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After Robby left, the others quickly followed suit, the last of the beer cans distributed by Donahue before he too packed up and lightly jogged after Javadi. That left Samira alone with Dr. Abbot.
She didn't want to go home yet, despite how utterly exhausted she was. The evening felt unfinished, somehow.
She stepped closer towards Abbot, one hand in her hair as she tried in vain to undo some of the tangles. Abbot looked up at her from where he'd been staring somewhat blankly into the middle distance, his own beer can held loosely in his hand. He moved his prosthetic to the ground, clearly making space for her next to him on the bench.
He hadn't done that for Robby, Samira noted vaguely as she dropped into the now-empty space with a sigh.
“Tired?” he asked.
She nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. “I don't know,” she finally settled on.
Abbot nodded like that made perfect sense. “You know,” he started, leaning back and turning his head to look at her with that intense gaze of his. He seemed to have a bit of a staring problem. Samira had noticed it before, in those dawn and dusk times when they passed each other during shift change, but she felt like tonight it had been different, intensity upped like never before. “It's pretty normal to not know what you're feeling after a shift like that.”
“Yeah?”
Abbot nodded. “Yeah.” He took a sip of his beer, gaze finally shifting away from her for just a second. “God knows I never quite know what to do with myself after something like this.”
He looked back at her and she felt strangely pinned under his gaze but it wasn't a wholly uncomfortable feeling. There was something horribly thrilling to being the center of Jack Abbot's focus, she was beginning to realize.
“You should feel good, though.”
Samira couldn't help the satisfaction that bloomed in her at Abbot's words or the small but genuine smile on her face. She shifted a bit to fully face Abbot, who tracked her movements so carefully that she'd have gotten nervous under any other circumstances. But somehow this was different. It was exhilarating, yes, to be mustered so closely but comfortable too, somehow. She wasn't sure if it was the exhaustion, the adrenaline or Jack Abbot. Maybe it was a combination of all three. “You think so?”
“You know I do,” Abbot said, pointing at her with his beer can.
It felt like that was something that would be more fitting to be said among close friends – which they weren't – but Samira found that she actually agreed.
There was something very earnest in Abbot's eyes. Had been all night. When he told her to wait and see what else he had in his go bag, when he promised her that she could do that pigtail catheter, or when he praised her afterwards, without flowery words but a raw sincerity she had already started associating with him, despite the fact that tonight had been the only extended amount of time she'd spent with him.
“I hope you know how much you did tonight. That pigtail was no joke,” he added.
Samira could feel her cheeks heat, but there was still a part of her that wasn't sure what to take home from today. “I'm still too slow, though,” she muttered.
Abbot shrugged. “Maybe.”
Samira flinched a bit, almost imperceptibly but Abbot noticed.
“But you're a good doctor. The smartest one in that ED,” he added gently, softening the previous blow. “You could be the best one in that pit.”
“Now you're overexaggerating,” Samira, ignoring his pit pun, laughed, despite how good it felt to hear.
Abbot drained his can, crumpling it in one big hand while Samira watched. “I'm many things,” he said, fixing her with newfound intensity. “But a liar has never been one of them.”
Samira didn't know what to say to that.
Abbot rolled his eyes. “Take the damn compliment, Mohan.”
“Samira,” she said.
Abbot paused for a moment. “Alright, Samira. Take the compliment.”
“Okay,” she said, feeling warm and comfortable. She liked him quite a lot, she realized and even that realization was comforting. “Thank you, Dr. Abbot.”
“ Doctor? Really?” he said drily.
Samira smiled at him and shrugged. “You're still in your scrubs.” She gestured to his black scrubs, failing to stop herself from noticing just how good he looked in them. Black fabric giving way to thick, freckled forearms that tapered into blunt hands. She had seen them perform miracles not even two hours ago, had watched in awe.
When Samira lifted her gaze to his again she saw something flickering across his face, something she couldn't quite name but made her feel caught. Then it passed and he shifted, stretching out his remaining leg a bit further, thighs falling open a bit more. And she didn't just like him, she wanted him, too. Instead of nerves she only felt a vague sense of something that best translated to ‘Well, duh’. He was handsome, broad-shouldered, and strong, but more importantly, he respected her and she had never felt so immediately comfortable and safe with someone. She didn't want this to end, not at all.
Abbot set the now empty and crumpled can down next to him. “Believe me, if I had a choice I wouldn’t have been in scrubs at all today,” he said.
Samira looked at him, eyes tracing the planes of his face, the charming wrinkles at the edges of his brown eyes. “I don't think that's true,” she said, unsure where the confidence for it had come from.
Maybe it was how unreal this moment – this day, honestly – felt. They were illuminated by two lonely street lamps, everything else falling away into the dark, unimportant for the time being. And the park was entirely vacant apart from them. It felt like a safe haven. A lonely ship on a dark ocean, glowing with light when everything else was dark and unknowable. She couldn't help herself, and shifted closer to the man on the bench with her.
Abbot looked surprised, not at her shifting closer but at her words, then his face cleared and he let out a huff of laughter. “You're right,” he acknowledged.
“How did you even get here that fast?” Samira suddenly wondered, remembering how Abbot had arrived before any other night shift staff, even beating those to the Pitt who had answered their phones immediately.
He looked caught and a bit embarrassed. “I heard about the shooting on the police scanner.”
“The police scanner?” Samira asked incredulously.
“I listen to it sometimes, when I can't sleep.” Abbot shrugged.
Samira looked at him knowingly. It was definitely not only sometimes.
“It feels good to be needed,” he said, desperately genuine, the non-sequitur catching Samira off-guard at first. He really was a very honest man. Not even half as closed-off as his whole jaded military veteran thing suggested at first. And here, with exhaustion painting his face, prosthetic leg resting unused on the ground next to his remaining foot, body language casual, almost lounging on the bench he looked… bare, in a way, exposed and Samira couldn’t help the almost possessive thrill that went through her at the thought that not everyone saw him like this. Tonight this was for her and only her. She absently hoped she would get the chance again, to simply sit next to him and enjoy his company. She should invite him for a drink sometime. Actually, she probably shouldn't but she desperately wanted to.
“Collins told me I can't make this job my whole life,” Samira said after a few beats of comfortable silence.
Abbot didn't comment on that, he just looked at her with a crooked, resigned smile on his lips like they both knew it was too late for that. For both of them.
“Do you enjoy it?” he asked instead.
Samira didn't have to think about the answer. “Yes.”
Maybe it wasn't wholly morally acceptable. After all, her job was only needed because of people getting hurt. Accidents, pain, blood. All the bad things dumped into one nauseatingly addicting pot of stress and chaos. But it was true and Samira felt strangely certain that she would receive no judgement from the man sitting next to her. Only calm, knowing acceptance.
“It feels good to know where you belong. No matter how horrible the circumstances,” Abbot said.
Samira nodded emphatically.
“And,” he continued, a grin that was almost boyish on his face now, that made Samira's heart skip a beat. “We did some pretty awesome things tonight.”
Samira laughed at the absurdity of it all, about how right he was, how good it felt to do all that she had done tonight, and Abbot chuckled with her, eyes bright and still focused entirely on her.
When her laughter abated she finally set down her beer, not intending to finish it.
Samira had never shied away from her own feelings, from facing the truth of what she really wanted and this was no different. She wanted the man sitting next to her and she was beginning to suspect she wanted all of him. All his sheer excellence at what he did, all that earnestness and compassion. Samira even wanted what she suspected to have been a pretty awful attempt at flirting with her over the still-bleeding body of a man whose life she had just saved.
She shifted closer and Abbot tensed for a second. She paused until he sighed, giving in to whatever this was, and Samira's heart started beating even faster.
When she leaned in he raised a hand up to meet her, thumb coming to rest on her chin while his remaining fingers held her gently. She furrowed her brows, not sure why he had stopped her.
“I won't do you the dishonour of questioning your agency,” he began, voice low, strained and Samira felt a certain sense of satisfaction at having this effect on him, despite his hesitance. “So I won't ask you if you're sure.”
He paused for another second, and Samira pulled back, wanting to look at him if they were going to have a conversation about this. His hand fell back onto his thigh and Samira missed its warmth with a pang.
“But,” he said, eyes searching where he was looking at her. “I want you to be clear with me about what you want.”
“I want you to kiss me,” Samira said, almost petulantly.
Abbot looked at her with something akin to fondness on his face. “And what do you want from me after that?” he asked.
Samira flushed, mind immediately going to places it perhaps shouldn't if they wanted to keep this conversation PG.
Abbot tried to suppress a grin, seemingly able to plainly read off her face what she was thinking. Then he sobered again, the slant of his brows getting serious.
“I need to know what you expect from me,” he said.
Now it was Samira's turn to furrow her brows. “I don't expect anything from you.”
Abbot huffed. “Want, then. What do you want from me?”
“I'd like you to kiss me –”
Abbot opened his mouth but Samira was faster.
“– and then I want you to walk me to the bus station and ask me if I want to get coffee with you sometime next week.”
Abbot smiled. Relieved, Samira noted. “Alright, I can do that,” he said, voice full of promise that did more to Samira than she would necessarily want to admit.
“Prove it,” she retorted, her patience running out.
Abbot laughed, then he leaned in, his right hand finding a home on her cheek, thumb landing soft and warm on her cheekbone.
Samira sighed, meeting him halfway but he paused again.
“Call me Jack,” he whispered across her lips.
Then he finally closed the barely-there distance between them and kissed her.
Jack Abbot, Samira was finding out, kissed true to who he was; half candour, half skill and all earnestness.
The hand on Samira's cheek pulled her closer, the other threading through her hair, grip firm but respectful, somehow. She gasped into the kiss, the warmth of Jack's lips sending heat down her body to curl low in her gut, and he took the opportunity presented to him to deepen the kiss.
As he did, her hand finally found its way into his silvery curls, the other settling low on the warm skin of his neck. She felt him shiver slightly when she got a good grip on the strands. Something good to know for later down the line, she thought.
Her heart was beating away rapidly now, blood rushing to her cheeks and down her chest and belly to between her legs. She shifted even closer and this time it was Jack who met her half-way, their legs knocking into each other.
There was a sudden crash and they sprang apart, looking at each other for a moment, their breaths coming heavy to the fluttering beat of Samira's heart, before realizing what had just happened.
Samira, trying very hard to suppress her laughter and failing almost as hard, asked, “Was that your –?”
“Leg?” Jack interrupted. “Yes.” His spit-slick lips were twitching into a grin and he didn't look particularly embarrassed, just slightly sheepish and pretty dazed.
He made a pretty picture in the low yellow light, downright beautiful with his curly hair messy from her hands and his cheeks flushed. Samira was sure she was in about the same state and if his wandering eyes and blown pupils were any indication he didn't mind one bit, instead he looked caught somewhere between smugness and disbelief at the sight.
“Alright,” he said, clearing his throat and lengthening the distance between them a bit.
Samira watched as he collected his prosthetic from where it had tilted fully onto the ground and put it back on with practiced ease, just as smooth and confident as when she had watched him put in a chest tube a few hours prior.
He rolled the leg of his pants back down then turned back to her, catching her staring with a teasing eyebrow raise. “Come on,” he said, standing up and offering her his hand. “Let me walk you to that bus station.”
Samira wanted to protest but it didn't look like Jack would take any input on this and besides, she was exhausted right down to her bones. So she took his hands and let him pull her up until they were standing in front of each other, too close to be entirely appropriate.
He was only a few inches taller, but there was a presence to him that made Samira feel warm all over again and she couldn't help but smile up at him, giddy despite the exhaustion.
Jack looked at her for a long moment, traced the smile on her lips, the messy black strands of hair that fell in untamed waves into her face and he looked like he had never seen her before, something not unlike wonder in his eyes. “Can I –?”
“Yes,” Samira said and Jack huffed a laugh.
He leaned in again, hands coming up to cradle her face, and pressed his lips to hers again. This time he kept it chaste, short little pecks that left her wanting more but ridiculously content at the same time.
After a while, he pulled back, looked at her for another moment, then stooped to pick up Samira's bag which he handed to her, then both their beer cans, and finally his own backpack.
“Ready?” he asked, tilting his head into the direction of the closest bus stop.
Samira nodded, shouldering her bag and they fell into step next to each other.
They didn't hold hands or talk on the way but their shoulders brushed every other second and Samira could feel the warmth radiating off of Jack. She couldn't suppress the satisfied smile on her face and when Jack looked over at her she found herself caught not only in his gaze but also the happy smile playing over his lips, eyes crinkling.
When they came to a stop at the deserted bus station, Jack looked at her and asked, “So, tell me, Dr. Mohan. What are you doing next week?”
She grinned. “Well, Dr. Abbot, that depends entirely on why you're asking.”
He hummed, then asked, voice hopeful, “Go out with me, Samira?”
This time, as the bus was pulling up next to them, it was Samira who darted forward and stole another kiss, too short by far but sweet with the promise of more. “I'd like that,” she said and added, “Jack.”
He tilted his head at her, not unlike a dog, like he was trying to figure her out, failing at it but not bothered in the least. Well, she thought, they did have enough time for him to figure her out, after all.
“Goodnight,” she said and he echoed it, watching her get onto the bus with that intensity of his.
“Text me when you're home,” he added at the last moment and she nodded at him, throwing up a thumbs up that she regretted almost immediately from inside the bus.
But Jack just laughed, eyes fond, and watched until the bus turned the next corner.