in a way, having him staring at her, listening so carefully. Usually, Robby was doing three things at once and kind of absently nodding while she talked during their monthly one-on-ones, but here Dr. Abbot was, staring at her with the same intensity he had during complex cases.

When she was finished, everything laid out tip to tail, she asked, "What do you think?"

"Very," his head tilted, "comprehensive."

A surge of pride rushed through her. Samira couldn't stop the grin from overtaking her face. "Thank you."

Abbot made a funny noise into his pint glass, the corner of his mouth going up the slightest bit. "Alright," he said, and she thought he was trying to sound exasperated but it wasn't landing right, "I know you've got even more details you want to tell me, might as well be while I've got half a beer left, let's go."

So Samira explained her current research project and the initial findings, and he asked the kind of questions that poked holes in her argument but in a good way, not like he was trying to dismantle her work. They were standing in the hospital parking garage, Abbot arguing that her sample size was too small — "Can't you get one of the freaks in the business office to pull a report so you don't have to hand-review every chart?" he asked, which was a good point, actually — when Samira realized it was dark out. The sun had set while they were standing here, the wind picking up.

Samira pushed her hair behind her ear. She'd had one glass of wine, it wasn't nearly enough to make her feel giddy like this.

It was like he realized it the second she did, whatever weird spell between them breaking. "I mean," he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, "that's just a suggestion."

"It's a good one. I'll take it under advisement."

He smiled — no teeth, just his mouth in a thin, curved line that on anyone else would probably have been creepy — and then said, "Great. Have a good night. Get home safe."

He squeezed her arm as he walked past her, headed to the reserved spots closer to the entrance, and Samira watched him go for a moment before pulling her phone out to make notes about everything he'd suggested.

**

She didn't see him again for another week and a half, when he sidled up next to her as she was standing at the hub, looking up at the board, trying to figure out who, if anyone, she could cram into the last twenty minutes of her shift.

"Evening, Dr. Mohan."

Before she could reply, he dropped a pen into the front pocket of her scrubs top.

"Sorry," he said. "I've been meaning to give that back to you."

While she was still processing what the fuck had happened — he hadn't touched her, so why did she feel so warm? Was she going crazy? It felt like she was going crazy — he walked off, headed towards the lockers with his stuff.

"They're running a report for me," she called after him, irrationally pleased when he spun around, sending her a thumbs up while he walked backward for a couple steps. Samira made the same gesture back, felt incredibly dorky, and immediately stopped.

"Perlah, I'm taking the sore throat in North 5 and then I'm leaving."

"Got it," Perlah said. "Hope you didn't jinx yourself."

Samira crossed her fingers and headed down the hall.

**

Samira's schedule was set far enough in advance that she could prepare. Or, she could try to prepare and then get frustrated when all her efforts were for naught. So even though she'd known it was coming, getting shifted to nights for February was a brutal change. Especially when, halfway through the month, a polar vortex drove everyone in Pittsburgh into hiding. Samira had never seen the ED so quiet for such a long stretch.

"It's unsettling," Abbot said, legs stretched out in front of him. He was leaning so far back in his chair that he was mostly speaking to the ceiling.

From his other side, Ellis rolled her eyes.

"I don't know what you're complaining about," Samira said, absolutely not staring at the freckles dotting the column of his neck. "I could get so much mandatory training done right now."

Abbot sat up. His face was unreadable. "Just for that, you can go see the family with norovirus in North 9."

"Seriously?" Samira's jaw dropped. Ellis laughed as Abbot nodded, making a shooing motion.

"That's the price you pay for being a smart mouth," Ellis said like she hadn't been making fun of Abbot's appallingly sweet coffee order fifteen minutes ago. "Welcome to the night shift, Mohan."

It was maybe thirty minutes into Samira's stint in antiemetics hell — taking a history was painful when no one could stop dry heaving long enough to get a sentence out — that he popped his head into the room. She watched him look around in horror before he said, "Dr. Mohan, when you have a minute."

It took her two minutes to enter the orders, another two to explain to the parents that it was likely food poisoning and that a nurse would come in to start IVs and give them meds. She was glad everyone was sick enough that they didn't wince at the thought of needles.

When she came out of the room, Abbot was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, waiting for her. He started walking the second the door was shut.

"Everything okay?" she asked, following.

"You ever seen frostbite necrosis?"

"No." Samira'd treated plenty of frostbite over the years, but nothing necrotizing.

"You want to?" There was something low and urgent about his voice that she vaguely recognized. When she looked over, he was watching her, not where he was going.

"Yeah." She probably shouldn't have sounded quite so excited by the opportunity. "Of course."

Anyone else might have laughed at her — Collins definitely would, and Shen too, probably — but Abbot just nodded once like he figured as much and kept walking.

**

"You're coming, right?" Ellis leaned one shoulder against the locker next to Samira's.

"Sorry, where?" she asked, mostly to buy herself some time. They'd been on for three nights; the only place she really wanted to go right now was home. But she'd read Year of Yes last month and decided to try it for herself, forgetting that in order to say yes to things, someone would have to invite her. Forgetting that when someone invited her somewhere, her first inclination was always to say no.

"Brunch. Well, breakfast." She gestured outside, in the general direction of half a dozen restaurants, most of which Samira only knew through Uber Eats. Abbot was standing by the doors, watching them. When he realized Samira was looking at him, he raised one eyebrow. "And I phrased it wrong, it wasn't a question. You're coming."

Samira inhaled through her nose, counted to three, and thought of Shonda. "Yeah, sure. Thanks."

She was glad for it an hour later, listening to Ellis recount one of the recurring patients they'd had over the holidays who kept showing up with Christmas decorations lodged in his rectum.

"I mean, by the third time you'd think maybe he'd go to a different hospital, but nope. He knew us all by name by the end."

Samira took a sip of her mimosa — it was Sunday, and both Abbot and Ellis apparently came here enough that they had standing brunch orders because their waitress had asked if they wanted the usual the second they were seated, and their bloody Marys had been delivered before Samira had a chance to glance at the menu — and said, "Maybe he was avoiding his family."

"By sticking ornaments up his ass?" Ellis looked skeptical.

Samira shrugged. "Some people will do anything to avoid dinner with their in-laws."

Ellis laughed out loud. Samira pressed her lips together, pleased with her own joke and the way Abbot was smirking.

"You're alright, Slim. Why've they been hiding you on day shift?"

Before Samira could answer — not that she had an answer to that — Abbot shrugged and said, "Robby."

Ellis made a face that Samira interpreted as say no more. Abbot stared at her across the table, so Samira stabbed a grape with her fork, chewing it carefully and trying to think of a way to change the subject.

"You guys come here a lot?" was what she came up with. Pathetic.

"Did Parker not tell you?" One corner of Abbot's mouth twitched like it was all a very funny joke. Samira shook her head slowly.

Ellis grinned. "This is night shift journal club, baby."

**

Samira didn't like working nights, was the thing. There was no amount of sleep hygiene she could practice that helped her fall asleep at ten in the morning the day she was supposed to work, so she always ended up feeling delirious at some point during the week, so tired her forehead felt like it was vibrating.

"I know, I know," she said defensively, the minute she stepped out of South 22 and found Shen leaning against the desk at the hub with his arms crossed. "She was worried because her son's fever was so high, and she's ESL so it took a minute to explain, but I'm going."

It sucked, trying to speed through patients when she felt like she was moving underwater, but that was part of the gig.

"What?" Shen looked around like he thought she might be talking to somebody else.

"The baby in 22 is good to go," she told the nearest nurse, Alma, who nodded. "I put in orders for amoxicillin." To Shen she said, "I'll pick up two more, just give me a second."

Samira dug her knuckles into her forehead and squinted up at the board. The words looked like they were moving as she scanned for something — someone, she mentally corrected herself — that looked quick.

"Seriously?" He cleared his throat. "Did you not get the speech?"

"Oh, I got it." She felt her face flush as her brain supplied a loop of Robby telling her she needed to pick up the pace, calling her Slo-Mo, clapping his hands at her like she was a second-chair violinist caught behind the beat. For a mortifying second, she thought she might cry. She swallowed it down and chalked it up to exhaustion. "Sorry, I know, it's just —"

Shen sighed dramatically. It was all the warning she got before his hand dropped on her shoulder and he steered her down the hallway to where it was quieter.

"I'm not as good at this, but just pretend I'm doing it with like, insane eye contact and a limp, okay?"

"What?"

"Was that insensitive? Whatever, he doesn't care. Don't tell him I said that, though. Okay." He took another breath and settled both his hands on Samira's shoulders. "Dr. Mohan, we are here to treat these patients to the best of our abilities, so do what you gotta do and fuck what those suits upstairs say. Okay? They're not down here in the shit with us, so they don't get a say, especially on the night shift. Ooh-rah."

"That's the Marines," Bridget said as she breezed past. "Abbot's Army. Hooah."

Shen winced "Fuck. Don't tell him I did that, he'll make me work all the summer holidays." Bridget laughed and kept moving. Shen made a face at Samira. "He gives that speech like once a week, I can't believe I screwed it up."

Samira felt like she was going insane. "What the hell?"

Shen rolled his eyes. "Can you like, fucking relax? It's you, me, two interns, and one med student from Kentucky keeping the wheels on the track right now. Do I look like I give a crap about bed turnover?"

"You don't?"

He took his hands off her shoulders and gestured helplessly at the boarders trying to sleep, the handful of people in rooms waiting for labs, consults from upstairs, whatever the hell else they needed. If Samira took a moment to consider it, she'd probably agree how ridiculous it all was.

"Okay," she said, mostly to herself. It felt a little bit like he'd lifted a barbell off her neck.

"Yeah?" Shen smiled, so many perfect white teeth at once. He gave a little fist pump. "Awesome. It's better when he does it — he's really got the damn the man attitude down, you know?"

She nodded like that was something she did know. Samira tried to imagine Abbot giving her that speech, two feet away, his fingers digging into her shoulders, ten points grounding her. The thought made her a little woozy.

"I don't know, though. You did a pretty good job."

Shen laughed. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Dr. Mohan."

"MVC, two minutes out," Bridget said, coming back the other way.

Samira took a deep breath and put the whole conversation behind her.

**

In an effort to make herself focus for a few hours — the last three days she'd tried to work from her couch and every time it had resulted in an impromptu nap — Samira dragged herself into the hospital library early Friday afternoon, before her shift. In addition to her research, she was in charge of the white paper they were putting together about their response to PittFest, which was a specific kind of hell, especially when every draft resulted in thirty-six new comments from Dr. Robby. She was dreading opening up the notes he'd provided on her personal statement for her fellowship applications.

She was tucked away in a carrel, trying to simplify the explanation of their triage system, when Abbot found her. He dragged a chair closer, swinging it around and sitting backwards.

“Heard John stole my speech.”

“Who’s John?” Samira deleted the word quadrants and replaced it with zones. “Oh, Dr. Shen.”

“Yeah, Dr. Shen.” Abbot looked amused. "He said he told you not to worry so much about turnover."

"Yep." She shift-command-H'd to find all instances of quadrant and replace them with zone, and then marked Robby's comment as resolved.

"He meant it," Abbot said. "And I would've meant it, too, if I'd said it."

Samira stopped glaring at her screen long enough to shoot him a look that she hoped seemed understanding. "I know."

It was stupid, was all. She had like, a week left before she was back on days, back to Robby and the constant need to churn and burn.

Abbot seemed to read all of that in the set of her jaw because he sighed through his nose. "It sucks, but sometimes you gotta play the game."

"I know."

"You're an excellent doctor, Mohan." There was a ferocity in his voice, and he angled his head as he spoke, making sure she was looking directly at him, his gaze so intense that for a moment she didn't know what to say. She hoped her cheeks weren't too pink.

After a beat, she nodded. "I know."

Abbot ducked his head, but not before she caught the hint of a smile threatening to break through. That warmed her nearly as much as the compliment had. He tended toward stoic; it was a tiny thrill every time a glimmer of something else seeped through his cracks. He scrubbed his hand over his face, the same way he did when it was five AM and they were all on their last legs, desperate for the day crew to start rolling in.

"Alright, what're you doing here other than exhausting yourself before work even starts? Getting a head start on your applications?" Before Samira could protest he said, "I could help, look them over if you wanted."

"God, no. Thank you, but…" It was bad enough dealing with Robby's feedback — just because she was used to his brusqueness, his incessant demand for perfection, didn't mean it didn't still sting. She didn't know if she could handle the same from Abbot. "I'll take a letter if you're offering, but I don't need another person disappointed in my grammar."

Abbot's face did six different things before it settled back to neutral. "Of course. Just send me the info and the deadline."

"Sure." The way he was looking at her made Samira feel exposed; she wasn't sure when he'd last blinked, and at some point, it became too much to handle. She turned back to her computer and scrolled to Robby's next comment. It just said CLARIFY. Samira scrolled back up a paragraph to give herself context, all too aware of the way Abbot just sat there, watching. It made her itchy; she twisted her hair into a bun, reaching for her claw clip to pin it in place just so she had something else to do with her hands.

"Alright," Abbot said suddenly, tapping his fingers on the back of his chair before standing, "guess I should go see what fresh hell awaits us downstairs. Get a head start for once."

Samira checked the time. She had half an hour until she had to clock in.

"See you down there?" he asked and then made a face like it was a stupid question. She nodded anyway, pleased when he half-smiled before schooling it into a mock strict line. "Don't be late."

"Never."

She went back to her edits, already reworking the paragraph when Abbot dropped his hand on her shoulder, warm and big, his thumb brushing over the top of her spine. It was unexpected. That's why Samira gasped.

"For the record," he said, so close she could feel his breath on the shell of her ear, "you're crushing it."

He squeezed her shoulder once and then disappeared, leaving her blinking at the cursor, stunned.

**

"Journal club tomorrow," he said thirty hours later, sticking his head into the room where Samira was administering activated charcoal to the third sorority girl of the night. "Bring something interesting."

She shot him a thumbs-up and then pulled Tyler, the third-year med student rotating with them tonight, out of the way before he got puked on. By the time Samira checked the door again, Abbot was gone.

**

"Alright, Mohan, what do ya got?"

Samira took ten seconds to appreciate the absurdity of the situation: it was Sunday morning, she was at brunch with her coworkers, her mimosa was ninety-nine percent champagne, someone had thrown a urine sample at her barely an hour ago, and now she had to present an article she'd dug up just after midnight. It was, quite possibly, the least prepared she'd ever been for anything in her academic career.

"Right." She took a fortifying sip. "So there's evidence that in patients with possible PE, a negative D-dimer —"

She was cut off by Ellis, who turned to Abbot and said, "Now why'd you have to make her into a nerd?"

He held his hands up, palms out, full don't look at me.

"Slim, what is this?" Ellis gestured at the article Samira'd pulled up on her phone in case she needed to reference the statistics.

"He said bring something interesting."

"Yeah. For this." Ellis shoved her phone into Samira's hands, a TikTok account named @CodeIdiot autoplaying. Samira watched as an AI voice and captions told the story of their repeat Christmas ornament visitor while someone made spiral art. She tapped into the profile before it was finished and saw dozens of others — a patient with a fork in their nose, a grown man who'd eaten a bath bomb because it smelled good, at least three separate stories about sexual harassment that Samira assumed were all attributed to Myrna.

"Is this —"

"As an attending, I have no knowledge of this account," Abbot said.

Ellis rolled her eyes, taking her phone back. "No one cares about your little embolisms. Night shift journal club only asks three questions."

There was a long pause. Samira wondered if she was supposed to intuit what the questions were, but Ellis was apparently just teeing up Abbot, because he laughed once, a gunshot of a sound, and, holding up fingers for each fundamental, asked, "Who stuck what where?"

**

Spring came in without notice, three straight days of seventy-degree weather in early March that had Samira feeling like a new person despite all the sleep deprivation and stress.

Sure, she spent most of them on her tiny balcony, revising the white paper based on more of Robby's comments and picking at her fellowship applications, but at least she was getting some vitamin D.

"Get it, girl," Trinity said, holding up her hand for a high five when Samira said as much one morning, everyone waiting for Robby to kick off rounds.

Samira slapped their palms together. "Get what?"

"Congrats on the sex." Trinity twined their fingers together so Samira's whole arm vibrated when she shook their raised hands.

"I'm — what?"

"Oh, you meant actual vitamin D." Trinity laughed in her face. "Sure. Congrats on the… bone health."

"It's not real," Mel said, coming up on Trinity's other side. "Not bone health, that's real, obviously. The weather — it's fool's spring, don't trust it."

Trinity made a face, but Samira had been in Pittsburgh long enough to know Mel was right.

"Why do you think I'm trying to get it while I can?"

"Seriously?" Trinity muttered, mostly to herself, while Mel beamed at Samira in agreement.

"Okay!" Robby clapped his hands together, a signal for everyone to shut up and huddle. "We are at record capacity today, so I need everyone working at the top of their game. Got it?"

Samira knew it was meant for her, even if he made sure to look at Mel and Cassie in the same sentence.

"Got it," she said, nodding, her forehead already tingling with exhaustion. She hadn't slept for shit last night, awake from twelve until four with the phantom worry she should be doing something else. It had been so bad she'd rolled into the hospital early, two patients already under her belt when she caught Abbot and Ellis on their way out.

"Text me," Ellis had said, holding out her fist for Samira to bump, Abbot giving her a small salute as he went past. Samira had been jealous that they were already on their way home and then felt guilty for thinking it. This was her dream job.

"Dr. Mohan, welcome back to the crew," Robby said, calling her out in front of everyone.

She pasted a smile on and made direct eye contact with him. "Glad to be here."

He watched her, eyes narrowed, for a moment, and then apparently decided he was satisfied by what he saw. "Okay, let's get to work."

**

She'd forgotten how different day-shift exhaustion was from night-shift exhaustion. There was never any time to sit down, take a break, or finish her charts, especially with Robby breathing down her neck.

Samira felt like she ran through twelve hours and then fell into her bed, dead, only to resurrect herself for the next shift.

On some level it was better: she couldn't nitpick her applications to death if she was busy worrying about things like turnover and patient satisfaction and the number of chart deficiencies that kept building up in her inbox.

"Oh," Robby passed her in the hallway and swung back around so he could walk alongside her, "I sent you another email last week."

"Yeah." She'd seen it, had opened it long enough to see his redlines, and then passed out before she could action any of them. The submission deadline was looming, though, so she knew why he was getting antsy. "I saw, thanks. I'll get you an updated draft by the weekend."

"Almost there," he said. And then, "It's good, Samira, we just need it to be —"

"Great," she finished for him, her whole body getting heavier, like gravity had suddenly increased. "I know. It will be."

Robby opened his mouth and she waited for a moment but he said nothing and all she could think of was the board, the dozens of patients in chairs, his hands clapping as he urged everyone to go-go-go this morning.

"I'll fix it," she promised and then turned on her heel to pick up more patients.

**

She sent him the revisions two days early — it was a wonder what she could get accomplished when insomnia was on her side — and then turned off all her lights and laid in bed, warding off a migraine as the temperature and barometric pressure both took a nosedive.

She woke up to half a dozen texts from Ellis, including a picture of an x-ray of what appeared to be a Hot Wheels in someone's colon with the notes Guess how old he was? and hint OVER FOUR.

12, Samira texted, a bleary-eyed lowball estimate. She checked her email, took a shower, pulled together the world's saddest excuse of a salad for whatever the hell meal time it was closest to, and then went back to bed.

When she woke up, it was eleven AM on Thursday, close enough to twenty-four hours before her next shift that Samira felt somewhat rested.

He was thirty-two!!!!! Ellis's response said, and then, Girl, start pulling ur weight, I know u see freaky shit in the daytime too.

So instead of checking her email or working on her personal statement, Samira spent twenty minutes recording and rerecording a voice note about the girl she treated whose bloody nose had ended up with her blowing what appeared to be an entire nose vein into a tissue, causing Madison — a third-year med student from Wisconsin who always introduced herself as "Madison, from Wisconsin" — to pass out, hit her head on the patient chair, and end up needing twenty stitches herself.

**

Robby's final edits on the white paper came through while Samira was at work, a Saturday morning rife with ankle sprains, ACL tears, and a dozen other high-school-sports-related injuries.

She made the final changes while she was eating a veggie wrap one-handed. Radiology was backed up, the beds were full, and there wasn't anyone in chairs who could be triaged without one or the other, so she had the time. Plus, it was Matthews running the floor today, and he was twice as old as Robby and didn't give two craps about anything but making it to the end of the day.

Within five minutes of sending the final draft back, Robby had circulated it to all the coauthors with a note that Samira would be submitting next Friday, pending their changes.

"Hey," Cassie stuck her head into the break room, "you finished? Trouble's en route — a bus of kids coming back from a basketball game skidded on black ice, we have multiple incoming. Four minutes."

"Shit," Samira said, shoving her phone into her pants pocket and the rest of her lunch into her mouth so she could follow Cassie out onto the floor, Matthews already there, waiting. "Black ice?"

"That's what they said. It's getting bad out there, apparently, I don't fucking know."

It was the last moment of quiet any of them had for hours.

**

By the time they got caught up — as close to caught up as they ever were — the inclement weather blast had gone out to the night shift and Matthews rounded everyone from the day up to say, "As you have probably heard, we are under a blizzard warning. They've called in the night shift early, but anyone who is here is considered essential and should plan to stay until conditions change."

He delivered the message robotically like it was something he said every Saturday afternoon. It was only once he finished and looked at all their despondent faces that he said, "I know, it sucks. Get some food now, if you can. Hopefully, it'll blow through quickly and we can all go home soon."

The wind had picked up over the past couple of hours — Samira had been busy with back-to-back STEMIs after the bus accident — and the sky was an eerie gray. She bought a Diet Coke and a Kit Kat from the vending machine, sticking the chocolate in her locker for later. That was something she picked up from Shen, hiding a surprise for her exhausted, three AM self.

"Cafeteria run?" Cassie offered, and despite the unending list of patients on the board, Samira agreed.

"Is your son — will he be alright?" she asked as they rode the elevator upstairs.

"He's with his dad the whole weekend. How about you? Did this ruin all your plans?"

"Only if you consider refreshing your email plans," Samira said with a self-deprecating laugh. She hated the look Cassie shot her, like Samira was a pathetic dork. Defensively, she added, "I'm on tomorrow, too."

Cassie hummed. The elevator lurched, painfully slow, and rather than deal with the silence Samira pulled out her phone and checked her email.

Nothing from me. Abbot had written, in response to Robby's circulation of the white paper. Looks great, Mohan. I expected nothing less. :) - Jack

She read it three times before the elevator deposited them outside the cafeteria. It was a miracle Cassie didn't call her out for beaming so hard.

**

The storm had a net effect on their patient load. Chairs cleared out and their walk-ins dwindled, but the patients who did come through were absolute disasters.

Samira was elbow-deep in a snowmobile disembowelment when Abbot shoved through the doors, arms out to be gowned and gloved. "What's the good word, Dr. Mohan?"

"Cauterizing the worst of the bleeders," she said, surprised by the steadiness of her own voice, "just waiting on surgery to get here."

As if on cue, Dr. Walsh busted through the doors.

"So nice of you to join us!" Abbot said, sounding as if he'd been there all along.

Samira didn't have to look up to know that Walsh was glaring at him. "Sorry for being tied up with the joy of man versus snowplow," she said. "Mohan, what's wrong?"

"His insides are outside, Emery," Abbot said.

"Twenty-four, male, disembowelment from a snowmobile accident, unconscious on arrival, MTP in place," Samira said, looking up to find Walsh and Abbot across from her.

Abbot nodded. "That's what I said."

Walsh looked unimpressed. "Is he good to go?"

"Ready as he'll ever be."

"Send him up. OR 4's ready and waiting." Walsh waved her hand at the transport team standing by. She was gone as quickly as she'd come, and then it was just Samira and Abbot and Jesse.

"I didn't know you were here," she said, pulling off her PPE. There was blood nearly up to her shoulders.

"Came in early."

Samira looked at the clock above the doors. "It's two AM." No wonder she felt like she was DOA.

"Yeah, I've been here a while," he said. "You've been busy." He put his hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the doors of Trauma 1.

"I need to chart that."

"You can do it later."

He propelled her down the hallway, up the stairs, and into an office Samira was sure she'd never seen before.

"What —" she started to ask, but he shushed her, turning on half the overhead lights.

"PTMC's hottest club is the director of cardiac rehab's office."

"What are you talking about?" Samira tried to figure out what the fuck was going on, but everything was a blur — the snowmobile accident, the blizzard, the three broken bones she'd triaged from the bus, his comments on their paper. It all seemed so long ago, and yet. She tried to focus, remember what day it was, what she'd had for breakfast.

"Forget it," he said. "Go to sleep."

Before she could question him, he nudged her toward the couch. It wasn't very big, and she tried to protest — there were patients, it was an emergency — but he ignored all that, pressing on her shoulders until she sank down.

"There we go." He kept the pressure firm until Samira was on her side, knees tucked up. It was cold in here, not that she knew where here was. He hit the lights, sending the room into total darkness. He laid a warm blanket over her shoulders and Samira could feel herself succumbing like he'd hit a kill switch. "Don't tell Maggie I told you about this."

"Who's Maggie?"

"Exactly."

**

The next thing Samira knew, someone was shaking her awake. There was grey light streaming through the windows — it wasn't morning, but it was closer to it than anything else.

"Come on, Slim, house fire vics en route, we need you."

"Ellis?" Samira sat up, the blanket falling onto her lap; she realized dimly that it wasn't a blanket, it was a jacket. She pushed her arms into it, zipping it as she stood up, accepting the coffee Ellis offered her. "I didn't know you were here."

"Got called in early, came in early. Like an idiot."

They both laughed, even though it sounded hollow.

Ellis stopped outside the side doors to the ED. "You good?"

Samira took a sip of the too-hot coffee. Her watch said it was just after five. Through the window, she could see what looked like at least a foot of snow.

She raised her eyebrow. "Does it matter?"

Ellis laughed and threw her arm around Samira's neck, hugging her close. "That's the spirit."

**

It wasn't until she was home, some twelve hours later, that Samira realized the jacket she was wearing wasn't her own.

**

"Dr. Mohan."

Samira jumped a foot. She shoved the post-it note saying SORRY I STILL HAVE YOUR JACKET into her pocket instead of into the slats of Dr. Abbot's locker where it belonged. "Mel! You scared me!"

"Sorry."

It took a long moment for Mel to get around to what she'd wanted to say, which was, "You're friendly with Frank, too, right?"

It took her a second. Samira wasn't really friends with anyone, but still. "Yeah, I guess Langdon and I were friendly."

Mel smiled. "Do you want to hang out this week? He's having a small thing, I guess you could call it, like, a party — a very small party — on Thursday, and we're both off. I can drive."

"Um." Samira felt dazed. She knew from the rumor mill that Langdon had been in rehab, but that was months ago. Until this moment, she'd thought he'd just been around, hanging out with his family, doing god knows what. "Sure?"

"Great." Mel clapped her hands twice, the picture of excitement. "I'll text you the details!"

She was gone as quickly as she'd snuck up. Samira didn't get two seconds to process what the hell had happened because as soon as Mel was gone, she was replaced by Dr. Abbot.

"That sounds exciting," he said, head twisted like he was watching Mel bop down the hall.

"It will be." Samira smiled. She was supposed to be saying yes to things; this definitely counted.

Abbot smiled back at her, no teeth but full eye crinkles, and Samira felt all the possible things she could say — have you heard what Langdon's up to?; I submitted the white paper, Walsh had bullshit notes; my research project's sixty percent done; I saw a guy this morning with PICA, he couldn't stop eating candles, I'm texting Ellis on my way home — fall right out of her brain.

It took a minute before she came back online, and by then he was opening his locker.

"Oh," she said, "here."

Abbot looked stunned when she yanked his jacket out of her locker and thrust it at him.

"Thanks. For… you know."

He looked at the jacket in his hands. Shit, she should've washed it. Oh well, it was too late now.

"Sure," he said, and Samira swung her own locker shut and hit the bricks before she could find a way to say something dumber than what she'd already mumbled.

**

When Mel called it a very small party, she was technically exaggerating.

"I told him to invite more people," she said, not quite whispering, while Langdon was getting everyone drinks. "He's getting to be a little… hermit-y."

"Are you talking about me?"

Mel paused. "Yes?"

Samira wanted to sink into the ground, mortified, but Langdon kind of laughed and started passing around cans of sparkling water.

"Nag," he said affectionately, tugging the end of Mel's braid as he sat down in the chair next to her. Samira watched it happen and then looked at Mateo, across from her on Langdon's tiny concrete patio. His eyebrow went up very high. Good. She wasn't seeing things.

"So," she started and then realized she couldn't ask Langdon how he was doing. Mel had given her a quick rundown on the way over: he had a new apartment, he was getting divorced, his not-yet-ex-wife had sent the dog to Ohio to live with her brother's family. He was hoping to come back to work in the summer, but that wasn't settled yet and it was a pretty touchy subject so it would be easier to just avoid it altogether. It was a lot of information all at once, delivered somewhat breathlessly because the drive hadn't been all that long. "Your place is cute."

Langdon looked pointedly at the shitty lawn chairs they were in and then at the gritty pile of half-melted snow shoveled in one corner. "Thanks. It's getting there."

"Oh, hey, softball practice started yesterday," Mateo said, because he was better at this than any of them, and then he launched into a story about how Santos was the most aggressive third baseman they'd ever had on the team.

Samira laughed. "That tracks."

"Did either of you play?" Mel asked.

"Collins and I signed up our first year." Langdon shook his head, looking and sounding like he still couldn't believe it had happened. "Robby was the manager back then. I don't think we won a single game. We did set a league record for most ten-run rules, though, so." He made jazz hands around his La Croix can, which made Mel laugh, at least.

She turned to Samira, waiting. Probably hoping for a similarly disastrous story.

"I didn't even know there was a team."

"Sign-up sheet went around last month," Mateo said. "You were stuck on nights."

"Gross." Langdon wrinkled his nose.

"I didn't mind it, actually."

Mel's eyebrows went up. "Really? It seems so… disruptive."

Langdon and Mateo made faces like they agreed with her, and Samira understood, because it was disruptive. But at the same time, it was… she couldn't find the words to convey how it made her feel, how it could be simultaneously quieter and more complicated, how the insanity of a crisis in the middle of the night pulled everybody a little closer together. How no one told her she needed to move faster so her patient satisfaction scores had gone up almost five points in February and she'd won thirty bucks in a flip cup competition during a particularly slow shift.

"I don't know, it's just different," she said because giving out any details felt akin to spilling state secrets. Either they got it or they didn't; there was nothing gained from trying to convince them. "Plus I can get so much more done during the day when I'm working nights."

Langdon put his hand over his heart. "There's our psycho workaholic."

At least he laughed when Samira flipped him off.

**

"Hey," Ellis snagged her by the back pocket of her scrubs, stopping her in front of the ambulance bay doors, "your candle snacker is on the verge of going viral."

"Seriously?" Samira didn't follow the account; she needed plausible deniability. "Like, for real?"

Ellis waggled her eyebrows. "I'll keep you posted."

It was such a stupid thing, but Samira still couldn't stop herself from grinning. Ellis was grinning, too, both of them looking like fools. Out of the corner of her eye, Samira could see Robby standing under the board at the hub, gesturing everyone over for the morning huddle.

"I gotta go."

"Yeah." Samira got two steps away before Ellis said, "Oh, wait. I'm trying to go on vacation, but this dick of an attending's making me find my own coverage before it gets approved. Could you —"

"Yeah, just send me the dates." Samira walked backward as she talked, trying to appease both Ellis and Robby.

"Sick. Thanks, Slim."

Samira shot her a thumbs up and turned around, sliding into the empty space next to Collins as Robby said good morning and asked if anyone had a patient story they'd like to share to kick the whole thing off. He sounded as annoyed by the concept as the rest of them.

"Slim?" Collins said, her voice low.

Samira rolled her eyes; it wasn't something she wanted to talk about. In her pocket, her phone buzzed, all probably notifications from Ellis, sharing stats and dates and probably a few choice words about Abbot getting off on being withholding about the schedule. She bit back her smile; Collins was still staring at her.

**

"There's pizza in the break room," Kim mentioned as she breezed past. Samira checked her watch — there was only an hour left in their shift. Whoever had it delivered definitely missed the lunch hour.

Still, she ducked into the break room to grab a slice. She could work on her charts and have an early dinner. Late lunch. Whatever the hell it was.

That was exactly what she was doing — eating neatly at one of the computers in the hub — when she heard Dana say, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Abbot laughed, folding her into a hug. "Can't a guy come in early to say thank you for all you do? Or does everyone agree the pizza's enough?"

Dana rolled her eyes and shoved him away. Samira watched him hug Princess, too, saying something quietly that had Princess laughing out loud.

"Mohan." He nodded at her as he walked past, dropping his bag onto the counter.

"Abbot." She saluted him with her half-eaten slice and watched as he made his way across the floor, stopping to say hello to anyone who was free.

"Who's that?" Brady, their newest med student, asked her. He leaned over the counter to watch him walk away.

"Dr. Abbot," Perlah said before Samira could answer. "Night shift."

"How does a guy get on night shift?"

Samira bristled at Brady's tone.

Perlah said, "Step one: get a stronger stomach." Brady had puked at a ring avulsion that morning.

"Hey, uh —" Robby stuck his head out of Central 7, looking a little frantic.

"Brady," Samira offered.

"Right, Brady, come here." He waved for him and Brady paled before scurrying over.

"Abbot would make that kid cry in fifteen seconds," Princess said, Perlah replying in Tagalog. Samira tuned them out. It wasn't that she disagreed — Brady had a constitution more suited for dermatology — but Abbot was patient, a good teacher. Just because he always looked like he was five seconds from yelling at everyone didn't mean he actually did it. Samira couldn't remember ever hearing him lose his shit at someone on the floor.

"So the day shift gets morale-boosting food," he said, surprising her. "No wonder you were in such a rush to get back here."

"Yes, they lured me with the promise of one slice of pizza every eight weeks," she said, trying her hardest not to laugh. When she glanced up from the computer screen, he was staring down at her looking quietly delighted.

"One?" He sounded horrified. "You gotta take 'em for all they're worth, Mohan. Have I taught you nothing?"

"Dr. Abbot," Gloria said, appearing out of nowhere before Samira could say anything, "always a delight to see you. I see you found the pizza. Thank you for all you do."

He raised his plate — which Samira noticed had three slices stacked up, one on top of the other — in a halfhearted cheers. "Your appreciation does not go unnoticed, Gloria."

"Yeah, thank you so much," Princess said, and the sentiment echoed around the hub. Gloria smiled beatifically right up until the point where someone, Samira couldn't tell who, said, "It definitely makes up for that TB outbreak we were wholly unprepared for last month."

Abbot looked at Samira like she was the one who'd said it, eyes wide, eyebrows high. She pressed her lips into a straight line so she wouldn't laugh, especially when Gloria said, "Oh!" and then pulled out her silent phone, said, "Hello?" and hustled away. Samira pressed her sleeve to her mouth, but the tiniest noise still escaped.

"Shhhh." Abbot kicked her leg, and that made everything ten times worse. She put her head down on the desk, trying to keep as quiet as possible even as her shoulders shook with laughter. He shifted closer, his body one long line of heat next to hers, and now Samira really thought she was losing it, even as he muttered, "Oh my god, you would be an atrocious spy. This is it. We found the thing you're bad at."

He sounded so disappointed; it only made her laugh harder.

**

"There she is." Everyone at the hub looked up when Samira walked in. "The prodigal doctor returns to the night shift."

Samira made a face at Abbot. "I was told there would be a parade."

He smiled, enough that Samira could count a few of his teeth, and wasn't that a fun surprise, to be able to make him look like that. At the counter next to him, going through handoff, Robby looked back and forth between the two of them.

"Dr. Ellis is in Buenos Aires," she told him. "She asked me to cover some shifts for her."

"An R3 filling in for a senior resident?" Robby looked skeptical, but Abbot waved him off.

"It's May, she's basically a senior resident already."

Robby looked at Samira over the top of his glasses; she stood up straighter. After a minute he hummed.

"We're making our residents find their own coverage now?" he asked, low enough that Samira knew it was a question for Abbot, not her.

"Shit rolls downhill, man." He was unperturbed, so Samira decided she wouldn't worry about it either. At least not right now.

Robby made an unimpressed noise.

"I approve their spur-of-the-moment vacations if they can find appropriate coverage, just like it happens in the real world." Abbot crossed his arms. "I'm preparing them for their jobs."

Robby shoved his glasses onto his forehead so he could rub his eyes. Abbot got this glint in his eyes and Samira wasn't sure when she started being able to recognize his looks but —

"It's not my fault they think I get off on being withholding," he said, causing Robby's head to snap up so fast he risked whiplash.

"Don't look at me!" she yelped, mortified. "That was Parker!"

"Oof." Abbot winced. "Right under the bus."

Robby took a steadying breath. "It is seven-ten. I am leaving. No —" he pointed at Abbot, cutting off whatever he was about to say. "I don't want to hear it. Just — no."

He was halfway to the lockers when he called out, "Have a quiet night!"

"Motherfucker," Abbot said.

Behind them, Lena's phone rang. He grimaced as she started in on a series of yeps and got its that could only be bad news.

Samira folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. "This is all your fault."

**

You owe me she texted Ellis at two in the afternoon, lying in bed but wide awake. It had been one of the worst nights they'd had in a long time.

It was only a minute before Ellis sent back a series of emojis: crying, heart hands, dancing lady, cocktail, cocktail, cocktail.

Samira responded with one of her own: middle finger.

ur the best Ellis sent back immediately.

Samira set her phone down and closed her eyes; she needed to try to sleep, at least. She made it through five minutes of box breathing before her phone buzzed again.

NSJC tomorrow. Come prepared.

She read it three times before she could understand what it meant. She reacted to the message with a thumbs-up, saved the unknown number to her contacts, and then got out of bed to plug her phone into the charger in the kitchen. She'd always meant to try sleeping with it in a different room since everything said it was better for your mental health.

How did an attending tracking down your phone number to text you something in what was basically the middle of the night affect your mental health, she wondered.

She fell asleep considering it.

**

"Mimosa, right?" Rosie, their usual waitress, said. "And the tofu scramble?"

"Yes, please." It was a strange joy, to be recognized like this. She hadn't been coming nearly as long as Abbot and Ellis, and yet.

Across the table, Abbot leaned back in his seat. He had dark circles under his eyes. Samira almost asked if he had trouble sleeping, too, and then mentally kicked herself. He'd lost his leg in a fucking war and showed up in the ED three times a week. Of course he did.

"Congrats on your white paper getting accepted," he said.

"It was ours, so congrats to you, as well."

He chuckled, a surprisingly soft sound. "Thank you. As usual, I did none of the work."

Rosie set their drinks down and he reached over to cheers Samira, holding eye contact as he did. She found herself swallowing very carefully so she wouldn't start choking.

"So," he started, fiddling with his straw, "how's your research going?"

"You don't want to hear about the open fractures I reduced last week?" The guy had fallen out of a lofted bed and broken like, every bone in his body.

"Oh, I heard all about that — Garcia told Walsh, who called me specifically to yell about passing on my worst qualities to the next generation."

"It happened on days!" Samira argued.

"I know."

"Robby was in the room with me."

"I know!" He held up his hands as if to say what can you do. "But Walsh heard about an ED doc going rogue and figured it was all my fault. You gotta save that one for when Ellis gets back, though. It'll do numbers."

Samira made a face.

"What, you don't think it will?"

"I think you shouldn't say 'do numbers.'"

He made a face like he couldn't decide if he should be offended by that. Samira reached for her water glass and took a sip; she should probably slow down on the mimosa before she said something she regretted. The combination of champagne and exhaustion was making her punchy.

"Anyway, my research."

"Enlighten me," he said, and she did, bringing up the newest data she'd surfaced, explaining how it strengthened her hypothesis and led her down a rabbit hole of educational opportunities for hospital staff, processes that failed elsewhere, and updated best practices suggestions that seemed to work.

"I'm sorry, kids," Rosie said, "but if you're finished, I could really use the table."

Samira looked around; there was a line out the door, snaking down in front of the windows, hungover college students, families fresh out of church, one couple clearly doing a walk of shame to brunch. "Yeah, sorry, of course." She reached for her wallet, but Abbot was already throwing some twenties down on the table.

"Get out of here," he said when she offered to Venmo him. His hand brushed against her waist as they maneuvered through the crowded doorway, but it was gone before she fully registered the sensation. "We could keep talking, if you want," he offered, squinting at her in the bright morning sunlight. It felt like she'd stepped through a portal and it was suddenly midday.

"Nope!" she said quickly. She wanted to — it had been fun, talking to him, easy in a way that probably should have been surprising but at this point just felt… normal — but she'd wasted so much of his Sunday already. "Thanks for the advice, though. I'll definitely incorporate it!"

"Great." He held up one hand, thumb and pinky finger extended. Samira mirrored the gesture — what the fuck, what was wrong with her? — and then, appalled with herself, turned around and started walking, glad she'd taken the stupid bus for once and didn't have to follow him back to the parking garage.

"See you Wednesday," he called after her, and she waved without turning around.

The whole interaction left her so off-kilter that by the time she got home, she was practically vibrating. She did what anyone would do: channeled all her energy into making Abbot's suggested edits, pulling articles he'd suggested and weaving those into the discussion section, too. By the time she was finished, it was dark out. Samira fired the latest draft off to Robby for his feedback and, pretty confident that she wouldn't be able to fall asleep yet even if she tried, opened her folder of fellowship application materials. ERAS tokens were coming out in a little over a month, she might as well make sure she was ready.

**

"So normally you would use a ten blade, but — am I boring you?"

"What? No. I'm listening." Samira blinked. She hadn't realized her eyes were closed. Abbot swiveled so his chair handle bumped against hers. "Ten blade, bad idea, keep going."

"It's not a bad idea," he huffed. "There are just better ones."

"Mm-hmm." She waved for him to start talking again, and blessedly he did. It was almost four, the med students were all off triaging middle-of-the-night chest pains, and Samira could barely keep her eyes open. She could not wait for Ellis to get back, even though that probably wouldn't fix her insomnia.

She jolted upright as a loud bang echoed through the room. "Holy shit."

"I knew it!" Abbot pointed at her. There was a binder on the floor at his feet.

"Did you throw that on the floor?"

"Yes," Bridget said, annoyed.

"You were asleep!"

"I was paying attention!"

"You were snoring!"

Samira felt her cheeks get hot. Behind him, Bridget shook her. Well, that was a relief. "I was not!"

"Here, kid." Lena set a cup of coffee by Samira's elbow. "Drink that, then go see the woman in six, she cut her hand on a cat food can. Definitely needs stitches. You, pick that up before you trip and break your only ankle."

**

He wouldn't let it go. Samira's hands were slippery with blood as she and one of the interns, Perez, worked to close half a dozen stab wounds and Abbot had the nerve to stick his head into Trauma 1 and ask, "Everyone staying awake in here?"

Perez checked the patient. "He's sedated?"

"We're good," Samira said, even though she really wanted to say Go away.

Abbot wormed his way in next to her, leaning over her shoulder to watch her work. "I think this guy might disagree."

Perez made a sound like he wasn't sure if it was okay to laugh. Behind him, Alma rolled her eyes. "Blood's here."

"Thanks." Samira tied off another suture, ignoring Abbot's warm breath on her cheek. "We don't need it just yet."

"Nice work." He waited until she had closed the wound to squeeze her tricep, one quick pulse of reassuring pressure. Samira was annoyed by how not annoying it was. "Keep it up. Call if it goes south."

"Yup."

"Carl, keep an eye on her. Call me if she takes a nap on this guy's guts."

"What?" Perez asked, but Abbot was gone, laughing at his own joke as the doors whooshed shut behind him.

"Ignore him," Samira said. "Suction."

"He bored Dr. Mohan into a coma the other night," Alma said. "He's working through his hurt feelings."

"Seriously?"

"Oh my god," Samira said.

**

"Good morning," Collins said, smiling brightly as Samira scooted in next to her at morning rounds. "Welcome back."

"Glad to be here." It wasn't a lie. Samira was pinning all her hopes and dreams of a good night's sleep on the next month of day shifts.

"Think you can manage to stay awake for all of Robby's speech?"

"Seriously?" Samira dropped her head back as Collins cracked herself up. If Robby noticed them not paying attention, he ignored it.

It wasn't even embarrassing, was the thing, it was just fucking annoying. She pulled out her phone. They didn't even have an ongoing text thread — it was just his text about NSJC — but that didn't stop her from writing I'll kill u and hitting send.

The amount of crying laughing emojis he sent back was truly absurd.

**

"You can never leave again," she told Ellis at their June journal club meeting.

"She fell asleep while I was describing field amputations."

"Yeah, you're very boring, I've told you that like a hundred times," Ellis said.

"Don't look at me like that!" Samira couldn't believe he was trying to get sympathy from her right now. "I closed my eyes for four seconds and you told the whole day shift!"

"How do you know it was me? Maybe Bridget told everyone."

Ellis snorted. Samira set her lips in a thin line, the same way her mom always had when Samira was testing her patience. Astoundingly, the very tips of Abbot's ears went red.

"You know," he started, but apparently he had no defense planned because he just trailed off.

**

The next time Samira got in, Perez was standing nervously by the hub.

"This is for you," he said, nudging a Starbucks up in her direction. "Have a good day."

He was gone immediately, Samira calling, "Thanks?" to his back.

The cup had the preorder sticker on one side — a grande oat milk vanilla latte for Jack — and Sharpie on the other side. Samira had to squint to decipher the horrible handwriting. Look alive! -J

When she looked up, he was watching her from across the room. She toasted him before taking a sip. It was, spookily, perfect.

He winked and Samira felt, for one moment, like time had stopped, like she was at the top of a rollercoaster, suspended, waiting for the drop. But then Robby came out of a room, clapped his hand on Abbot's shoulder and dragged him forward, into a handoff, and Santos bounced into the space next to Samira, asking her to come take a look at a suspicious rash, and just like that it was another day in paradise.

**

"There aren't many people I'd drag myself here for," Samira said.

Collins grinned, dragging her in for a hug. "I'm honored." She was warm and solid and Samira went a little boneless before she hugged back, just as fierce. "Trust yourself," Collins said, her voice a gentle rumble under the din of the bar. "You're a very good doctor."

"I agree." Abbot's voice was insanely intense. Samira blinked at him. She hadn't known he was even at the party, yet here he was, wearing jeans and a bright blue shirt that reminded Samira instantly of their stupid training class all those months ago. He smiled at her, or more likely he smiled at both of them — he was here for Collins. They all were.

Collins laughed, letting Samira pull back but not letting her get far. She held Samira's elbows in her hands and said, "Call me if you need anything. I'm not going far."

It was unbearably kind of her.

"Mercy, though?" Abbot made a face. "You sure about that?"

"Shut up." Collins let go of Samira and opened her arms to him. Samira took the opportunity to duck away, beelining for the bar and ordering a ranch water.

Across the room, Abbot was holding Collins' elbows the same way she'd just been holding Samira's. She thought, unnecessarily, about all the times he'd touched her like that lately — moving her in the middle of traumas, knocking his elbow into hers after a particularly bad joke, kicking her leg when he wanted her attention while she was charting or when Ellis was ranting about a patient at brunch and he wanted to rile her up even more by making faces at Samira. His hand ghosting over her back, her waist, her arm as they went through doors, into the elevator, across the street. It should have been annoying. She was surprised to realize how much it happened, and how it never was.

He said something and then leaned in, kissing Collins' cheek, and Samira felt an unfamiliar twist somewhere deep in her ribcage.

"Hey, I didn't see you come in." Mel helped herself to the stool next to Samira, Langdon offering a small wave where he was hovering behind her. "Have you been here very long?"

"No," Samira said, making herself stop staring at Abbot's forearms. What a terrible time to realize she was stupidly into him.

**

It was easy to ignore it. The ED was always slammed in July — grilling accidents, boating accidents, biking accidents, all sorts of hellish scenarios made worse by half a dozen new residents getting themselves locked out of Epic every ten minutes.

"Jesus," Langdon said, when the two of them were hiding in the break room, sneaking five minutes for lunch, "were we ever this bad?"

Samira still couldn't believe he was back, doing his senior residency all over again, this time alongside her. He'd talked about how strange it was for him, briefly, at Collins' going away party. She respected him for not giving up, had resolved to cut him some slack because of it.

"I have repressed the trauma of that year so deeply it's basically a diamond now."

He laughed out loud. "Right? Talk about a shitshow."

They had thirty more seconds of blessed silence before Perlah cracked the door open. "Diving board accident, two minutes out."

Langdon crammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth; Samira chucked hers in the trash.

"Kinda crazy that we actively choose to do this, right?" he said, holding the door for her.

She thought about it for a second. "It'd only be crazy if you didn't love it."

His eyes went wide like he was surprised, and then he laughed, a quiet, happy sound. "Yeah." He knocked his elbow against her arm, both of them hurrying towards the bay doors. "Yeah."

**

The days blended together, the patients blended together. Samira gently corrected the new residents, complimented their successes, however minor. She timed her breaks so that sometimes she could duck outside with Mel and stand in the sun and enjoy the silence for two whole minutes.

She kept her head down, eyes forward, and kept moving, moving, moving.

**

"He's not a flight risk," she said for what was probably the tenth time, balling her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. "Look at that." She gestured wildly to the x-ray still pulled up, even though cardiac surgery had wheeled the patient upstairs two minutes ago. "He needs heart surgery. Immediately."

"Is there a problem here?" Robby pushed the curtain back and stepped in. "I saw Saunders roll — shit." He stopped when he saw the widened mediastinum on the x-ray. Samira wanted to yell SEE??? at the cop who was convinced she was hiding something.

"Just explaining to Officer Vitale that the patient doesn't need a psych hold and he isn't a flight risk because he's seconds away from a massive dissection." Her voice wasn't nearly as steady as she'd like, but she was so angry it was a struggle to modulate.

"The guy was out of his mind. We dragged him off the side of the West End Bridge, he was threatening to jump," Vitale said. "We just brought him in for a psych eval."

Samira crossed her arms. "He was complaining of chest pain."

"He was complaining about a lot of things."

Robby looked at the cop and then at the x-ray again. "You confirmed —"

"POCUS was positive, we dropped an arterial line, fent, beta-blockers. Saunders took him upstairs." Obviously, she didn't say.

"Good." Robby nodded. "Nice catch." To Vitale, he said, "See that spot there? There was a tear in the main artery to his heart, and blood started building up between the layers of tissue."

"That's why his chest hurt," Vitale said as if Samira hadn't explained the exact same thing to him multiple times. "Got it. Alright. Thanks, doc."

He was gone before Samira could gather her thoughts. She pressed her fingertips into her brow bone and took a deep breath and then another so she wouldn't start to cry. It wasn't the first time some idiot wouldn't listen to her and it wouldn't be the last; there was no point wasting tears over it, no matter how frustrated she was.

"Are you —"

"I'm fine," she said sharply. Robby's eyebrows shot up so she took a steadying breath and tried again. "I'm fine."

His face said he didn't believe her, but he didn't argue. He looked at the images pulled up on the computer screen. "Chest x-ray for a jumper. Not everyone's first thought."

"I asked him why he wanted to jump," she said, defensive. "He told me." She gestured to the x-ray.

"It was a good catch. Most people would've stuck him in behavioral health and let it ride. Well done."

Samira had been confident in her decisions, but hearing him say it lifted a little weight off her shoulders. "Thanks."

She watched him stare at the x-ray for another beat and then turned to leave. Before she got very far he said, "Uh, the fellowship application deadline —"

"Was yesterday," she confirmed. She'd already gotten the notification that all her stuff was submitted, her packets complete; even the letters of recommendation were all in.

"Right." Robby gripped the back of his neck, blinked a few times, and then seemed to snap out of whatever was bothering him. "You're an excellent candidate. Anyone will be lucky to have you. This field is going to miss you while you're doing research. It will be a notable loss."

It wasn't completely unprecedented — Robby dropped compliments, especially after particularly complex or emotional cases — but Samira wasn't prepared for something so earth-shattering. She took the hit bodily, rocking back on her heels.

"Okay," she said, processing, trying to figure out where it was all coming from and deciding it didn't matter. A compliment was a compliment, no matter how rattling it was. The field would miss her? What the fuck. "Thanks."

He half smiled at her, a flash of teeth and crow's feet that disappeared as soon as transport flung open the curtain.

"Someone call for — is this the right room? Someone headed to the morgue?"

"No, but you can take him if you want." She jerked her chin towards Robby. "He could probably use the nap."

It was kind of cool, making him laugh for once.

**

A notable loss.

Samira stared at her ceiling for the third night in a row, watching shapes made by the moonlight, exhausted but somehow wide awake.

Eventually, she gave up, traded her white noise machine for a podcast about E/M coding updates, hoping that would be the key to turning her brain off enough that she could finally fall asleep.

**

In hindsight, Samira should have asked more questions. She should have been suspicious when Abbot cornered her at the tail end of one of her shifts and said, oh so casually, "Are you going to the Classic next weekend?"

"The what?" The only thing Samira had planned for next weekend was absolutely nothing, for the first time in ages.

"It's like community outreach. You should come," he said, and because it was seven-thirty at night and his hand was on her wrist she said, "Send me the info and I'll think about it," instead of, "No."

What he sent was a date, time, and location, along with a note that said I know you're off that day! I can see the schedule!

Why does Abbot text like a teenage girl? she sent to Ellis before she could consider how deranged it was to admit that he was texting her at all.

bc he is one
!
!
!!
lol

Are you going to this classic thing? Samira asked her, even though she already knew the answer.

No
Was it in an email? You know I don't check that shit

That had basically been what Cassie'd said when Samira asked her two days ago, but Samira figured that she'd have to know someone else there since it was a whole work thing, so she threw on a dressy-but-not-too-dressy sundress and rolled up to some country club at two o'clock on a Saturday and immediately realized her mistake.

"What is this?" she asked Abbot, looking out at a sea of too many old white people. He'd spotted her immediately, waving her over to his table the second she breached the doors. "Are you wearing a name tag?"

"It's a stupid hospital outreach event, don't worry about it." He touched the edge of his name tag, where he'd obviously written his own name as neatly as possible. It was C+ work. She focused on that instead of how he was wearing a collared shirt, the sleeves rolled up to combat the July heat. He had one too many buttons undone. Samira thought, dangerously, about tasting the freckles that were scattered across his chest. "I'm getting us drinks, what do you want?"

She needed a lobotomy, was what she needed.

"Dr. Mohan, what a surprise!" Robby appeared out of nowhere before she could place an order. "The residents usually skip this one."

"I remember Collins making the time," Abbot said. "Is she not coming this year?"

Samira held her breath, expecting the worst, but Robby only rolled his eyes and shoved him away. "The line's getting long, this is already bad enough. I'm not doing it sober."

She agreed, even though she still wasn't clear on what the heck this was. Besides incredibly uncomfortable. She should've expected Robby to be here — Shen wasn't, but across the room, she could see Mehta and Shamsi and, "Is that Gloria?"

Robby craned his neck and went pale. "Go."

He looked back once to make sure she was following him, and then he didn't stop until they were tucked between a baby grand piano and a large ficus.

"Um," Samira said, meaning what the fuck.

Robby seemed to take stock of the situation and realize its absurdity almost immediately. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Sorry. I don't — that was crazy."

"Kinda." She understood though; sometimes she went the long way around the ED just to avoid walking past him. She’d been doing it more since he said that shit about her fellowship applications, something that she still thought of at least once a day. Not that she would ever admit that to him.

"I just didn't want to hear how we're already behind in the department's goal for today's donations."

"Donations?"

Robby looked at her strangely. "Yeah. That's the whole deal, we're here to solicit donations from," he gestured to the room at large, "Pittsburgh's shallow pockets."

"What're we doing over here, gang?" Abbot had three glasses wedged into a triangle between his hands.

Robby took the red wine and said, "Hiding."

Abbot nodded like that was logical, and then looked over his shoulder. "Okay. Everyone can still see you, though. That plant is like, five feet tall at best."

Samira disagreed with that — it was at least her height — but it definitely wasn't shielding Robby, so she didn't argue the point. She took the highball glass he offered her, ignoring his whispered, "Terrible spy." Hopefully he would think the flush on her cheeks was makeup.

"I guess we should…." Robby gestured futilely to the room at large and, with a sigh, pasted on a smile and headed in Shamsi's direction.

Abbot held his hand out, after you.

"Community outreach?" Samira said, one eyebrow raised. She took a sip of her drink, aware of how closely he was watching her. It was disconcerting, how much she liked being watched.

"Technically, in a way, we are reaching out to the community." He held both hands in front of him, palms out, his beer sloshing but not spilling. "And asking them for money."

Samira didn't want to be charmed. She really, really didn't. And yet.

"Is this a tequila soda?" she asked, taking another sip to confirm. "How'd you know?"

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he touched his fingertips to his chest. "Excellent spy."

She was almost glad when an elderly couple interrupted them to ask how they were involved with the hospital. She didn’t know what she might've said, otherwise.

**

"At least you brought a hot date." The woman, who was probably in her early fifties and was definitely dedicating her entire donation to CT surgery because she'd had a triple bypass two years ago, winked at Samira.

"We're not — Dr. Abbot and I just work together."

The woman looked like she didn't believe her, but Samira wasn't going to argue about it. It was probably her fault for sticking so close to him all day, but it wasn't like she was going to gladhand by herself.

"You know," he waited until the donor had wandered away to lean in, "you're a senior resident, you can call me Jack. Everyone else does."

He was so close she could smell his aftershave. He looked different like this, clean-shaven and buttoned up. It was hot, but also like she was looking at a bizzaro Abbot, a version of him that had become an investment banker or something.

She must have looked suspicious because he kept going. "I think Parker called me Jack four minutes into her first shift."

"Sure." She nodded, unable to imagine a single instance in which she would call him Jack.

Well, that wasn't true, she considered as she watched his tongue flick out, licking residual beer foam off his bottom lip, but she wasn't crossing that Rubicon.

**

Her vacation couldn't have come at a better time. In the week after the fundraiser, Samira had spent three nights working, all of them with Abbot, and it had been nigh on impossible to look at him and not think of his sleeves pushed up, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, his fingertips gentle as he pressed the edges of her own name tag onto her dress, in the blank space over her second and third ribs. He'd written her name on it, too, Dr. Samira Mohan in the same slanted half-print half-cursive as his own name tag.

It was no wonder everyone had assumed they were together.

Part of her had wanted to pretend. To lean her weight against his arm, watch his eyes crinkle as he smiled at yet another little old lady. Let him lean against her as the hours stuck standing in one place started to weigh on him.

It had been a lot. Getting out of town for a few days was helping clear her head, even if she was just spending them in Arlington visiting her mom, eating breakfast at the same island she had all through high school.

"And Niketa is pregnant, did she tell you?"

"Yeah, it's exciting." Technically she found out through Instagram, but that counted. Right? Not that it mattered, her mom was dead set on telling her every detail of Niki's baby shower — which apparently everyone was upset Samira had to miss because of her insane work schedule.

"You said you didn't even go," Samira argued. "It was in San Diego!"

Her mom waved that off and kept going. When Samira's phone buzzed for what seemed like the twelfth time in two minutes, she checked it, laughing when she saw the long string of texts from Ellis. Something about a fidget spinner stuck on a patient's dick. Samira had so many questions.

While she was reading the saga, a text from Abbot popped up. You missed a doozy of a night, Mohan!

She swiped back to Ellis's messages, which had stopped. The last ones said, Idk wtf is wrong wiht men but…
This one's gonna make us famous, slim

"Everything okay?" her mom asked.

"Yeah." Samira shook her head, a little dazed and a lot amused. She had no idea how to explain this one. "Just — my friends, from work, there was a crazy patient, I don't know."

Her mom took her plate to the sink, stopping to press a kiss to the top of Samira's head along the way. "I'm happy you're doing better, sweetheart."

Samira made a face. "What? I'm doing the same." If anything, she was more stressed — as senior resident, she was stuck sharing a bunch of ducklings with Langdon and Robby was starting to get annoyed that they weren't fast enough, either; the night shift med student this rotation had tripped over a garbage can and busted her ankle so Samira had to fill out an entire incident report while Shen put her in a cast; and on top of that she was supposed to start hearing about fellowship interviews any day now, and she still had that whole Robby conversation haunting her like a dying smoke detector battery, making her second guess herself.

Just thinking about it now made her feel queasy. She’d put years into this plan. What if it was all wrong? It was too late now, and it wasn’t the kind of conversation you had at nine o’clock in the morning with the person who’d already sacrificed so much so you could stick to that plan.

"Okay," her mom said easily. "I'm happy you're doing the same, then."

**

"Hey! Welcome back!" Trinity did not seem half as surprised to bump into Samira — literally — at the grocery store as Samira was to see her. She hadn't realized Trinity lived in this area. "How was your vacay?"

"It was good. Short, you know."

"No. But I would love to take a vacation someday." Trinity laughed at her own joke and then did a double-take before inclining her head toward someone behind Samira. "Huh — you guys here together?"

"What?" Samira turned around, her eyes going wide when she recognized Abbot dropping a bag of red potatoes into his basket. "No!"

Trinity looked suspicious. "Are you guys here together?" she asked, gesturing to where Garcia was squeezing grapefruit. Samira knew she lived nearby; they bumped into each other fairly regularly.

"Yes," Trinity said.

It took Samira a moment to realize she was serious. "Oh! That's cool! Good for you!"

She did a terrible job of concealing her surprise, because Trinity fell over laughing, and that caught the attention of everyone in the produce section, including Abbot, who immediately came over to say hello.

Samira wasn't prepared for that hello to include a hug, but she accepted it gladly. "I didn't realize you were back yet," he said, his five o'clock shadow dragging rough over her cheek as he pulled back. Samira gripped her basket with both hands so she wouldn't touch her overheating face.

"Last night." She could see Trinity just over his shoulder; the look on her face made Samira feel like she was in Jurassic Park and her water glass had just started trembling.

"Hence the grocery run." He peered into her basket and hummed, an odd but happy sound. "Well balanced. Unsurprising."

"Dr. Santos." Abbot didn't try to hug her — Samira wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse — but his horrified look when he inspected her basket was priceless. It was gone in a flash, stoically blank when he looked her dead in the eye and said, "Enjoy your weekend," before walking off.

Trinity's eyes were the size of saucers. "Do you think he noticed?" she asked, jostling the basket that only held lube, strawberries, and a carton of eggs.

"Yeah, he definitely did." Samira laughed, half at Trinity and half in relief that she only had bagged salad, pre-sliced squash, and a couple mangos in hers. "Have fun."

"Oh my god." Trinity covered her face with one hand. Samira squeezed her arm, waved to Garcia, and went back to her list.

"Hello again," she said, two aisles down, both of them reaching for the rice. He handed her a bag and then grabbed one for himself.

"I blame myself for looking," he said, and Samira laughed out loud, delighting in the way a flush crept up his neck. It was crazy, how she'd seen him out of his scrubs so many times by now but there was a part of her brain that rang a little alarm and yelled Abbot is wearing casual clothes! every time. Today he was in shorts and a t-shirt — it was summer, so was she — but it felt weird. Like she shouldn't be allowed to see his knees or something.

"I blame you, too," she said, starting down the aisle. He walked with her. "I made it the whole conversation without seeing and then." She blinked her eyes hard and shook her head. "Thanks for that."

"Any time." He bumped his shoulder into hers. Stopped to grab some seasoning packets. "Your time off was good?"

"Yeah." They turned another corner and Samira internally contemplated the merits of Doritos versus Skinny Pop.

"You hear back from any of your fellowship programs?"

She shook her head, taking a quick detour to the freestanding cold shelf where they shoved all the hummus and spreadable cheeses. "Not yet. It's still early, though."

He didn't say anything to that, but Samira figured it was because there wasn't really anything to say.

"Did Parker —" her voice caught in her throat as he stretched to grab a box of cereal off the top shelf, his shirt riding up. His knees and his stomach. What an enlightening trip to the grocery store. She looked away, reset, tried again. "Did she post the fidget spinner story yet?"

His grin was blinding. "No. God, did she tell you about that?"

"She texted me."

"Oh man." He sounded like a kid all of a sudden, breathlessly excited. "So I'm only there because I'm covering swing shift for Matthews, right, and all we keep hearing about is this whiner in chairs."

It took him the rest of the store to tell the story, every part of it more unbelievable than the last. At multiple points, Samira found herself stopping in her tracks, jaw dropped; every time, Abbot's grin got wider and he said, "I know" like he couldn't believe it either. By the end, her arms were pathetically sore from carrying her too-heavy basket for too long and her cheeks hurt from smiling.

"That is… wow." She stepped up to the next self-checkout station and glanced back to say, "Wow."

"Yeah."

He finished paying first and waited for her by the exit. All his stuff was crammed into one reusable shopping bag. His bread was gonna get so squished.

"It was good running into you," she said, standing on the sidewalk in front of his SUV.

"Yeah." He was close enough that she could see the fine lines around his mouth, the pink of his cheeks from spending thirty seconds in the brutal August humidity. "Enjoy the rest of your day, Samira."

She knew he was teasing her. She twisted her mouth — his eyes tracked the movement, and for a split second she thought Interesting — and figured what the hell. "You too, Jack."

**

Her research was accepted for publication in Academic Emergency Medicine, pending minor revisions. It was wholly unexpected — she'd submitted it thinking they'd want another four months of work. Samira stared at the email for so long that Robby came and snapped his fingers in front of her face.

"Sorry." She knew she should be annoyed by him or embarrassed to be caught but at that moment she didn't care.

"Don't be sorry, be moving." He clapped his hands as he walked away. "Let's go, Dr. Mohan!"

Across the room, Langdon furrowed his eyebrows. "You good?" he mouthed, hand moving from a thumbs up to a thumbs down.

She gave him a thumbs-up, screenshot the email, sent it to Parker and Abbot in the NSJC group chat, and went back to work.

Two hours later, when she got a chance to check her phone again, she had two notifications. Atta girl! Parker had said. Abbot had emphasized that and written Proud of you!!!

Samira felt like hugging her phone to her chest. She settled for hearting both their messages and texting the same screenshot to Mel. She'd get a real hug out of that one, at some point before their shift was over.

**

"You okay in here?" Robby pushed through the doors between Trauma 1 and Trauma 2 while Samira was telling Kim to push another amp of epi. McKay ran through the highlights for Robby — bicycle versus car, multiple broken bones, suspected head trauma and they couldn't get him into the scanner because he kept coding — everyone stepping back when Samira said, "Clear," and finally the guy's rhythm came back online.

"We're good," she said, one eye on the monitor, the other on Kim, who was nodding. "You need help in there? McKay can —"

Robby nodded, gesturing for McKay to follow him back to Trauma 1, where they had the driver. From what Samira could tell he was just a kid, and in just as bad shape as this guy.

"Mr. Peterson?" Kim said, in a tone that sent a jolt of fear down Samira's spine. The patient was trying to sit up. Samira rushed to the head of the bed, leaning over so he could see her.

"Mr. Peterson, you were in an accident. You're at the hospital. We're trying to help you but we need you to stay still."

"What?" His eyes were unfocused, his left cornea bright red. "It hurts."

"I'm sure it does." She put her hand on his shoulder, keeping the pressure gentle. "We'll give you something for the pain."

"Dad?" A woman around Samira's age pushed into the room, Perlah hot on her heels, and immediately burst into tears. "Oh my god, Dad."

"Sarah?" Mr. Peterson asked, and then he lurched and vomited bright red blood.

"Fuck," Samira breathed out as all sorts of alarms started going off.

**

Robby offered to go with her to talk to the daughter, but Samira declined. She didn't want an audience, didn't want to have one eye on him, worrying, however stupidly, that he had one eye on the clock as she apologized and explained that there was nothing they could do, the injuries were too severe. Besides, he had to do the same for the kid who'd been driving. There was no honor in giving that speech back-to-back.

Kiara was waiting outside when Samira stepped out, dry-eyed and raw. She nodded, touched Samira's shoulder as she went past.

There were still two hours left in her shift; Samira worked through them methodically, chipping away at the kitchen wounds and possible NSTEMIs from chairs, until her watch beeped and for once Samira took it as a sign to hang it up immediately.

She was headed for the lockers when the elevator doors opened up, Robby and Abbot spilling out. Robby looked like she felt — battle-worn, and a little like he was barely holding it together.

"Samira — Dr. Mohan," he started to say, but she put some power into her step, acting like it was any other day. Which it was. This was the kind of thing they were supposed to be desensitized to by now.

"I'm heading out." She thought her voice sounded pretty light. "I'll see you Tuesday?" She tossed a smile in their direction, quick enough that she didn't make eye contact.

"Yeah, Tuesday." Robby sounded dazed. Samira wondered how old the driver was, what the hell had happened to him. The way he was acting, it didn't seem like a normal car accident, but a bigger part of her didn't want to know the details.

"Wait," she heard Abbot say, and then the footfall she'd come to recognize anywhere. She didn't stop, didn't slow down, just beelined for the lockers. He caught up to her anyway, his hand grazing her forearm as she entered her combo. "Hey."

His voice was so soft Samira wanted to shove her head into her locker and cry. She swallowed hard, gritting her teeth. "Hey."

"Rough day?"

She laughed hollowly, grabbing her bag and shutting her locker quietly even though she wanted to slam it. It seemed like it would be satisfying. She was too tired to be this upset, all her emotions spilling out at once like a knocked-over jar of marbles. "It was fine," she said, because it was. It sucked for a couple hours there in the middle, but otherwise it was fine.

Abbot leaned one shoulder against the wall of lockers, dipping his head just enough that they were eye-to-eye. He watched her, waiting. There was nothing to say, but Samira let him look. She assumed what he saw was pretty rough — her hair a wreck, dark circles under her eyes, a gross sheen to her skin that only came from trying to wash blood and bile off with the hospital soap, her scrub top a size too big because that was all that had been left in the machine.

"You good?"

"Yeah."

He sighed. She knew he didn't believe her, but what else was there to say?

"You wanna stay and work a double? Could be fun."

"God no." Her laugh was practically a snort, that's how exhausted she was. "That sounds horrible."

"Ouch." He put one hand over his heart, staggering back a step, wounded. Any other day, his half-smile would be contagious, but right now all Samira wanted to do was go home, have a glass of wine, and cry in the shower.

"Good night, Dr. Abbot."

He caught her before she could brush past him, his hand wrapping around her upper arm, tugging her closer until her shoulder was up against his. They were side-by-side, facing opposite directions, his fingers warm against the thin skin inside her arm. His thumb made a slow arc along her bicep and Samira held her breath, too aware of her pulse in her throat, of his breath rushing out of his nose.

"You good?"

She inhaled; if he noticed it was a bit shuddery, he didn't react. "I will be."

That seemed to be enough for him. He squeezed her arm and then let go, waving her off with a "Get out of here, Mohan."

**

She had a message from Ellis waiting for her when she got out of the shower, feeling swollen and hollowed out but a little better.

night shift is having a party tom am. W Penn park 9am softball fields, if u want to come

Samira chucked a frozen enchilada in the microwave before she responded. It wasn't a coincidence that Ellis was texting her, but she didn't really give a shit that Robby probably told Abbot who told Ellis that she needed cheering up.

Maybe she said, and put her phone on silent. She wouldn't set an alarm, but if she woke up in time and felt like it, then maybe she'd go.

**

"There she is!" Ellis threw both arms up into the air like Samira's appearance was a victory of some kind. More than one person started clapping. Samira curtsied jokingly before climbing onto the rickety bleachers. There were a lot more people here than she expected — Shen, Perez, the other intern whose name she always forgot, Taylor or Tyler maybe, Bridget and Lena and a gaggle of people with their heads down. She didn't see Abbot but she squashed the disappointment before it could fully root. It's not like he was the one who invited her; she hadn't really expected to see him anyway. Hoped, maybe, but.

It took all of two seconds for Ellis to wrap her into a big hug, rocking them from side to side as she sing-songed, "Good morning."

All Samira could do was hum around the lump that had formed in her throat.

"Mohan?" Alma held up a High Noon and a solo cup with her eyebrows raised. She winked when Samira nodded and seconds later Samira had a drink in her hands and was clapping alongside everyone else as — "Is that Garcia?"

She took her sunglasses off like that might help her process what she was looking at. Sure enough, it was Yolanda stepping to the plate, PTMC Surgery in cursive on her front. Samira looked at Ellis, who nodded a lot in rapid succession, confirming that Samira was not losing her mind; it was a PTMC league game like Langdon had talked about.

"They're winning," Shen said, sounding annoyed. He leaned back, elbows resting on the row behind him. "2-0. Pharmacy looks terrible."

"Always do," Abbot said. "They should try batting with those little pill counter spatulas instead."

Samira laughed harder than the joke warranted. Abbot looked at her, pleased. His arms were laden with tiny bags of chips which he started tossing around the stands.

"I didn't know you were here or I would've got you something."

"No worries." Samira looked away, focusing on the field — Garcia had flown out and now pharmacy was at bat — instead of the flex of his thighs as he sat down. For the love of god, he was in the same stupid cargo pants he always wore around work; Samira could not let herself get to a place where she found those attractive.

He knocked his hand against her knee, holding out an open bag of Doritos. She helped herself.

"Breakfast of champions." She indicated her drink and the chips. Abbot huffed out a laugh.

"Dinner for some of us." He looked around at the crew, most of them stomping and clapping, trying to distract the pitcher. "Most of us, actually."

Samira had a dozen questions — did they do this a lot? How many night shift team outings had she missed? Did the day shift people do it, too? How many had she been invited to and declined? — that she couldn't bring herself to ask. She watched the game instead, laughing as Ellis told her about some patient she'd seen a week ago who kept coming back in complaining of stomach pains just to see her again ("I mean, I'm flattered but yikes, girl. Reddest of flags."), reveling in the sun on her shoulders and Abbot's arm occasionally bumping against hers.

At one point he put his drink down and cupped his hands around his mouth to shout, "You suck, eleven!" Walsh dropped her bat to flip him double birds, which got their whole section going.

"Fuuuuuck," he said when she proceeded to hit a home run. She blew him a kiss as she rounded third, which had him tipping into Samira as he laughed, one vibrating point of contact that made Samira realize she might want to cool it on the drinks.

"I'm going to investigate the snack stand." She stood up, hoping no one noticed how sweaty the backs of her legs were. "Anyone want anything?"

Their responses were too jumbled for her to understand, so she kind of waved and headed off, taking her time. According to her phone, it was only ten-thirty. The game would probably be over soon, and everyone who'd worked last night would be quick to head out.

She ordered a pretzel and a couple bags of chips and snapped a picture of the field while the high schooler running the joint counted her change. You'll never guess where I am she texted Mel.

Did you join the team?

Samira laughed out loud at the thought. lol no omg. It's like a night shift game watch thing or something idk Parker dragged me

Fun! Mel sent back.

I'll drag u next time ur not working Samira promised, which got a thumbs-up. The game schedule was probably posted somewhere, right?

When she made it back to the stands, the pretzel was half gone and Robby was in her seat.

"Dr. Mohan." He sounded just as surprised to see her as she was to see him. "Out with the night shift?"

"I thought you were working today?" She was confused, not accusatory. He looked better than he had last night. She hoped that meant she looked better, too. She felt better, at least. It was a miracle what drinking outside with friends could do for a person.

Robby rubbed a palm over his beard. "Some people think I need to be better about taking my federally mandated breaks." The field was pretty close to the hospital, so things kind of made sense, but at least three people turned around to gape at him.

"We get mandated breaks?" someone asked.

Shen looked around, hopeful. "Am I in a union?"

Robby made a face at Abbot, unamused. Abbot just stared back blankly until Robby sighed; he turned away, but not before Samira saw him crack a smile.

She climbed the steps, planning to sit behind them with Perez who, now that she looked closer, seemed to be asleep, but Abbot scooched over, bodily nudging Robby until he moved down and there was enough space for her at the end.

"These are for whoever," she said, handing the chips over and letting him pass them around. Robby took the Fritos and froze, stunned, when a minute later Shen turned around and reached into the bag, helping himself. The look on his face was so confused that Samira burst out laughing before she could help herself. Abbot laughed too, patting her leg in a show of understanding. For a brief second, he left his hand there, curved over her knee and Samira forgot how to breathe.

She was saved by the crack of a bat, one of the pharmacy techs hitting a line drive through the infield, catching the right fielder sleeping. And just like that, they were going into extra innings.

**

Robby had left almost as quickly as he'd appeared. The rest of the night shift drifted off piecemeal, Ellis calling it quits before the game was over. "I'm working tonight." She had one hand on the top of Samira's head; it should've been weird, but it was mostly comforting. "It's your duty to finish this for me, Slim."

"My duty?" Samira echoed, accepting the half-full cup. Ellis nodded, face serious. She took a sip just to placate her, waiting until she was walking away to grimace. "Ugh, it's hot."

Abbot took the cup, took a sip of his own, and then made a face.

Samira laughed. "See?"

"I believed you." His jaw worked side to side; he looked like didn't know why he'd done that, either. "I just…" He capped it off with a sharp head shake.

Samira took the cup back, leaning back and twisting so she could dump it into the dirt under the bleachers. He was watching her when she sat back up. There was a pink tinge to his cheeks, the back of his neck. The sun was getting to him.

"There's one left," Lena said, pulling the can from the cooler. "You want it?"

It was a stupid idea, but it was barely eleven. The game was still going on.

"Split it?" she offered, looking askance at Abbot.

He thought about it for a beat and then shrugged, agreeing. "As long as it's cold."

It was. And if it tasted better, passing the cup back and forth between them, well. That was Samira's business.

**

If pressed, she would blame it on being day drunk, even though she really was only day-tipsy. But the truth was she didn't know why she slid out of the Lyft after Abbot. She was just as surprised as he was that she was standing there when the car drove away.

"I'm not far from here," she said, which was true. "I'll just walk."

The way he looked at her made her want to squirm. She clutched her phone and her wallet between her palms so she wouldn't fidget.

"You could come up," he said, his voice so low it was hard to hear. "If you want some water or something. For the walk."

"Sure." She nodded slowly, feeling like any sudden movement could shatter this, whatever the fuck this was. "I'd love a water."

**

His condo was refreshingly cool, the central A/C a million times better than Samira's shitty window unit. She followed behind him, resisting the urge to look around. His back was so straight, his spine a perfect line leading up to his bright pink neck. She wanted to tug at the collar of his t-shirt, run her fingertips along his tan line.

She was so busy imagining putting her mouth on it — deranged, insane, what was wrong with her, had someone spiked the drinks or was this some kind of long-overdue nervous breakdown? — that she missed him opening and closing the fridge. When he turned around, he held a bottle of Poland Springs in his hand.

"Oh." She felt like someone had dunked her into an ice bath. "You were serious."

"You weren't? What did you th— oh. Oh." She'd never seen his eyes so wide. He bit his lip, which felt unfair, even as Samira was hoping she could like, find a way to evaporate. But his gaze dropped to her mouth, then lower, to the deep v-neck of her shirt; when he met her eyes again, a bolt of hopeful heat slid down her spine. "Are you sure?"

She gave him a look, unimpressed by such a ridiculous question. "Jack."

He closed his eyes, giving her a moment to study his mouth: the way it was slightly open like he couldn't catch his breath. She wanted to trace the lines carved deep into his cheeks, wanted to feel the scratch of his stubble against her palms, her cheeks, her thighs. She couldn't remember a time she wanted something like this, bone-deep and aching for it.

When he opened his eyes again, he looked surprised to see her there, so close. She heard the way his breath caught in his chest. He said, "Samira," and sounded wrecked already.

Her heart was pounding in her ears even before she kissed him, tentative at first, testing, until he got with the program and kissed her back. Distantly, she heard the stupid water bottle hit the floor and roll away, and then his cold hands were on her neck. She gasped and he took full advantage of her open mouth.

He walked her backward until she hit the wall, and then he was crowding up against her, fitting one of his legs between hers. It wasn't enough.

"This is —" his breath was coming quick, like he was just as worked up by this as she was, a realization that had her grinding against his leg, shoving his shirt up higher so she could touch more of his skin, "— should we talk ab—"

"Shut up." If they talked about it, he'd find a way to put a stop to it, and maybe that was the smart choice, but Samira was sick of only being the smart one, the good one. They could have the conversation later, agree that it was a one-time-only thing and move on. She scratched her nails over his flanks. He was so pale there'd probably be red marks already, proof that this was real.

He hissed and kissed her again, his hand catching the back of her head before it could thunk into the wall. It was sweet, just like the kisses he was pressing to the side of her face, mapping her cheekbone, her jaw. Samira felt like she was burning up from the inside; she didn't want sweet.

She curved her palm around his dick, half-hard in his pants; he made a noise like she'd punched him, catching her wrist even as his hips jerked towards her palm. She hid her smile in his neck, dragged her mouth up to his ear, and said, in a voice that sounded foreign, "Do you have a not-wall we could do this against?"

"Christ," he said, half-laughing, half-pained. He leaned all the way forward, his forehead resting against the wall like he needed a breather. It was ineffective because now they were pressed together, tip to toe, so close Samira was sure she could feel his heart beating in her own chest. She gave him a minute anyway, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck until it went on for too long.

"Jack." She tugged his hair, used her grip to pull his head up. His eyes were so dark.

"Yeah." He nodded, got one of his hands on her jaw and tipped her head so he could kiss her, sloppy and off-center. "Come on."

**

"God," she threw one hand over her head, bracing against the headboard, trying to get leverage to get him to, "fucking move."

He did, dragging his cock out so slowly that Samira thought might cry. He'd gone down on her the second they got in here, her shorts still hanging off one ankle, and now she was oversensitive in the best way. "Like that?"

"Fuck you," she said, her voice cracking as he screwed back in, agonizingly slow. He laughed, a quiet sound that she could feel against her sternum and inside her like it was rumbling between their bodies. She wanted to flip them, take charge, but he had her pinned, one of her legs hooked over the bend of his elbow, holding her open. It would've been hot if it weren't so fucking frustrating.

"Jack," she said again, whining this time, as he kept his agonizing pace.

"I know." He kissed her sternum, then her shoulder, and then shifted his weight — she gasped at the brief change in angle — so he could get the arm braced next to her head a little bit closer to her and smooth the flyaway hairs back from her temple. His face was so open, eyes locked on hers, that it was terrifying. "I got you," he said, pressing the words tenderly to the corner of her mouth, and suddenly Samira thought she might cry for a different reason. It had been a bizarre twenty-four hours.

"Fuck," she said, desperate to regain control of the situation. She turned her head, biting at his mouth, hitching her other leg higher up his waist, trying to use that for leverage. "I —"

"What? Tell me." His voice was too soft. "Samira. Anything."

Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting everything in an ethereal light. Samira closed her eyes.

"Harder," she said, and kept saying it like it was a chant, a prayer, until he finally fucking listened, his hips working as he fisted his hand in her hair and pulled.

"Like this?"

"Yes." She worked her hips in counterpoint, grinding up, trying to turn the ache inside her back into a rush of pleasure. She was determined to enjoy this, however long it lasted, this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

He rubbed his stubble against her neck, dragged his teeth over the same path, biting at her collarbone. Samira made a sound she'd never heard before and would probably never make again. At least she'd have the bruises to remember this by.

**

Watching him stand in the bathroom doorway after, wearing a pair of red basketball shorts and nothing else, Samira wanted nothing more than to drag him back into bed and keep him there until Tuesday. He probably had the sick days stored up to make it.

He grinned like he knew exactly what she was thinking.

It was a terrible idea, though, so Samira sighed and sat up, scanning the room for her shirt.

He spotted it first, by the door, and tossed it to her so she could pull it on.

"You want to grab some dinner?" he asked, his voice carefully casual. "I could get something delivered."

"I don't —" Samira found her underwear and shorts at the foot of the bed and stepped into them quickly, shoving her bra into her pocket. She needed to be dressed for this conversation. "No. Thank you, but… no."

Something strange passed over his face — relief, she assumed, because they both knew prolonging this would make it worse. "Right."

He followed her to the kitchen, where she found her phone and wallet and flip-flops. He picked up the water he'd dropped — it seemed longer than a few hours ago — and stuck it back in the fridge, handing her a new, actually cold one, laughing a little when he did.

Samira laughed, too, and felt a little better. If they could recognize the absurdity of it all, they'd probably be okay. "Thanks."

He gave her a half-smile, a nonverbal of course. Maybe it was because he was being so quiet, or maybe it was that she was distracted by the mark she'd put on his left pec and she needed to remind herself, but Samira heard herself say, "We can't do that again."

He was already nodding. "I know."

"It's just —"

"I get it. Hey." His hand moved, reaching for her and then stopping mid-air. "It's okay. You're probably leaving anyway, right? It's not like this thing had legs. Leg," he corrected, wiggling his prosthetic. It wasn't funny, but Samira acknowledged it with a fraction of a smile. "We can just… move past it."

"Yeah," Samira said, even though the mention of the fellowships made her stomach churn. She'd started getting emails to set up interviews, which should have been exciting, but mostly it made her question her entire life plan. It was just like Robby to say something off the cuff and upend her entire world. "Exactly."

"Great." He held out his fist for her to bump and something in Samira twisted up so tightly she thought it might snap off.

"Oh my god, are you kidding me?" Her laugh was borderline hysterical. Instead of fist-bumping him after an afternoon of one-in-a-lifetime sex, she took a step closer until she could wrap him up in a hug.

If she closed her eyes, relieved, when he hugged her back, well, he couldn't see her, so who fucking cared.

**

Samira went home, turned the A/C up as high as it would go, and crawled straight into bed despite the fact that it was still light outside.

For once, she fell asleep and stayed asleep. She woke up somewhere around three in the morning, starving and disgusted by the state of herself. She nuked another enchilada, devoured it in huge, tongue-burning bites while standing over her kitchen sink, and then climbed into the shower to wash sweat and lube and everything else off her skin. She turned the hot water as high as she could stand it and let it beat down over her.

While she was standing there, cataloging the new aches and bruises he'd left behind, she made a deal with herself: she was allowed twenty-four hours to wallow, and then she had to dust herself off and move on.

She'd already slept for ten of those hours. The clock was ticking.

**

He was standing under the board talking to Robby when she walked in on Tuesday morning, thirty minutes early as usual. Part of her wanted to turn around and walk right back out, but she recognized how stupid that was. She had held a human heart in her hands, had located bleeds in a sea of blood, had told countless people their loved ones had died, or might never wake up, had given rescue breaths and drilled IOs and kept her shit together during PittFest and in the aftermath, through dozens of meetings with risk management and legal. This was nothing in comparison.

"Mohan."

"Abbot."

"Mohan."

"Robby."

"Mohan," Langdon said, surprising her, grinning like they were all doing a bit.

"Langdon," they all said in unison. Samira's eyes met Abbot's accidentally and he shook his head, amused, and she inhaled, the relief filling her lungs like a balloon.

**

Everything was harder, but Samira couldn't tell if that was causation or just correlation. September's NSJC got rescheduled twice, but both times it was because Ellis, an attending now, was working swing shifts and refused to get left out of brunch again.

"Do you still need to go at all?" Samira asked after presenting her patient — 36, female, Braxton Hicks — to Ellis.

"Did any of us need to go? I miss that basket case. At least I get to see you sometimes, me and Abbot rarely work the same shifts now. Don't get promoted, Slim."

"I think it's unavoidable?"

"For you, maybe." Ellis looked through the doors of Trauma 2, where Mel and Langdon were working on something bloody. "Not all of us mapped out our lives on day one of undergrad and then decided to speedrun it for fun. When do your interviews start?"

Samira felt a headache developing behind her eyes. "Soon."

Ellis clapped her on the shoulder, which she assumed was meant to be reassuring but felt more like she was being subbed into a soccer game. "I'm gonna go see what that's all about. Keep up the good work. Discharge the preggo."

"Yup," Samira said, and stood there for another thirty seconds, hoping for a neon sign or lightning strike or some other signal that she was on the right path.

**

Nearly a month after their… encounter, Samira set her alarm for an hour earlier, contemplated doing something a little more with her makeup, decided that was too much, that it would come across the exact opposite of what she was going for, and headed into work before six.

The weather was turning, that in-between-seasons grey area where the mornings were sharply cold but the afternoons blazing hot. She'd had to layer to account for it and was in the middle of stripping off the outermost ones — hat, gloves, fleece — when Abbot spotted her and came over to the lockers.

She swallowed her nerves and smiled. This was what she wanted. "Hey, morning."

"Everything okay? This is early, even for you."

"Maybe I just miss the night shift." His jaw clenched so she laughed, trying to prove she was kidding even though she wasn't. "Sorry, yeah, it's fine, I just — I wanted to talk to you. If you have a second."

The color drained from his face. He looked around the room and then took a step towards her, hand out like she was a spooked horse even though he was the one on edge. "Samira."

"I need help prepping my fellowship interviews." The words blended together, shoved out of her mouth before she could chicken out.

Abbot froze. "What?"

"Please? I'm sorry, I'm freaking out, they start in two weeks and my residency ones were over Zoom." She knotted her hands together, ignoring how sweaty they were. "One dinner, that's all. I promise."

He was quiet for so long that she started to worry. She'd spent all week telling herself it'd be fine, that it made sense to ask him because Robby didn't think she should do it at all, so who else was there, Shen? But she hadn't considered that he'd say no.

"Never mind," she started, just as he said, "Yeah, of course."

"Really?" She wanted to hug him but settled for squeezing his hand, still outstretched, between both of hers. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

**

"I don't know why you're so worried about this," he said, a week later, the two of them tucked into a booth at the Thai place halfway between their respective homes. "You're gonna be fine."

"Do you think my weaknesses sound canned?" She looked at the notebook in front of her. They felt rehearsed to her. Everything about these stupid questions seemed strained, and she knew she came across as robotic when answering them.

"Samira, listen to me." He reached over their empty plates to take her hand. "You need to relax. You are on fire when you are relaxed. You are the best doctor in your cohort when you are relaxed."

She bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn't react, but that didn't stop her stomach from swooping. It was overwhelming, hearing him say that, having him look at her like that, like she was the only person in the world.

"Jack."

He smiled at her, a strange sadness to it, and then squeezed her hand and let go. He cleared his throat before saying, "Also, ask them questions. The more they talk the less you have to."

"Okay." She wrote ASK QS down as an excuse to look away, to catch her breath. To stop thinking about the last time he'd looked at her like that, sweaty and breathless. "What kind of questions?"

"They're research dorks —"

"Hey!"

"— ask them about their research."

**

Samira sat in an unbearably beautiful conference room, waiting for the first person on the interview committee, taking in the sconces and the crown moulding and the cherry wood conference table. She wondered what their ED looked like — if they had rats or roaches or ceiling tiles buckling from water damage. If they weren't allowed to restock toner and had to write special requisitions for nitrile gloves.

In the inside pocket of her blazer, her phone vibrated. It was probably her calendar alert for the interview, reminding her that it was set to start in 2 minutes. Since she was alone, she checked it anyway.

It was a text from Jack.

Go get 'em, tiger!

The doorknob twisted. She shoved her phone back in her pocket, right over her heart, and stood up to greet the Chairman, her smile wide and honest.

**

This sux.
Do you even work here anymore? Or did you get one of those fellowships and hit da bricks?

Samira had worked a double yesterday to make up for all the time she was taking off for interviews. She had slept for nine hours and was so tired that she wasn't sure if Ellis knew that or not.

lol
still here unfortch
pulled a habitrail pipe out of a man last night

She included a PetCo link for color.

JFC
TELL ME EVERYTHING
DROP A PIN IM COMING OVER

**

She showed up with a bottle of mezcal and a bag of Tostitos. "This is what I had in my kitchen, I don't want to hear it."

"I wasn't going to say anything." Samira pulled out some clean glasses, cut up a lime, just in case, and emptied an already-open jar of salsa into a bowl.

She turned around, hands full, and found herself wrapped up in a hug. "I've missed you. I want to hear all about your stupid interviews, too — please tell me you're not going to go to Wisconsin — but first, hamster man."

"I missed you, too." Samira's arms were pinned between them. All she could do was tip her head against Parker's, feeling a level of fondness she mostly associated with her cousins and her college roommate. It seemed to hit out of nowhere, the realization that Ellis was kind of her best friend. She wished her hands were free so she could hug her back. "I haven't heard back from Wisconsin, yet."

"They're idiots. Much like our hamster man." She let go, taking one of the glasses from Samira and knocking most of it back. "Let's go, time is money, money is power, power is knowledge."

"Knowledge is pizza," Samira said along with her, settling in on the couch, laughing when Ellis pulled out her phone and opened a voice note to record the story. "Oh, this is going online?"

"Girl, you know I'm committed to the cause."

"I thought as an attending you couldn't know anything about it."

"If this ends up in Dr. King's hands, how am I to know?"

"Wait, Mel is posting them now?"

"We spend a lot of time together when I'm stuck on swing." Ellis waved it off. Samira wasn't jealous — she hadn't wanted to run the account — she was just surprised. It must've shown on her face because Ellis laughed. "Yeah, Blondie's a sleeper agent. You gotta watch out for her."

Samira hadn't realized how much gossip she had missed out on until they started talking. The next thing she knew, it was very late and she came back from the bathroom with the knowledge that she was drunker than she had intended to be. Whoops.

"I have another one," she said, sitting down gracelessly.

"Is it about King and Langdon? Because I already have a hundred bucks on them: already together, eight months ago."

"No, it's not that." Samira tried to remember when she'd gone to visit Langdon with Mel. Had it been eight months ago? It didn't matter. "They weren't, then, but it's not that."

Ellis raised her eyebrow, waiting.

"I slept with Jack," she said to the ceiling.

"Jack who?" Samira stared at her and she bolted upright. "Oh. Oh shit. Okay. When?"

It was unbelievably easy to tell her. Samira had expected it to feel like pulling teeth, but the story spilled out of her, Ellis's eyes wide, rapt, the whole time.

She waited until Samira was done to ask, "Now what?"

"Now nothing. It was a one-time thing. One moment of craziness! I just need to tell someone because, I don't know," she sighed, "I felt like I was going insane!"

"Yeah, old white dick'll do that to you."

"Shut up." Samira elbowed her, but having said it all out loud to someone made her feel better. It's not like she and Abbot had really talked about it after, or even acknowledged it. He'd texted her before every fellowship interview, had a coffee waiting with Dana when she came into work after her final one, but their schedules were out of sync so they hadn't crossed paths as much. And that was fine. It was for the best, probably, getting a little distance.

"Was it good?" Ellis made a face at herself. "I don't want the details, but —"

"Yeah," Samira said, Ellis cackling at how miserable she sounded.

"Been there." She threw her arm around Samira's shoulders, tugging her into her side. Samira wasn't going to cry about it; that was the mezcal talking. "You're gonna be alright, Slim."

**

Maybe telling someone exorcised the demon, because afterward, Samira felt better than ever. Even Robby noticed, getting her to hang back after a group debrief to tell her how impressed he was with her, how she'd gotten steadily faster these past few months without sacrificing patient satisfaction scores.

"We should get you to teach a class." The quirk of his mouth told her he was joking.

"Thanks," she said, moving to leave. He followed hot on her heels, holding the door so she had to duck under his arm.

"You hear back from any of those fellowships yet?"

"Soon."

"You, uh, you think about what I said at all?"

Samira glanced at him sideways. "I've considered it," she said, because All the time, it kind of fucked me up, actually would open a door she was trying desperately to keep shut.

Robby looked like he wanted to say more, but McKay was making their way over, moving quick like there was some kind of emergency. "Keep me posted."

"Sure," she said and split from him to take a look at the board.

**

She found herself in the break room with Langdon a few days later.

"Everything okay?" he asked, making Samira realize she'd been staring. She looked away, chagrined, and he snorted. "Just ask — whatever it is, I promise you, someone has already said it to me."

If there was one thing Langdon didn't tolerate, it was people tiptoeing around him, so Samira swallowed her guilt. "You were up for the ME fellowship last year, right?"

He nodded, hearing what she wasn't asking, too. "I thought about reapplying this year, but I don't know," he pushed his hair out of his face, "I kind of hate teaching?"

"What?" Samira laughed, surprised, and that made him chuckle.

"I know, right?" He put his mug down, crossing his arms over his chest. "Robby recommended me last year — it was what he did, post-residency, you know — and it made sense to go for it, but it wasn't like my dream."

Samira balled her granola bar wrapper up in her fist. "So you were going to do a two-year fellowship just because Robby thought it was a good idea?"

"It sounds crazy when you put it that way, Dr. Mohan." His face was twisted up, like he thought it was absurd, too, but didn't know how to explain it. Samira tried to say that she understood exactly what he meant, that she knew the kind of power Robby had over a person, but the words were stuck in her throat. "It doesn't matter now, anyway. Now I'm just trying to stay here for the low low rate of attending physician." He held up his hand, fingers crossed.

"There are worse jobs."

Robby stuck his head through the door, doing a double take when he saw them both. "What is this, coffee talk? There was a bus crash, two minutes out. I needed you both five minutes ago."

The door swung shut behind him and Langdon raised his eyebrows. "You sure about that?" he said, bone dry, but the look on his face said he loved it just as much as she did.

**

Mel spotted Samira outside the restaurant, her arm going straight up in the air to get her attention.

"Hi! I didn't know you'd be here. Not that that's a bad thing, I just was expecting it to be me and Dr. Ellis."

Samira tilted her head, intrigued, as they walked inside. This place was considerably less crowded late mornings mid-week; Samira found herself missing the chaos of brunch even before they sat down. "Did Parker tell you what this was all about?"

"Swing shift journal club."

"Huh." She had a split second to choose her seat, going across from Abbot instead of next to him. He raised his eyebrow at the tone of her voice. "Mel was telling me that Parker invited her to join some sort of swing shift journal club."

"Alright." Ellis put her hands out placatingly as Abbot turned to her, his mouth a flat line. "That is not — that is what I said," she corrected when Mel started to protest, "but it's not what I meant."

"Should we leave you two alone?" Abbot put his hands on the corners of the table like he was going to move his and Samira's away, turning their four-top into two two-tops. "Mohan?"

"I can take a hint," she said, mimicking him, only stopping from separating the tables because a waiter came by to take their order.

When he had gone, Ellis made a face at Mel. "Sorry about them. We had to cancel this like, three months in a row —"

"Two," Samira corrected, only to be ignored.

"— because of everyone's conflicting schedules and they're still salty about it. It can't be night shift journal club if only one person ever works nights anymore."

"Well." Samira straightened her utensils. "I'm actually going back on nights next week, so."

She wasn't looking at Abbot when she said it, so she only caught his flickering expression in her periphery. It was a new decision — Samira had only agreed to it this morning, through a too-long series of emails that included Robby and Langdon and, she'd thought, most of the other ED attendings.

"There you go," Abbot said, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. "Two against one. Against one," he amended, nodding to Mel. "Night v swing v days."

"Swing shift shouldn't even get a vote," Samira said. "That's like, a half day."

Ellis elbowed her. "Don't even start with me."

"I thought we were going to talk about the well-received publication." Mel whispered the last bit. "I didn't realize there would be so many attendings here."

"Pretend we're not," Abbot said, smiling, leaning back as their food and drinks were dropped off at the same time. He looked rough — it was almost two PM and Samira knew he had worked last night, so he was probably exhausted. On some level, it was surprising he was here at all. She looked away before he could catch her staring at the dark circles under his eyes, and sat on her hands, like that would stop her wanting to smooth out the furrow between his eyebrows.

"Sure." Mel looked at Samira — logical, as she was the only other resident at the table — and said, "The hamster video hit eight hundred k last night."

"What?" Samira couldn't believe it.

"Eight hundred thousand what?" Abbot asked.

"Views," Ellis said. "Come on, man, you're not that old."

Samira shook her head, stunned. Mel mirrored her reaction, said, "Yeah, I posted it a day and a half ago, so it's probably more now but I haven't checked. I don't have it on my phone, we use Becca's. She does the art."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, she's really good, actually."

"I think she meant about the views," Ellis said, and Mel blushed. "Oh, right. Yeah, I'm serious. I texted Dr. Ellis as soon as it started getting traction. That's why we're here."

"And this is good?" Abbot sounded suspicious. Samira was, too, and judging by Ellis's face she wasn't sure about it, but she was excited either way. "Do you get money from this? Do I have to disclose it somewhere?"

"No, man, relax. No one's gonna make you do paperwork. Damn." Ellis rolled her eyes at Samira as if he wasn't right there. "It's just exciting. We've been doing this how long now?"

"Should've invited Shen," Samira said.

"He's working tonight, claimed he couldn't sacrifice the beauty sleep."

Mel snorted.

"Well apparently this is cause for celebration," Abbot said. "An account we have no knowledge of is doing numbers —"

"No," Ellis and Samira said at the same time.

"— Dr. King is joining the club, and night shift's getting this one back for how long?"

"A month."

"A month?" His voice went surprisingly high. Samira remembered him sounding like that exactly once before; she dug her nails into her thigh so she wouldn't react. "Okay, then. Cheers to all that."

He put his glass into the middle, waiting for them to join him, even though all they were drinking was sodas. "Go team," he said, everyone clinking.

"Hooah," Samira said in response, thinking of Shen's messed up speech all those months back.

Abbot's eyes whipped to hers, surprised and delighted. She winked, feeling bold, and watched the way he swallowed, his cheeks going pink in a way that matched the rush of warmth spreading through her.

**

When Robby first floated the idea that she or Langdon needed to shift to nights for a month, Samira had figured it would be fine. She knew Langdon, with two kids and a dog and all sorts of lawyer-mediated meetings, couldn't switch, just as well as she knew Abbot would be able to treat her normally.

She had assumed that normally meant with the same level of distance and respect he had for Perez and the other residents. She had forgotten what happened when you assumed. She had forgotten what it was like to work alongside Abbot.

"How's it going in here, Mohan?" he leaned over her shoulder, assessing the blunt force trauma on the table, nodding as she ran through the status: hypertensive, distended abdomen, decreased bowel sounds.

"He was alert and responsive upon arrival, propofol's on board now." She was in the middle of explaining the back-up in CT when the guy's vitals tanked. "Shit."

"Are we going to have to open him up?" Abbot's held his arms out as he was gowned and gloved. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"Get me the EFAST again," she said, her knuckles digging into the guy's sternum. He was nonreactive. Abbot handed her the probe, his hand over hers, not guiding, just there, a reassuring constant presence. "It was negative before, but — fuck, there it is."

She showed him the screen, blood in the RUQ, probably his — "Spleen ruptured."

"Looks like."

"Hold that there," she told him. She needed to keep eyes on the bleed while she and Tim got set up. "Two units of Ringer's," she said, maybe unnecessarily because Tim was already turning to grab the bags.

"You want blood, too?"

"Not yet, but let's drain some of this first."

Abbott nodded, shifting his weight so Samira could get around him, stretching his arm while Tim pulled out chucks, an 18 gauge, the syringe, everything Samira would need for the paracentesis. She had done more of these than she could count, but it had never been as smooth as this. Abbot moved like he knew what she was thinking, completely in sync, repositioning the probe the second she opened her mouth.

"Nice," he said as he watched her pull blood into the needle. The room quieted as the patient's vitals stabilized. "Guess we don't have to open him up. Yet."

Samira made a face at Tim, who laughed. She said, "I want surgery down here."

"Sooner rather than later," Abbot said. "If someone's not down here in five, I'm contaminating Walsh's whole damn OR."

Tim relayed an edited version to whoever was on the other end of the phone and Samira was overcome with the urge to laugh, even in the worst of it. She'd forgotten how good it could feel, working with him. Even when things were falling apart it was like flying.

**

She thought about it a lot. Compared the nights they worked together to the shifts she pulled with Shen, or how it felt on the rare occasions she and Parker overlapped. It wasn't the kind of thing she could put into words. It was different, was the only way she could explain it.

**

She hadn't forgotten about the night shift lulls, but it wasn't the same without her research project or applications to fall back on. She should catch up on her charts or start the second phase of her research — an expanded pool that required a multi-institutional IRB application that she wasn't about to start at one in the morning — but found herself fucking around on her phone instead, refreshing her email, waiting for the automated fellowship responses to come through.

"Excuse me, Dr. Mohan." Samira had sat the newest night shift med student down the first night and told her to call her Samira, but Sherman was still too terrified to do anything but approach with extreme caution. As it was, she waited until Samira stopped scrolling her FYP to say, "Dinner's here."

"I didn't order anything." Samira had been so careful to keep @CodeIdiot away from her account, but the hamster story had exploded and she was getting served old videos at least once a day. Tonight's was something she vaguely remembered Ellis telling her about over the summer, some guy on PCP insisting he was the second coming. Not of Jesus, of Madonna. The very-much-alive singer.

"No, I know, but Dr. Abbot did. He took our orders earlier?"

If that was true, he'd missed Samira. Probably while she was stuck with the college kids who'd had a reaction to some bad coke. "Thanks. I'll be there in a little while," she lied, swiping back to her email, waiting for it to reload. Nothing.

"Okay, but —"

"I got it, Sherman." Abbot came up behind her, making her flinch. He smirked at Samira over Sherman's head. "Thanks."

"Sure. And uh, thanks again! For the sandwiches."

She was gone before Abbot could respond. Samira watched him for a minute, the same way he watched her.

"I didn't order anything," she said finally.

"You were stuck in with the cokeheads. That was a joke," he added before she could protest. "I risked it, ordered for you." He held up what Samira assumed were sandwiches wrapped in white butcher paper.

She kicked the empty chair next to her in his direction, inviting him to sit down. Since she came back on nights, he'd been keeping his distance outside of direct patient care. So had she, which was stupid. She missed him. Missed hanging out with him. He was part of the reason this was fun.

He pulled two cans out of his pants pockets — Diet Coke for her, a sociopath's unflavored La Croix for him — and then sat, passing her one of the sandwiches, a giant V for vegetarian on the side. It felt like someone reached into Samira's chest and squeezed her heart.

Before she could thank him, he nodded at her phone. "You hear back yet?"

"No," she said, dejected.

"You're not worried though, right? Robby said your interviews went well."

She scoffed, regretting it because of course he clocked it immediately. "Did they not?"

"No, they did. It's just…" She contemplated her sandwich, trying to think of how to phrase it. If she wanted to phrase it at all. But the problem was Abbot was a world champion listener; he would sit there, waiting, until she said something or a crisis rolled through the doors. Samira sighed and bit the bullet. "I don't know if it's what I want to do anymore."

He didn't react. She watched him carefully, but he didn't so much as blink.

"Robby doesn't think it's a good idea. He said emergency medicine would miss me," she emphasized the direct quote, an ugly bitterness creeping in, "while I was doing research. That it would be a notable loss."

Abbot took another bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully.

"So I don't know what to do now." She left out the part where she'd been second-guessing her plans for months, all because of some twisted compliment.

"It's a couple years," he said, setting his sandwich down, fishing through his cargo pocket for a napkin. "The field will suffer, but you'll be back, right?"

"What if it's not the same? What if I lose… it?" She waved her hand through the air, unable to articulate what she meant, that she was genuinely worried she'd fall behind in those few years, that all her hard work to get faster, smarter, better would disappear and she'd end up back at square one.

He scoffed, but Samira shook her head. She'd played enough sports growing up to know the importance of muscle memory. Downgrading her clinical time would destroy everything she'd worked so hard to build.

"But this has been my plan all along, so…" She spun her soda can in a circle on the desk and then looked up. He was watching her, his mouth downturned but his face otherwise blank. Samira smiled sadly and shrugged.

"Plans change all the time." His hand twitched. Samira didn't know if he was thinking about his leg or the wedding ring he never talked about or something else entirely. Or all of it. His voice was unbearably tender when he said, "It's not a decision you have to make right now."

"But I have to make it." Her voice sounded so, so small.

"You work here." He shrugged one shoulder. "You make a dozen harder ones every day, babe."

It was like a dagger between her ribs, sharp and potentially fatal. Samira wasn't sure how she didn't gasp. It took her several bites of her sandwich to recover, and even then she felt shaky.

"Do you really think this place would miss me?"

"Every day." His hand flexed and he reached for his La Croix. She wished he were reaching for her instead. "But it'd manage. We always do."

It was like he could tell that hadn't made her feel better, because he leaned forward in his seat, getting right into her line of sight when he said, "You have to do what's right for you. You gotta follow your heart, not Robby's."

He didn't know that what Samira's stupid heart wanted was half the problem.

**

She kept telling herself that it didn't matter anyway. She didn't have any fellowships yet, so really she was just borrowing trouble.

As a backup, and in a fit of insomnia made worse by the depressingly grey November skies, Samira applied for attending jobs at PTMC, West Penn, and Mercy. Barring disaster, she was finishing her residency in six and a half months; it was important to have options.

**

The first notifications came slowly, over the course of several days. Yes from Wisconsin, no from Penn. A yes from Columbia that Samira opened standing at central, not realizing Santos was reading over her shoulder.

"Holy shit, congrats!" Trinity punched her in the arm before hugging her, her whole front pressed along Samira's arm, her arms locked at Samira's opposite shoulder.

Abbot was two feet away, handing off the night shift to Matthews with one eye on them. Samira smiled, trying and failing to shrug against Trinity's weight.

"Hug me back," Trinity demanded.

"My arms," Samira tried, but Trinity just grunted until Samira reached up, patting the arm locked around her front.

Abbot found her by the lockers before she left. "We should celebrate. Come on. Let me buy you breakfast."

**

It was the saddest celebratory brunch Samira had ever attended.

"This is pathetic," she said, after she'd answered all his questions, joked about not being able to go to Wisconsin because it would disappoint Parker, and feigned enthusiasm about moving to New York. "I should be excited about this. You should be excited for me."

"I am!" He flagged the waitress down for the check. Samira shot him a look, her eyebrow raised at his barely eaten bacon egg and cheese. He frowned, his jaw clenching. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just — " He cut himself off, pulling out his wallet to pay in cash.

"What?"

"Nothing."

It wasn't nothing. Samira narrowed her eyes, taking in the downward turn of his mouth, the lines carved deep into his cheeks. He wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Hey, come on." She followed him outside. His shoulders were so tight they were up by his ears. He moved down the street like he was being timed; she rushed to keep up with him. "What is it?"

"Leave it alone, Samira."

"No, say it." She reached for his arm and he jerked away. This was so fucking stupid. She'd never known him to act like this; he was usually direct, to the point. Unflinching. "Jack."

"It's selfish, okay?" He sounded angry about it. "I don't want you to go. I don't want to lose you."

It felt like she'd been hit. Her breath caught, stunned. Her brain struggled to grasp what he meant. They were friends, kind of. She'd slept with him one time and he tried to fucking fist-bump her afterwards. For three months she'd barely talked to him outside of work. She told him the same thing she'd been telling herself for all these months: "I can't make life choices based around you."

"I don't want you to! I wouldn't lo—" He took a deep breath, exhaling it to the sky. "I would be so fucking disappointed if you did."

Someone bumped Samira's elbow with their backpack and she remembered they were standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

Abbot moved towards her, standing too close. "Listen to me. You are an amazing doctor. You can do anything you want, and I would never want to hold you back."

"But?"

"No buts." He shook his head, his face open and honest, the exact opposite of how it had been at their table. "I would miss you every day, but I already do, so."

He shrugged helplessly. As if he hadn't just detonated a bomb between them.

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't —"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't take it back," Samira said, voice shaking with how she was equal parts angry and bowled over. God, she felt close to unraveling, like a strong wind could send different bits of her scattering into the Allegheny. She took a step back and he followed, kept following until her back was pressed up against the brick wall behind her, nowhere left to go. "Why would you say that?"

"I… Samira." He sounded equally at sea. "I don't want you to stay — not for me, and not for Robby, or Ellis, or because you feel some weird devotion to this place and the patients." His hands fisted in the unzipped sides of her fleece, so tightly she could feel the jacket pulling against her shoulders. "You are one of the smartest people I have ever met; working with you has been a joy and a privilege and every day we get to do it together is like a fucking gift. You come alive in that ED and it makes me feel alive. And I'm sorry I haven't told you this a dozen times a day, but —"

She grabbed him by the back of the neck and kissed him, swallowing the rest of his speech. It took him a moment to get with the program and then he kissed her back, his hands sliding inside her jacket to curve around her ribs, pressing her back into the wall.

"You are unbelievable," she said, his face between her palms, so close she couldn't focus on him properly. She kissed him again and again. "Why would you hide this from me?"

"Hide it? It was leaking out of my pores, Walsh accused me of trying to Me Too you like a week after PittFest."

"What?" Samira laughed against his jaw, incredulous. That couldn't have been true. Since August she'd buy, but last year?

"Seriously. She called it disgusting and said the only reason she wasn't reporting it was because you were clearly into it."

"I was into you," Samira admitted. "I didn't think you were into me."

He pulled back, putting space between them so he could look at her, his eyes dark and serious. "I am so into you it makes me stupid."

Samira's heart leapt so strongly that she wouldn't have been surprised to look down and find it on the ground between them.

"I need you to take me home," she said. "Right now."

"Okay."

"To your home," she clarified, just in case.

"Yeah." He laughed, a little hysterical. "I got that."

She kissed him again, her stupid heart going a million miles an hour. "Good."

**

"Jack," she panted, hoarse. "Come up here."

He was taking his sweet fucking time wringing another orgasm out of her, like the first two weren't enough.

"No." He had three fingers inside her, not really even moving at this point, just torturing her, sucking kisses all over her thighs. A shiver traveled down her spine, one of her legs kicking out uselessly.

She was strung out, squirming, and not above begging. "Please."

"I didn't get to do this last time." He had, she wanted to point out, but he was already shifting, sliding ever-so-slowly up her body. "You were in such a rush. Harder, harder," he said, a breathy imitation that she shouldn't have found hot, but his mouth was against her ear and his fingers were still inside her, a perfect stretch, the heel of his hand against her clit.

Samira was so far gone she didn't stop herself from saying, "I wanted to feel it. To remember it. I was," she ground against his hand, recalling the bruises, the ache, "fuck, I was sore for days."

It would have been mortifying, except Jack gasped. "Shit, Samira." He thrust against her leg like he couldn't help himself.

"If you come before you're inside me, I swear to god."

"You'll what?" He nipped at her earlobe, teasing. It didn't matter. She was on her side before she knew it, Jack spooning her, lifting her leg, his cock fitting against her ass. She moaned and she pushed back, grinding against him, feeling dizzy with want.

"Seriously?" he said, his voice thin, which was good because Samira couldn't catch her breath, either, caught thinking some day wildly. That was an adventure for another time. "Jesus Christ," he said, his grip iron-tight on her thigh, fingers digging in when she reached back to get a helping hand around the base of his cock.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he said, mouth searching for hers, both of them groaning as he slowly worked his cock into her. Samira's toes curled and she arched, trying to urge him deeper.

For all he listened to her demands last time, he ignored them today, working his hips in a slow grind that drove her crazy. His hands never stopped moving, sliding over her clavicle, tweaking her nipple, smoothing over her stomach, a pattern she couldn't follow, the same way she couldn't keep track of the nonsense he was murmuring in her ear, how good she felt, so tight, made for him, perfect. It took all Samira's effort to hang on, one hand twisted in his hair, the other between her legs, no rhythm, just pressure.

When she came, it washed over her like a wave, radiating outward until even the tips of her fingers were tingling. Jack stroked her hair, his mouth against the hinge of her jaw, barely moving as she clenched around him until she said, "Please, I need —" his hips hitched when her voice broke like the sound of her was undoing him, "— to feel you."

"Samira." His arm banded across her hips, yanking her backward, putting them closer together than she'd thought humanly possible. She craned her neck until she could get her mouth on his, dragging her tongue across his mouth, tasting sweat and stubble, swallowing the sound he made when he finally came.

**

"I'm still waiting to hear back from a few places, so it's too early to decide." She fiddled with the strings of her borrowed hoodie. They were curled up in bed — still? Again? She figured it counted as again if they'd slept and showered and changed the sheets, even if it was still only like, six o'clock at night — both her legs thrown over one of his, having the rest of the conversation from earlier. She sighed. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

It wasn't a complaint. Just a fact.

Jack squeezed her bare leg, his thumb making circles around her patella. "Don't choose something because of me." His voice was rough but his eyes were soft, pleading.

She reached for him, getting his chin between her thumb and forefinger, making him look at her. He needed to listen, needed to understand how serious she was when she said, "It's not you. It's my life. I have a whole life here."

A year ago that wasn't true. A year ago she had a job and a plan and everything was a means to an end. Now she had Parker and Mel. Langdon. Hell, Perez came to her for advice so often they'd started getting dinner before work once a month. And she had Jack. She always had: different versions of him, each of them so convincing she'd want to stay for any iteration. So what if she liked this version the best?

As if on cue, her phone buzzed. She touched his mouth, featherlight, and then leaned forward, kissing him as she snagged her phone off his nightstand.

Langdon had sent a video to the ED residents' group chat. Have you guys seen this? followed by a crying laughing emoji and six skulls. It was the hamster TikTok.

omg crazy Mel replied, which kicked off the whole chat, more reactions and emojis piling up while Samira read.

In a separate group, which Mel had apparently labeled Shift-Agnostic Journal Club, Mel texted a screenshot of the residents' chat. 5 mil with the eyes emoji.

Jack checked his phone and groaned. "If I end up going down for this…"

Samira patted his stomach, scratching her fingers through his happy trail. He made a low, pleased sound that echoed through Samira like a promise of things to come. "I'm pretty sure Ellis has been framing that IT guy who broke all the computers with the last security update." It had been a traumatic time in the department. No one would be forgiving Geno any time soon.

"I knew she was my favorite for a reason."

Samira sat straight up. "Excuse me?"

**

"Samira? Did something happen? Are you working tonight?"

"No." She shook the snow out of her hair — stupid December, the flurries felt constant, inescapable — and flashed Lena a smile. "Just left something here that I needed."

She was considering asking where Abbot was when she spotted him herself, coming out of South 15. He paused when he saw her, clearly surprised, but otherwise didn't react. She turned towards the lockers, trusting he'd get the memo.

He did, appearing a few minutes later. "Not that I'm not excited to see you, but is everything okay?"

She shoved her phone in his face, watching his micro-expressions as he read words like congratulations and conditional acceptance and continue your work at your primary post.

"ABEM?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.

She nodded, her mouth splitting into a grin as he swooped her into a bone-crushing hug. Her giddiness was diametrically opposed to the fact that it was one in the morning and she had to be back here for a seven AM shift. But she'd gotten the email and couldn't wait. The ABEM EM fellowship was different from all the others she'd applied to. It had been her backup plan, the lowest ranked on the list she'd made the day she mapped everything out. She'd revised this list since then, taking into account that would let her continue her work and research at PTMC, provided —

"I need a job here first." She tried to be practical, even as excitement sparked under her skin. Her interview was already scheduled for the first week in January. She was sitting on an offer from West Penn.

Jack squeezed her waist. Tipped his head to one side. "I might know some people."

Laughter bubbled out of her, a bright sound. She didn't kiss him then and there, no matter how badly she wanted to. Here, someone was always watching, and they were trying to be discreet. They were probably falling, and miserably at that, but they were trying.

"See you later?" He let her go but neither of them moved away.

"At seven," she said. "And then after work."

He touched his thumb to the dimple in her cheek. Samira held her breath.

I love you, she thought, so loudly he could probably hear it.

"I should go. I have to call Parker."

He fell into step beside her, his shoulder bumping hers intentionally.

"Surprised she wasn't your first call." His voice was warm, joking, but something compelled her to set the record straight.

"Nah, that was you," She tangled their fingers together, a fleeting touch before they split apart, headed in opposite directions, him to check the board, her out the bay doors. "It was always going to be you."

If I’m lonely
it’s with the rowboat ice-fast on the shore
in the last red light of the year
that knows what it is, that knows it’s neither
ice nor mud nor winter light
but wood, with a gift for burning