Chapter Text
Jack Abbot and Samira Mohan were one of those unspoken facts at PTMC. No one for sure knows how long it's been unspoken, but everyone knew that they were sweet on one another and had probably been together for just as long.
It was the little things that rippled through the gossip chain that confirmed it. The sudden uptick in journal articles with distinct annotations in the margins — blue for Jack and purple for Samira — with the occasional to-go coffee cup — only ever for Samira; Jack got a reusable one always filled with a special chai blend she refused to give up the recipe despite Princess begging for it since Samira's intern year. Or the fact that Jack would, on the rare occasion they shared shifts, drive her home after they clocked out — always on time and never volunteering for doubles when the other wasn't working.
Most entertaining was their nonverbal communication, which all interns and med students were briefed on if they had the misfortune of sharing a shift with the two. It was mesmerizing to watch them hand one another items before they could call for them, or start a procedure before the other could finish instructing the rest of the staff. It was charming on a good day, eerie on a bad one.
But the most damning evidence for Jack Abbot and Samira Mohan was the way they orbited one another. Hands brushing as they passed each other in the halls or as they turned over the tablets to the other, like leaves of plants reaching for the sun. Sometimes, when the space didn't even call for it, Samira's hands would find Jack's bicep as she scootched by him, while Jack would always place a hand at the small of her back as he walked around her.
They didn't hide it, which meant everyone knew about it. Well, everyone with eyes. The residents, the nursing staff, the respiratory team, some of the pharmacists, everyone in the NICU, because they always knew the gossip for every department at PTMC, and most of the junior attendings. Honestly, it was the admin and the emergency medicine senior attendings who remained clueless, maybe because their antics were never broadcast in front of them, safe in the cocoon of Jack being the only senior attending around when it occurred.
And they certainly didn't deny.
There was an intense level of respect that Jack held for Samira. An untouchable pedestal of confidence he placed her on, never once wavering in his faith in her as a physician and a person.
In turn, Samira began to reciprocate. Maybe not as worshipful as Jack's was. But maybe that was something she kept hidden for just them.
But the respect was there. It crept into conversation if one was willing to look for it. Like how Jack would fight a smile every time Samira was brought up, unable to stop himself from jumping into the conversation to add his own story or comment about Samira and her capabilities. The man may be a military veteran, and his hobby was TEMS, but he didn't have any sort of cool when it came to Samira Mohan. When she looked to him during staff huddles, he often would look away, in shock at the attention he was gifted from her. It didn't happen as often now, but occasionally, the staff group chat would light up about how pink Jack got when Samira caught his gaze.
Samira, for her part, had a slightly better poker face than Jack. When Jack was brought up, or the kind gifts he would leave at her station, as if he needed to continue his courting endeavors, she never denied or confirmed the intention behind them. Just confirmed they were from Jack, as simple as she confirmed the diagnosis from a blood test result—a fact.
So when Samira blocked out the same week as Jack, the group chats went wild trying to find out where they were going. If this was really it, the confirmation they had been looking for.
The hard launch of Jack Abbot and Samira Mohan.
The collective groan was almost audible throughout the Pitt when Santos texted to inform everyone that the blocked-out days were coincidental — Samira was going to the same conference Jack was in NYC.
The gasp when Samira herself confirmed that Jack Abbot had personally convinced Gloria to fund Samira's trip to the conference, and the publication cost to submit her case report of their pigtail catheter aspiration performed during the MCI, was, in fact, audible. Dana threatened to find a shoebox and lock everyone's phones inside it until the end of the shift, grumbling that everyone was always glued to their phones.
So, the Pitt continued to wait, hoping that maybe after this conference, it wouldn't be unspoken anymore.
"Hey, I'm so glad I caught you," Jack said, holding out a steaming hot cup of chamomile tea he knew Samira preferred at the end of her shifts.
Groaning, she gratefully grabbed the cup and lifted the lid, inhaling the fragrant steam.
"You are a lifesaver," Samira sighed.
"Well, it's also a bribe. Because I want to nail down our itinerary for NYC," Jack admitted sheepishly.
The conference had been on his radar for a while; his buddies in the TEMS group had been hinting at a specific theme for the upcoming ACEM conference that would fit between his work at TEMS and last year's Pittfest shooting. And since the planning committee tapped him for a planetary, he had been badgering Gloria to allow him to bring Samira Mohan along.
Samira Mohan, when the White House cut her funding for her racial disparity project, PTMC's administration didn't offer any replacement opportunities, even though there were two case reports that Jack had been begging at his monthly admin meetings to secure financial support from PTMC's research discretionary fund. Samira Mohan, whom he knew had the best patient satisfaction scores in the department, still seemed to get the short end of every stick when it came to evaluations—Samira Mohan, whom he knew was the smartest of them all.
Samira Mohan, whom he thought was the most beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted person he had met, awakened his melancholy heart to the idea of love again.
Samira Mohan, whom he respected and held in such high regard that he would never act on his feelings.
So, of course, he got her a spot at this conference. And of course, he was going to ensure she had nothing but the best experience while there. Which included making sure she agreed with his itinerary.
"I made a spreadsheet—"
"You sound like me," Samira snorted.
"Mhmm," Jack hummed in agreement, looking down at her with a flicker of amusement. "I think I'd like to be a little more like Samira Mohan."
"Alright, turn it down a notch. I'm already agreeing to whatever you put on the itinerary," Samira said, rolling her eyes. She blew lightly on the cup before taking a careful sip, eyes fluttering closed as she took a second, deeper drink.
He used the moment to take her in. The usual inventory he did to ensure it wasn't as rough a day for her as it could have been — as it was right before Robby left for sabbatical. It was a checklist so superficial, but now a necessary part of his routine to ensure he didn't miss an important part of Samira Mohan.
As if the state of her scrubs, stained or not, rumbled factor, or the amount of baby hairs that escaped from her pulled-back style of choice — bun lazily sitting three-quarters of the way down her cranium was always a red flag — could actually indicate to him a vulnerability she would never willingly show at PTMC again.
When he finished — a suspicious stain on her shoulder most likely from an infant patient, hair only slightly mussed around her temples and pinned into a neat twist by her usual claw clip — he crossed his arms across his chest and nodded towards her.
"Well, I know we were flying in early. And since your friends are going to be out of town, that first day or so opens up. Figured since you're more of the local, pick something from the options I listed?" Jack offered, shifting his weight back and forth as he waited for her answer.
The emergency department bustled around him, and out of the corner of his eye, Jack could see Shen make his way through the ambulance bay doors, but he remained focused on Samira. And the way she bit her bottom lip as she considered the offer.
"I'm not a Manhattan girl. I'm from Newark," Samira reminded him, not for the first time. Shrugging, she said, "But I'd be happy to take a look at what you were thinking. Maybe we can do some touristy things beforehand."
"Yeah?" Jack said, unable to stop the wide grin on his face. The one he knew Samira had called boyish.
"Yeah. Listen, I'm going to finish my charts with this tea. But text me," she said, moving back towards a free station.
"Alright!" Jack called after her.
"You are so down bad for her," Shen said, by his shoulder. Jack just rolled his head towards him, giving him a noncommittal hum.
Raising his eyebrows, Shen took a large drag of his iced coffee. "Text me? Come on, man, how long into the shift are you going to be checking your phone for a message?"
"Five bucks says midnight, and he will be sad Mohan never texted about the spreadsheet," Crus said, adjusting his badge so it sat perfectly straight on his chest.
The rest of his night shift began to circle him, not for their usual pre-shift huddle but for the allure of betting on Jack.
Again.
"Mateo, get the whiteboard out," Parker called as Mateo swung back towards security, grabbing the small whiteboard they kept just for inconsequential counts throughout the shift. The last time it had been used for something related to Jack was about how often he would bring up his Duolingo score.
Nazely, even though she was the newbie, got it right — fifteen on the dot.
"So, are we counting how many times he looks at his phone or how many times he gets a text from Mohan?" Mateo asked, wiping the board with a paper towel and uncapping the marker with his teeth.
"Both," Shen and Parker said at the same time. Turning to one another, they high-fived.
A line went down the whiteboard, Mateo hastily writing the titles for each category, cheekily putting down one tally as he noticed Jack pull out his phone.
"Can't even get through huddle. Sad," Crus teased.
"He's a love-sick puppy," Shen sighed dramatically.
Rolling his eyes, Jack put away his phone — there was a single text from Samira, but he didn't want the team to have the satisfaction of knowing they were right — and clapped his hands.
"Alright, night crawlers. Did residents do the handoff from day shift?" Jack asked.
"Hey man," Shen said, uncharacteristically sincere as he walked to the parking garage with Jack after their shift. "I think it's really nice that you set this whole conference trip up for Samira. It's got all her favorite things, and it's clear you care about her."
"Oh," Jack said, not expecting the compliment. Frowning briefly, he replied, "Thanks."
"Are you ever going to let the staff know that you guys aren't actually dating?" Shen asked. It wasn't an unkind question. Nothing to indicate he thought one way or another about the deception Jack allowed to remain about the nature of their relationship.
Which, to be clear, Jack knew they weren't dating. He would never put that on Samira.
He knew what he was. Widower. Veteran. Almost twenty years her senior. Half the time, he didn't feel like a real person, just someone cobbled together by his regimen of medication and consistent schedule of work and therapy.
That was no life for the brilliant Samira Mohan.
But he did know — after gossip began to pick up about them following Pittfest — that not denying the rumors about their relationship status was helpful to Samira. Fewer people were likely to call her Slow-Mo or second-guess her knowledge unless they faced the wrath of Jack.
It was merely coincidental that Samira began to give Jack tea in her travel mug at the same time he ripped an intern a new one for shit-talking Samira.
He let them believe what they wanted, as long as Samira continued to flourish.
"As long as she's okay with it," Jack answered Shen, pulling out his keys and unlocking his car.