Chapter Text
The new resident doesn't seem to sleep.
She arrives early, leaves late, starts pulling doubles as soon as she's allowed. Trades off day shift and night shift with ease, hardly ever taking the recommended time in between to reset her sleep schedule. If Jack Abbot wasn't mistaken, he'd think there were two of her—twins secretly trading places and pretending to be one person, logging more hours than any other R2.
After she is on the night shift for a full week, her first official rotation with his team, he concludes that there is only one Dr. Samira Mohan. He also concludes that she is racing towards a catastrophic burnout with the amount she works, only taking breaks to eat when she's forced to, and even then still studying her charts, inputting orders for tests, ignoring whatever food some well meaning colleague has left in front of her.
He'd missed the start of her residency. She was on days for most of her intern year, only overlapping with nights at shift change. That year is a little fuzzy for him, anyway. He's sure Robby introduced them at some point, likely at the end of Jack's shift and the start of the day, when Jack is at his least friendly even under normal circumstances. Under the circumstances of the last year… Well, it's a miracle Jack hasn't scared off every new intern and resident in the place.
The rumor mill hasn't been as active as he would expect. He suspects Dana has something to do with that—once caught her cutting a chilling glare at a pair of medical assistants whispering between them with eyes skating interestedly over Jack's rumpled clothes, his unkempt hair, the facial hair that had moved well past tasteful stubble and into cross the street when you see that guy coming territory. The two dispersed, their whispers forgotten, and Jack swallowed uncomfortably at both the idea of being the subject of whispers and the pity that keeps them quiet. But the information is out there.
Everyone in that emergency department knows that one year ago, Dr. Jack Abbot's wife was brought in to the ED in an ambulance and never left. He is supposed to be barred from accessing her chart, but he's looked at it anyway. Maybe out of pity, maybe out of a misguided hope that it would set him right, Robby had pulled it up one day and then walked away, leaving Jack to stare at the computer screen where the facts of his wife's life and death were reduced to a string of numbers and impersonal medical notes.
Kathleen Mary Abbot. DOB 04/23/1978. DOD 06/16/2022. Blunt force trauma with excessive blood loss, spinal cord injury, and internal bleeding sustained in motor vehicle accident.
Next of kin: John Patrick Abbot.
He wasn't working that night. Katie was on her way to the evening class she taught at the community college when a drunk driver sped through a red light and took her life and Jack's with it. It was Dana who called him. He knew something was wrong right away, when her voice shook as she said his name. Calm, commanding, unflappable Dana, barely able to get out the words that nearly stopped his heart. He got to PTMC just in time to hear Robby call time of death.
Even Robby wouldn't let Jack look at the other driver's chart. He knows the man was discharged from PTMC a week later, his injuries minor in comparison. The drunk driver always survives, a lesson learned time and time again in his career.
There was a halfhearted attempt at a court case, but Jack couldn't be bothered to answer the lawyers' calls to try and quantify the damage. How could a court measure up what Katie's life meant? What amount of money or prison time or community service could fill the gaping hole left in the lives of people she loved? Jack, his family, her family, her students, her colleagues. The women in the book club she went to each month, Jack dropping her off and picking her up as she giggled in the passenger seat, a little wine drunk and as beautiful as Jack had ever seen her.
He gave up on the case. Buried Katie with a traditional Catholic ceremony, in a plot beside her mother. Stood over the grave with her father, her siblings, their nieces and nephews. His sisters stood back in the crowd, surrounded him later with their typical well-meaning suffocation, one of them always in his house like they were afraid he'd follow Katie to the grave if they left him alone for a minute.
After two weeks of that, he went back to work. Tried to slink in right at the start of his shift, hoping to avoid the pitying looks, the wide eyes and pursed lips from his colleagues who had seen him at his worst. He accepted a hug from Dana, short and strong, punctuated with a lingering hand on his shoulder and her piercing gaze that let him know nothing was going to get past her. Robby hugged him too, a little awkwardly, then hurried to describe the priority cases and the latest frustrations with hospital admin, like he knew they'd hit their limit for emotional connection. Everyone else gave him a polite berth, coming to him when they needed to for his approval on a treatment plan but otherwise leaving him alone. He can't say he minded.
Somewhere in there, he's sure he was introduced to the new pack of interns. He didn't pay them much notice unless they were working his shifts, and even then he had Shen to run interference when everything got to be too much. Jack tried his best to be a good teacher, to focus on the medicine and give his patients the best chance. As the year has passed, he likes to think he's gotten better at it. At least now he's learned the residents' names.
And learned that one resident in particular has a stubborn streak that keeps her signing up for extra shifts far beyond what is required or expected of her. Dr. Samira Mohan is currently working a double for the second time in a week, and Jack feels a spark of that old impulse to teach as he considers how to talk to her about work-life balance without tripping over his own hypocrisy.
"Dr. Mohan, a word?" He catches her while she's charting and gestures towards the break room, likely to be empty this time of night to allow for a private conversation. He opens the door for her to go in ahead of him, decidedly ignoring the scent that clings to her skin, something sweet and floral, reminding him of sitting outside on a summer day.
When he closes the door, she turns to face him, her shoulders set back and her chin lifted. Up close, her eyes are so dark they're almost black, though they seem lit from within, glowing even under the harsh fluorescent lights.
"If this is about my patients per hour—"
"I wan—" He stops, frowning. "Why would I care about your patients per hour?"
She crosses her arms over her chest. "Dr. Robby didn't say anything to you?"
Jack just shakes his head, waiting for her to explain. When she doesn't offer anything, he decides whatever is happening with Robby is between the two of them and drops it. "I wanted to check that you're, uh… Doing okay." He hears the awkwardness in his voice and tucks his hands into his pockets, then drops them again. "This is your second double this week, so if you need someone to cover your patients while you grab some sleep, let me know."
"Oh." She sounds almost confused, her brow furrowed slightly as she works it out. "That's nice of you. But I'm fine."
"I mean it," he presses, concerned at how obvious it is she's not taking him seriously. "Burnout is a serious issue. We can't have our best and brightest falling asleep behind the wheel after a shift."
"I don't drive," she supplies, like that solves his concern.
"Right." Jack feels like he's slowly losing grip on the conversation, not helped by the way Mohan's eyes are locked on his, their dark centers flecked with light. "Well, the offer stands. It gets to be too much, come find me. Deal?"
A smile breaks across her face, revealing even, white teeth, her eyes lighting with it, and he wonders if this is how it feels to be one of her patients, to have an immediate sense of calm wash over you when she turns that look on you. "Of course, Dr. Abbot. Thank you for your concern."
With that, he steps aside to make room for her to leave, feeling a little dazed as the door closes behind her. By the time he gets his bearings and returns to the floor, she's already with a patient, talking through their history with determined focus, her lips turned up in a pleasant smile that sends something warm shooting through his chest.
"You good, boss?"
Jack whips around to see Dr. Ellis standing at the hub, eyebrows raised over her computer screen as she watches him stare dumbly at one of his residents. He feels a flush creeping up his neck as he coughs and nods hurriedly. "Yeah. Gonna grab some air."
Then he moves towards the ambulance bay, determinedly not looking at Dr. Mohan as he passes the open door of her patient room. If he did, he may have noticed the way she stiffened when he went back, the way her eyes zeroed in on the blood rising in his cheeks, the flare of her nostrils she couldn't quite hide as she turned her attention back to her rambling patient.
Outside, his fingers twitch for a cigarette, a craving he ignores as he leans back against the wall and breathes in the night air. Katie always hated that he smoked. He'd tried to quit for her many times, but old habits die hard and it was only a matter of time before he picked it up again. It seems cruel that her death would be the thing to finally make him stop, but every time he reached for a pack after the funeral he felt overwhelmed with guilt, like it was an insult to her memory to keep up the habit. He hasn't smoked since, but he misses the routine of it, the excuse to get outside and see the stars every once and a while. The ambulance bay isn't as tragic as the roof, doesn't set off alarm bells in the heads of Dana and Robby and the few other people who inexplicably seem to care about his mental well-being.
He takes a few deep breaths and turns to go back inside, feeling his heart accelerate when he spots Dr. Mohan with a new patient, her lips set in a thin line as she tries to coax the agitated man to submit to an exam. Jack watches closely, ready to intervene, then backs off as she dodges the man's flailing hands with surprising dexterity, swiftly working with Jesse to loop restraints around him until they can land an injection to calm him down. As she continues with her exam, he still finds himself drawn to the bed, hovering in case he's needed.
"All set here, Dr. Abbot," she calls, her eyes not moving from her patient. It's uncanny, the way she seems to sense his presence, but he quickly reminds himself she must have seen him coming in the moment she took her eyes off the patient to check his stats.
"Keep it up, Dr. Mohan."
He sidles over to his work station and pulls up some of Mohan's charts, scanning through with increasing admiration for her thoroughness. He wonders when she finds the time to add such detailed notes, listing out clearly why she ordered the tests she did. At a glance, it seems her instincts are usually right. When the trauma phone rings and Bridget announces a MVC coming in, Abbot doesn't hesitate to call Mohan over. She appears surprisingly fast, already tying a trauma gown behind her neck, not even out of breath as she takes in the information they'd gotten in advance.
When the ambulances arrive, she jumps into motion before he's even fully registered their appearance, already talking to the paramedics and leading them to a trauma bay. It's easy to fall into a rhythm. The calm he can only seem to find in the middle of chaos washes over him, the world reduced to the patient in front of him, Dr. Mohan beside him, the rest of the staff hovering just on the periphery. Mohan seems to anticipate his instructions before he says them, nearly finishing his sentences more than once. She has finely honed instincts above the level to be expected from someone her rank, and he lets himself cede some control to her once he sees she has everything handled. By the time the patient is on their way to the OR, Jack is starting to think Mohan can read his mind somehow, his head spinning slightly in the comedown from the chaos.
At shift change, he watches Mohan close out her cases and head for the locker room, then turns to where Robby is reviewing charts beside him. “Hey, why haven’t you told me about Dr. Mohan?” He keeps his voice casual, narrowing his eyes as Robby shakes his head and sighs.
“I’ve been on her to pick up the pace, if she—”
“Pick up the pace?” Jack echoes, remembering Mohan's frustrated comment about patients per hour.
“Isn’t that what you meant?” Robby asks absently, looking over his glasses at the tablet in his hands.
“I meant why didn’t you tell me she’s brilliant.” He thinks back to all his observations of her from their shifts together, slowly excavating the memories of those early shifts where everything is a little fuzzier, and comes back with a picture of an extremely competent physician with empathy and bedside manner to boot.
Robby grimaces. "She may be, but she takes twice as long to see half as many patients as the other residents."
"Maybe she takes the more complicated cases."
Robby shrugs and goes back to scrolling his charts, expecting Jack to drop it. For some reason, he feels the need to defend Mohan, to make Robby see what he sees. “I pulled her file. She has the highest patient satisfaction scores in the whole department. Residents and attendants,” he adds meaningfully.
The sigh that leaves Robby's lungs is weary, his shoulders rising to his ears as he stands and tucks his glasses into his pocket. "Some of the others call her Slow-Mo," he says dryly. "Go home, Jack. Get some sleep."
Jack watches him go with narrowed eyes and catches Dana watching him with an amused look on her face. "What?"
"Nothin'," she replies, holding her hands up in front of her. "Just nice to see you fired up about somethin'." Then her attention is captured by one of the medical assistants coming to ask her a question, and Jack puzzles over what she meant for his entire drive home.
A few weeks later, Mohan is on nights again. In the first hour of her shift, she correctly identifies a bacterial infection a patient's primary care doctor had diagnosed as eczema after noticing a strange pattern to the patient's rash and ordering a rush on cultures sent to the lab. The patient cries when she's given the diagnosis and then cries in relief when Mohan assures her that they caught it in time to prevent any serious damage.
“Good catch, Dr. Mohan," Jack murmurs as soon as they're out of the patient's earshot, falling easily into step beside her as they walk back to the hub.
“You know, you can call me Samira.” She’s a little breathless, an edge to her voice he recognizes as an adrenaline high from a successful diagnosis. As he looks up and catches her eye, his heart stutters in his chest. Her eyes are wide, laced with something thrilling, and he wants to sink into their dark centers to find the flecks of light hiding within. Clearing his throat, he forces himself to look away and up at the board instead, not processing anything he sees.
He has noticed that just about everyone calls her Samira, but for some reason he can't bring himself to do it. Right now there's still a professional distance between them. When he finds himself gravitating towards her on a shift, he can still say it's because they work well together, because they think similarly and can anticipate what the other is going to suggest. Using her first name would be a step too far, a lowering of the wall he needs to keep strong around himself.
He can recognize, intellectually, that Dr. Samira Mohan is a beautiful woman. Those strangely captivating eyes that manage to sparkle even in the harsh light of the emergency department, dark ringlets that seem hellbent on escaping whatever clip she tries to restrain them in so that by the end of her shift they’re almost always falling around her face, brushing against dimpled cheeks and a jawline that Jack tries not to think about tracing with his fingers.
But it’s more than that. It’s that she is extremely competent, far ahead of her peers, meticulous and careful and committed to getting it right. It’s that she listens to her patients, puts them at ease with a simple word or smile, tries her hardest to get at the root of what’s bothering them. She is an extraordinary doctor, one with a bright future, and Jack feels his gut twist at what a cliche he is. The older attending lusting after the young resident, going on about her talent and ambition like he has any say in the matter. It's barely been a year since he buried his wife, the woman he was going to love and be with forever, and here he is thinking about how Dr. Samira Mohan's hands are always steady with a quiet confidence that makes him wonder how they'd feel against his skin.
Predictably, the end of that shift finds him on the roof.
It's guilt that sends him up there this time. All day, in the back of his mind, he's been thinking about Samira—Dr. Mohan—telling him to call her by her first name, her eyes alight and her hair falling around her face. He stands behind the railing and closes his eyes, his right hand moving to his left ring finger. The metal is cool against his skin, grounding him to the grief that still sits inside him like a well, waiting to be pulled to the surface.
He was never supposed to know what it was like to live without Katie. Always assumed he'd go first, based on statistics and life expectancies and his laundry list of risk factors. They'd given each other rings (though the one on his finger now is not the same one she'd given him at his wedding—that one was lost on a camping trip, and then its replacement was lost along with his leg and the last shreds of his emotional stability in a desert halfway around the world) and promised til death do us part and Jack had always sort of assumed that he'd be the one doing the parting. That he'd go, and Katie would grieve, and then she'd continue to live her life and find someone to spend it with. He would want that for her.
Bitterness rises in his throat. He shouldn't be thinking about Katie moving on if she were in his shoes, because that's not what he's doing. This… Thing, this fascination with Mohan is nothing like his marriage. If anything, it's a cry for help. A midlife crisis, if he's generous with how that clock is ticking.
The door creaks loudly behind him and he doesn't turn around, just waits for Robby to walk up beside him and give some awkward pep talk to keep Jack from jumping. (He would never actually jump, no matter what Robby may think. He's not enough of an asshole to put his colleagues through that.) No footsteps approach and he finally turns, curious, and sees Dr. Samira Mohan standing there, half in the direct glow of morning sunlight and half lingering in the shadow of the hallway.
"Dana asked me to come find you," she calls from the doorway, her voice unusually thin. "She said Dr. Robby's running late."
Jack nods, then cocks his head to the side as he takes in how firmly she is planted on the other side of the door, like she can't bring herself to step out onto the roof. Amusement grows in his chest, bubbling to the surface in a gentle laugh. "Dr. Mohan, don't tell me you're afraid of heights." Whatever angst had sent him up here dissipates as he squints against the sun and makes his way back to the door, his grin turning to a sympathetic frown when he gets close enough to see the sheen of sweat on Mohan's skin, her hand shaking where it's resting on the doorframe. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," she replies, her voice a little too high pitched. "Just… Yeah." She waits for him to cross the threshold and then lets the door slam shut, plunging the staircase into near-darkness broken only by the dull emergency light overhead. "Not a fan of heights." She smiles, a little shakily, and he resists the urge to press the back of his hand against her forehead to check for a fever. She looks ill and clammy, and he feels a flash of guilt that he was the reason she had to be sent up here in the first place.
They wait for the elevator in silence and Jack gestures for her to go first, still eyeing her warily in case she falters. As the elevator descends, she seems to get her energy back, looking at him a little bashfully as they approach the bottom floor. "Sorry about that."
"You sure you're okay?" Jack crosses his arms over his chest, eyes roaming her face as the doors open to the ED.
"Great," she replies, then steps off the elevator before he has a chance to say anything else, her footsteps just barely faltering.
Dana's voice rings out across the room. "Abbot!"
With a last look at Mohan's retreating form, he dives back into the fray. By the time Robby arrives and Jack's shift can finally end, Dr. Mohan is long gone. He doesn't see her again until two days later, when she arrives an hour early for her shift and greets him politely, all traces of the illness he'd seen the other day gone.
"You're here early, Dr. Mohan," he observes, eyes glancing to the clock on the wall. "Is the sun even up yet?"
"What sun?" she jokes, reaching around him for a tablet. "Never seen it."
Jack snorts. "No wonder we all have vitamin D deficiencies."
She hums in agreement, tapping into a chart and reading it closely. "Yes, the most pressing ailment to affect emergency medicine physicians."
The laughter that bubbles up in Jack's chest is genuine and surprising, and maybe a little too much for the barely-there joke she made. It's something about how the last time he saw her she was fetching him from the edge of a rooftop and now she's here with her twinkling eyes and her wry smile looking at him like she doesn't see him any differently. He feels a flush creep up his neck and across his cheeks and ducks his head, internally cursing his pale skin for showing his emotions so vividly.
As he moves, he catches sight of Samira's face and nearly does a double take at the intensity of her stare. Her eyes are wide, dark pools that seem to look through his skin to the blood rushing below, and there's some trick of the light that makes him think he sees a flash of red in them before he blinks and it's gone. Her lips part the smallest amount and he can see the white of her teeth before she touches her hand to her face and covers her mouth, seeming to smother a yawn.
With that, he goes back to his chart, feeling the heat of his own skin, certain he's projecting something that isn't there. It's barely six in the morning, for Christ's sake. She's tired and zoning out, the way they all do from time to time. Still, he can't help but steal another glance, feeling his heart stutter in his chest when he finds her still looking at him, unwavering. For a moment he feels like he's splayed open for her to see, her gaze heavy and with an edge that brings the word starving to mind, before he quickly banishes the thought.
The next time Jack looks up, Mohan is absorbed in her chart, paying him absolutely no attention. He huffs out a breath through his nose and silently chastises himself for making something out of nothing. He's grateful when Robby appears and jumps at the chance to distract himself by filling him in on the night's cases. By the time he's done, Mohan has disappeared, likely on her way to meet a patient and get her shift started. As Jack closes his cases and prepares to leave, he ignores the memory of Samira's eyes on his and decidedly does not think about the aching sense of want making a home in his chest.