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Jack had spent most of the evening exactly where he was now, leaning against the wall separating the dining room from the living room with a beer hanging loose in one hand. Baran was standing next to him, and conversations rose and fell around him, because Dana's Thanksgiving dinners had always been loud, packed with far too many people from PTMC. But tonight, he found himself barely paying attention to any of it, his eyes landing over and over on the same person across the room.
Samira.
She was back in Pittsburgh for a week. And naturally, he’d taken the entire week off.
Even though they talked daily on the phone, hushed whispers exchanged after working nights, the both of them, he missed the intimacy that came with working with Samira.
A year ago they'd spend entire shifts together, standing shoulder to shoulder over charts, exchanging looks across trauma bays when someone on the night shift said something that would jinx them, their gloved hands occasionally brushing as they worked through complicated cases together, the contact lingering in the back of his mind for hours afterwards.
Now he had to settle for hearing her laugh through a phone speaker at six in the morning while she walked home from the hospital and he sat in his truck after a shift.
Still, he'd do it a thousand times over, because she was exactly where she was supposed to be, doing an ultrasound fellowship at NewYork-Presbyterian.
She was accepted almost immediately after submitting her application with his letter of recommendation tucked inside it. The one he printed for her in his apartment after their first kiss that summer night on the roof, Samira tucked against his chest on his sofa, while he sat with his laptop balanced on his knee.
Now, his gaze follows Samira as she sits between Javadi and Santos on the couch, one hand wrapped around a glass of wine while the other gestured animatedly as she spoke, her curls freshly styled, falling around her shoulders in dark waves that seemed to catch every bit of warm light in the room. Every few seconds her smile would break free, bright and warm, making that damn dimple appear in her cheek before vanishing again.
Jack takes a long swallow of beer, trying to imprint the image into his brain to replay when she’s hours away from him.
And then, across the room she throws her head back and laughs at something Santos said. The dimple appears again, and stays.
Jack felt his chest loosen despite himself, smiles without realising.
There she is.
Baran clears her throat.
“Abbot.”
Jack stills, then glances sideways, feigning indifference.
“What?”
A soft grin immediately spreads across her face.
“Even I don't do that.”
Jack frowns.
“Do what?”
She gestures vaguely toward the couch.
“That.”
Jack follows the motion, then looks back.
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Right.”
“I really don't.”
“Abbot, I have spent the last three minutes telling you a story about Trinity accidentally locking herself out of our apartment,” she begins, taking a sip of her own glass of juice. “Meanwhile, you've been standing here in complete silence because you can't stop staring at Samira.”
Jack groans, rubbing his jaw. Sometimes he genuinely forgets that other people perceive him when Samira is in the room. He seems to forget that after spending years silently orbiting around her, finally getting with her had apparently done absolutely nothing to improve his self-control. If anything, it had only made him worse, because now he no longer had to pretend she wasn't his, which meant his body was determined to follow her wherever she went.
His eyes found her across crowded rooms before his brain even registered what he was doing. His attention locked in on the sound of her laugh over every other conversation, and apparently, judging by the look currently on Baran's face, all of it was painfully obvious to everyone around him.
“As if you're any better,” he mutters beneath his breath.
Baran furrows her brows in mock anger, tilts her head.
“Excuse me?”
“You and Santos just got together, and she’s moved in. And don’t act like you weren't also just staring at her.”
Her cheeks began to flush.
“That is completely different.”
“It isn't,” Jack snorts into his beer.
Baran points a finger at him.
“At least I occasionally blink.”
Well, he wasn’t going to deny the truth.
Before Jack could think of a retort, his peripheral catches movement across the room, and like the lovesick fool he is, his head turns automatically.
Samira is walking towards him, threading through the crowded living room, one hand wrapped around an empty wine glass.
The smile she gives him as she approaches isn’t particularly dramatic, or even flirtatious, but it’s Samira's smile, the one she reserves for him. Warm and blinding and entirely capable of making him forget what he had been saying mid-sentence.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he breathes out.
“Hey.”
Her smile widens slightly. Then she continues walking, straight past him and into the kitchen.
As she passes, he catches the familiar scent of jasmine from her curl cream, and before he can stop himself, he inhales it in. His eyes shut for the briefest moment, face tilting towards the kitchen.
Baran clears her throat.
Jack's eyes snap open. Sheepishly, he turns to face her again.
“Exactly what I meant,” she says, lifting a brow.
Heat immediately crawls up the back of his neck, across his cheeks under the scruff.
“Fuck off,” he groans as he takes a long swallow of beer, Baran laughing at him.
Then, from somewhere inside the kitchen, he hears a familiar irritated grunt. His head turns instantly, already pushing himself off the wall.
“Wait here. I’ll be back.”
Baran barks out another laugh, shaking her head.
“Sure you will.”
As he steps into the kitchen, he sees Samira standing in front of the kitchen counter, balanced on the balls of her feet as she reaches for a bottle of white wine on one of Dana's absurdly high shelves.
Her sweater rides up slightly as she stretches, revealing a narrow patch of brown skin above the waistband of her jeans. His eyes linger there for half a second before drifting lower, along the curve of her ass.
Christ, get a grip Abbot.
He stands in the doorway for another few seconds anyway, making absolutely no effort to follow his own advice as he watches Samira’s fingertips brushing uselessly against the bottle, before she lets out a frustrated little huff that makes the molten thing in his chest soften more.
He knows exactly what will come after this. His determined girl. And sure enough he catches her glancing toward the counter as though she were genuinely considering climbing onto it.
Shaking his head, Jack pads quietly across the kitchen, the hardwood floor barely creaking beneath his weight, while Samira remains unaware of his presence until he’s right behind her.
One arm settles beside her on the counter, the other sliding loosely around her waist, caging her against the counter.
He feels her body relax against him, her back settling lightly against his chest.
Jack lowers his head, close enough for jasmine to fill his lungs, close enough that his mouth is hidden amongst her curls when he whispers.
“Want me to help you with that, Samira?”
He feels the tiny shiver move through her before he sees it, before she gathers herself and tilts her head back slightly.
“You're literally barely a head taller than me,” she snarks back.
A laugh rumbles low in his chest.
“Oh honey,” he breathes out, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Then he lowers his head toward her ear and mutters, voice rough with affection, “Still tall enough to do this.”
Reaching past her, he effortlessly wraps his fingers around the neck of the wine bottle. He feels the hitch in her breath, the small sign that she’s affected at all, before she lets out an offended little noise.
“Show off.”
“Damn right.”
The grin on his face only widens as he steps back enough to give her room, handing the bottle over once she turns. Her fingers brush his for barely a second as she takes it in her grasp. And he feels it, even after all these months. That flutter in his chest, the one that has somehow only gotten louder in the year since she became his.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome, sweetheart.”
Something soft passes over her face as her eyes search his, lingering there before flicking down to his lips.
Then she clears her throat.
“So… Victoria and I were talking.”
Jack immediately groans.
“No.”
“Jack, you don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“No, I know, ‘Mira. I already told you that both of you are going to that Olivia Rodrigo concert. And no, before you even ask, I'm not lettin’ either of you pay me back for the–."
“Jack, baby, it's not about that,” Samira interrupts him, giggling fondly.
“Oh thank God.”
His shoulders visibly relax, face warming at her use of the pet name.
“Then what, pretty girl?”
The nickname lands exactly the way it always does, her lashes fluttering, cheeks warming. No matter how many times he says it, she never seems to know what to do with it.
“She was asking me about what I'm going to do once the fellowship is over,” Samira begins softly. “Will I move back to Pittsburgh? Will I stay in New York?”
She pauses, her gaze travelling to the floor as she ruminates.
Jack’s face grows serious, but he doesn't interrupt, giving her time to get the words out at her own pace. He knows talking about the future isn't easy for her, knows that sometimes she keeps thoughts locked away tightly, especially after last year and Robby.
He tilts his head encouragingly, go on.
“So I was thinking,” she worries at the edge of the wine label. “It's too early to say, but I like New York. I really do.”
Jack nods. Of course she does. New York suits her; bright and brilliant and ambitious. Samira’s spent her whole life being the smartest person in the room, and New York finally gives her rooms full of people who challenge her.
“But I like it here too. With these guys.”
She pauses.
“With you.”
His chest tightens.
Jack hears the unspoken words immediately, hears the question sitting beneath them, because Samira has never been particularly good at saying what she's actually afraid of, preferring instead to circle around it and methodically examine it from every possible angle before finally admitting it exists. He’s studied her well enough that he knows she’s been turning this around in her head long before Victoria even brought it up tonight.
What will become of us?
Slowly he reaches forward and hooks his fingers through her belt loops, tugging her gently toward him until she lets out a soft grunt of surprise and plants both hands against his chest.
“Jack,” she gasps.
He doesn’t stop looking at her as he carefully pushes a curl back behind her ear, the soft flush spreading across her brown skin growing warmer beneath his gaze.
“Sweetheart.”
She tilts her head up.
“You wanna come back here? You come back.”
His thumb brushes lightly against her cheek.
“I'll wait for you.”
The sides of her lips turn up, slowly.
“And if you wanna stay in New York," he continues quietly, refusing to look away, “then you stay in New York. Go be the future of medicine.”
A disbelieving, fond laugh escapes her. He says it so often now, during every phone call and in conversations that she’s not even a part of, that she should be used to it. She isn't.
“And I don't care if it's Pittsburgh, or New York. Or some hospital on the other side of the country that decides it needs Samira Mohan more than the rest of us do. I really, really don’t care, sweetheart.”
Then Jack tugs her a fraction closer, until barely any space remains between them, until her hands are forced to loop around his neck and their faces are a breadth apart.
“I’d follow you to Jupiter.”
Her breath stutters, brows furrowing.
And for a second all she does is stare at him through her big eyes, trying to understand how he can say something that enormous so simply, how he can make it sound as straightforward as telling her what journal article he read today.
But to him, it is that straightforward, that factual, in the same way that the sky is blue and the grass is green. He’ll follow her wherever she goes. Wherever Samira ends up, some part of him will always be there too. Even if it’s Jupiter.
“You know that's an insanely ridiculous thing to say?” She lets out a breath that sounds halfway between a laugh and something more raw.
“Probably. But you know, I’ve always thought–”
But Jack never gets to finish the sentence, because Samira pulls on his curls to bring his face down, and presses her lips against him. Hard.
A small whimper escapes him as one of his hands comes up instinctively to cup the side of her face, thumb settling against her cheek. He murmurs out a soft “fuck, ‘Mira” into her mouth.
They move familiarly against one another, slow, lazy movements of their lips against each other.
When they pull back, they rest their foreheads against each other, breathing each other in.
And Jack feels the warmth bloom further under his ribs, swears the entire room feels brighter for it, like somebody has hung his name in lights.
They stand there for a few quiet moments, standing there, smiling at each other.
Before Baran’s voice interrupts them.
“Abbot, is everything okay? You’ve been gone for more than ten minutes–”
But she stops when she sees them wrapped in each other's embrace, grinning like idiots.
Samira stills when she sees Baran, then laughs, burying her face in Jack's shoulder. But Jack doesn't even bother pretending to look embarrassed.
“Hi, Baran. We were just getting the wine.”
She scoffs gently, shaking her head with affection.
“Yeah, and doing much more, I can tell,” Baran mutters as she turns and walks back out. “Have fun. But don’t take too long, Dana’s going to set the table soon.”
Jack murmurs a sassy “Yes ma'am” under his breath as she leaves, and Samira lets out a giggle as she presses her chin on his chest, tucking herself closer into him.
He looks down at the woman in his arms and feels something close to a strange sense of pride settle quietly inside his heart. Pride over the fact that their affection seems to leave warmth in its wake, that they’re becoming the sort of couple that lights up rooms, making people smile rather than look away. Everyone around them seemed to enjoy witnessing it almost as much as Jack enjoys living it.
Because seeing them together like this, seeing Jack’s eyes find her in every room, seeing Samira lean into him without thinking, seeing how naturally they fit together even after only a year, it really, really made the room sing.