What We Keep

by praiselourdes (pittprincess)

Summary:

Some bonds are written in blood. Others are written in choice.

When Dr. Samira Mohan stays late after a grueling shift in the ER, she doesn't expect one decision to change everything. A small, silent girl named Amara is left behind in the night, and with her, an unexpected tether forms — fragile, fierce, and unbreakable.

As Samira steps into the uncertain world of fostering, she finds herself building a new kind of family with Jack Abbot, a steady presence with his own quiet scars. Together, they create a life stitched from shared traditions, small joys, and the hard-won belief that love is not something you find — it's something you choose to keep, again and again.

Tender, intimate, and filled with heart, What We Keep is a story about resilience, hope, and the home you build when you refuse to let go.

Chapter 1: Night Shift

The hospital never truly slept. It dreamed instead—fitful, restless, alive. The overhead lights dimmed to a perpetual twilight, and the waiting room hushed to a low murmur, but the pulse of the ER—bright, beating, relentless—pressed on. Monitors hummed like mechanical crickets. The air was thick with the faint sting of antiseptic and the undercurrent of something less nameable: urgency, exhaustion, hope stretched thin.

Samira Mohan leaned against the nurses’ station, kneading the ache from the base of her neck with practiced fingers. Her scrubs smelled like hospital soap and jasmine hand lotion, the latter an old habit she refused to give up. It grounded her. Reminded her she was still human, not just another moving part in the endless machinery. She’d been awake for seventeen hours, but there were still charts to finish, patients to monitor, a dozen small fires to put out before the day could end.

Officially, her shift had ended hours ago. Day shift, full and punishing. She should have been home already—eating something simple, collapsing into bed, chasing a few hours of sleep before doing it all again. But the night shift had its own kind of gravity: slower, quieter, heavier.

"You ever think about how weird it is that this place has a night rhythm?" Ellis murmured beside her, sipping coffee that had long gone cold.

Samira smiled faintly, her mind cataloging a distant beeping that would need checking soon. "Like a living thing. Breathing slower, but still breathing."

Parker bumped her elbow, a small nudge of camaraderie. "Poetic, Slow-Mo. You staying for the  burrito run?"

Samira was about to answer—already debating how much her body could take—when the intercom crackled overhead. A new arrival. Pediatric. Fall injury. Unaccompanied minor—for now.

Her heart knocked against her ribs, a familiar pulse that startled her, a dull ache that had nothing to do with exhaustion. Unaccompanied minors were rare at this hour. They usually came with frantic parents, teary explanations, backpacks full of snacks and misplaced insurance cards. Samira was already walking toward triage, but a strange tightening in her chest made her hesitate for a second. There was something about the shift in the rhythm of the night—the way it cracked and shifted under this new weight—that made her uneasy. Something had changed.

The girl was small. Not unusually so, but something about her made her seem compacted, like she’d folded herself inward to take up less space. She sat still on the gurney, legs swinging, one sneaker missing. There was a small, purpling bump on her forehead and a dried smear of blood beneath her chin. Her sweatshirt—bright orange and far too thin for the chill of March in Pittsburgh—hung off one shoulder, exposing a patch of skin marred by what looked like an old bruise.

"Name?" Samira asked gently.

A nurse answered. "Amara. No last name yet. Adult with her said they were her uncle, but left after sign-in."

Samira’s gaze flickered to the girl’s face. Amara didn’t flinch when Samira knelt to her level. Her eyes were huge and dark, framed by lashes that seemed too long for her face. Her hair was a twist of curls knotted into a ponytail that had seen better days, and her skin was the warm bronze of a child with more than one lineage winding through her blood. There was a stillness in her expression, a kind of gravity that was far older than her age. Samira felt her pulse skip, her hand trembling slightly as she reached to touch Amara’s forehead.

"Hey, Amara. I’m Dr. Mohan. Can I take a look at your head?"

A tiny nod. Silent compliance. Samira’s hands were steady as she examined the bump. Not serious. Not today’s real problem.

"Do you feel dizzy? Sick to your stomach?"

Another head shake.

Samira smiled softly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "You're brave. I bet you don’t even cry when you fall."

Still no answer, but one corner of Amara’s mouth twitched, just barely. It was the kind of smile that hid things—small things, important things—and Samira felt her chest tighten in response. She wanted to know more. To pry into that silence.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The “uncle” never came back.

They waited an hour. Then another. Samira filled out forms. Talked to social services. Every moment she wasn't actively doing something for a patient, she found herself glancing at the girl, who had been tucked into a corner cot with a graham cracker and juice box she hadn’t touched.

Pediatrics wasn’t Samira’s specialty. She could stitch a wound on a toddler’s forehead or recognize signs of pneumonia, but she wasn’t one of those warm, constantly-beaming kid doctors with cartoon bandages in their pockets. And yet, Amara had caught something in her chest and held it fast. There was a quiet gravity to her—something that lingered like a shadow Samira couldn’t chase away.

A figure passed by, casting a brief shadow on the floor beside her. Jack. He caught Samira’s gaze and offered a tired smile, his face lined with the exhaustion of his own shift.

"Still here?" he asked, his voice low and warm. It was the kind of warmth Samira was always grateful for but never fully allowed herself to lean into. Jack was... he was the kind of person who made it easy to forget how many hours had passed in a day. He made her forget the aches, the fatigue, the weight of the world sometimes.

"Just making sure she’s okay," Samira murmured, her eyes flickering back to Amara, who had not moved. Jack followed her gaze, his brow furrowing.

"How’s she doing?"

"Quiet. Too quiet," Samira said softly. "Her uncle left after dropping her off. No word on who’s coming for her."

Jack nodded, his expression softening. He knew what that meant, what it might imply. "Social services will be here soon," he said, but there was something in his voice that suggested uncertainty. No one in this hospital liked the idea of a child being left alone.

They exchanged a brief look, one of those unspoken moments they shared when their shifts crossed. A shared understanding. Jack’s presence, so familiar, anchored her. She didn’t want to acknowledge how much it had become an anchor—how much she depended on his calm to pull her back when things felt out of control.

Then Jack was gone again, slipping into the night’s rhythm, swallowed by the emergency room’s hum.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Hours passed, and still, the “uncle” didn’t return.

Samira found herself watching Amara more closely, her thoughts unraveling like thread. The girl’s stillness made her heart ache in a way she wasn’t used to. There was something about Amara that was too quiet, too composed, like she was waiting—waiting for something to break, waiting for someone to fix it. But Samira had no words for that kind of waiting.

Every few minutes, Samira’s eyes would drift over to the girl, her small frame curled tight in the corner, her eyes never quite meeting anyone’s. She wasn’t sad. She wasn’t angry. She was just... there. A knot in the quiet. A shadow of something she hadn’t learned how to name.

Another figure slipped through the door. Dr. Ellis again. She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.

"Slow-Mo," she said, breaking the silence with her usual humorous tone. "You’re hovering again. You planning on adopting her?"

Samira didn’t look up. "She’s just a kid."

"Yeah, well," her voice lowered, gaze flickering to Amara. "She’s alone."

The words hung between them like a challenge. Samira bit her lip, but Parker didn’t push. She knew the weight of silence. The things that weren’t said. The things that Samira had learned to carry and never speak of.

"I’m just waiting for the social worker," Samira replied, her tone softer than usual. "They’re going to place her with emergency foster care."

Parker nodded, though she didn’t say anything more. She gave her a small, knowing look and walked away, her shoes clicking on the linoleum floor.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It was nearly five a.m. when the social worker showed up to check in. They discussed placing Amara with emergency foster care, but the mere thought twisted something deep in Samira’s chest. The lines on the paper blurred as she read through the options for temporary guardianship, none of them promising any sense of permanence. It was the idea of sending Amara to another stranger’s arms that cracked her resolve, and she found herself blurting out words she hadn’t quite planned.

“She’s scared,” Samira said quietly. “I don’t think she’s said more than ten words since she got here. You’re really going to just—send her off somewhere unfamiliar, to more strangers?”

The social worker gave her a long look, weighing her words. "That’s often how this works. But… if someone like you is interested in fostering, we can talk about what that would involve. Not right now. But soon."

“I want to talk,” Samira said before she could stop herself, ignoring any former reticence that may have otherwise stopped her.

“Then we’ll start tomorrow.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Samira stayed long after she was meant to. She dozed in a chair beside Amara’s cot, waking each time the girl shifted. The hospital quieted around them, but Samira remained alert, her thoughts a whirl of possibilities. She didn’t know why she was still there, why she couldn’t leave, but something inside her had shifted the moment the girl’s gaze had met hers. It was a string pulling at her heart, threading through her ribs with a quiet insistence.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Jack stood in the doorway, a tired smile curving his lips. He leaned against the frame, his eyes scanning the room with the quiet attentiveness Samira had come to know so well.

"Still here?" His voice was a quiet echo of her own exhaustion.

Samira nodded, unable to find words for the strange feeling stirring inside her. Jack crossed the room and stood beside her, close enough that she could feel the weight of his presence.

"How’s she doing?" Jack asked.

Samira hesitated, her gaze softening as she looked down at Amara. "I don’t know yet. But I don’t want to leave her alone."

Jack’s hand brushed her shoulder, a silent reassurance, and for the briefest moment, Samira felt the warmth of his touch settle in her chest. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, or where it would lead, but she knew that in this moment, she wasn’t alone. She hadn’t been for a long time.

And somehow, neither had Amara.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

By the time the sun had fully risen, Samira’s shift had long ended. The sounds of the ER had softened, the frantic energy of the night now replaced by a quieter hum until it would soon be renewed by the energy that often came with the incoming shift. But Samira’s thoughts were still spinning, wrapped around a girl who had no one. She was still there, still watching, and she didn’t know how much longer she could wait before everything she’d avoided would finally break.

Her heart clenched again, a feeling that could only be described as something like home—fragile, uncertain, but there.

She didn’t want to let Amara go.

But sometimes, the heart didn’t care about what was right or easy. It only knew what it needed. And Samira knew, in that moment, that her heart had already found a path she couldn’t walk away from.

Chapter 2: Paper Trails and Ghosts

Summary:

samira struggles with the thought of amara being left alone: or worse, ending up in a group home.

Notes:

chapter two, and i will be posting chapter three likely tonight or tomorrow as that is mostly finished too. I have much planned for this new little family. there will be more real "family" moments once they get more settled, also involving samira's relationship with jack ... and jack's relationship with amara!

The sun had risen in its usual hush, sliding in through the glass panels of the ER like it didn’t know how to apologize for the night before. Pale light caught on the edge of Samira’s mug as she sat near the window in the staff break room, lukewarm tea held between her palms like a promise she hadn’t made yet.

She hadn’t gone home. A quick shower in the residents’ lounge, A change of scrubs. Her hair tied back into a fresh low twist, still damp at the nape of her neck. The exhaustion had settled into her bones, but she was too aware, too present for sleep. Her shift was over, but she couldn’t walk away. Not yet.

She glanced at the hallway clock. 7:42 AM. Amara had been asleep last she checked—curled tight beneath a loaned pediatric blanket, clutching a tiny hospital bear with a gauze bandage around one ear. Samira had found the bear in the forgotten bin behind the pediatric nurse station and had quietly placed it on the cot hours ago.

Outside the ER’s frosted doors, the day shift was filtering in. Dana walked past in a swirl of coffee and peppermint gum, chatting with someone on her headset. Robby offered Samira a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk, as if he wasn’t surprised at all, as he passed.

"You’re still here, Mohan? Thought they’d finally promoted you to ghost," he joked.

Samira smiled faintly, lifting her mug. "They haven’t invented a coffee strong enough to exorcise me yet."

"Fair," he said, and disappeared into trauma bay three.

McKay poked her head in a moment later, the ever-exhausted, yet relentless (in the best of ways) resident barely hiding a yawn. "You doing a double or just haunting the place?"

"Neither," Samira said. "Just… not ready to leave yet."

She didn’t explain. Didn’t have to. The night shift lived by an unspoken code: the ones who stayed behind always had a reason. Ghosts didn’t linger without cause.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jack texted her around 8:15.

u still there?

She replied: break room. not ready to go yet

Three minutes later, he appeared in the doorway, gray hoodie loose over his scrubs, hospital badge clipped to his front pocket.

"You look like someone who needs to be told to go home," he said.

"I do," she admitted.

He stepped inside, leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. "But you're not going to."

She shook her head. "I can’t. Not yet."

Jack studied her for a beat. Then: "This is about the girl, isn’t it?"

Samira nodded. “She’s still here. Social services hasn’t come back yet. And I just… I keep thinking about what happens when they do.”

"Isn’t that kind of their thing?"

"It is. But foster care is full. Overflowing, actually. And she doesn’t even have a last name in the system yet. No known relatives. And she’s so quiet, Jack. Like she knows what’s coming. Like she’s already bracing for it."

He moved to sit beside her. Close, not crowding. "You’re not on her case, technically."

"I know. I’m not even peds."

"So why are you still here?"

Her voice softened. "Because I don’t think I can walk away. Not from this one."

Jack was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Do you think that’s smart?"

Samira turned to look at him. "No. Not even a little."

His eyes crinkled at the corners, lips curving. "You’ve always been smarter than me."

She smiled, but it didn’t reach all the way. "Is it crazy?"

"Wanting to do something human? No. Wanting to stay because you care? Definitely not."

She exhaled, long and slow. "It’s not logical. I’m telling myself I’m just checking in. That I’ll go home soon. But I know I won’t. Not until I know she’s safe."

Jack reached out and brushed a thumb against her knuckles. "Then stay. I’m not going to stop you. Just don’t forget you don’t have to carry all of it alone."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Amara had been transferred to a quieter observation room around eleven a.m., away from the chaos of triage. A pediatric nurse named Lien had coaxed her into changing into fresh pajamas—sky blue with little starfish—and even got her to eat half a banana and some dry cereal.

Samira sat in the small chair beside the bed, watching the rise and fall of the girl’s chest. She should’ve gone home. She should’ve handed this over.

But the idea of Amara waking up to a stranger’s voice, to the cold shuffle of a clipboard and a new room—Samira couldn’t do it. Not yet.

Social services had been contacted around midnight. No one had come yet—overwhelmed, maybe, or working through red tape. The report had been started, the story already turning to paperwork: one child, female, approx. age 5–6, brought in by an alleged relative, left unattended. No follow-up. No confirmed legal guardian.

A ghost story, in ink.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Samira stood again outside Amara’s room later that morning, this time with a pediatric social worker at her side—a woman named Janette, who had warm eyes and a clipboard thick with forms.

“We’re doing our best,” Janette said, flipping through the pages. “No sign of the uncle on any state record. No one answering at the address he gave. Could’ve been a neighbor, someone trying to offload responsibility.”

Samira’s hands curled around the rim of her stethoscope. “So what happens now?”

“Technically, she’s a ward of the state as of this morning. We’ll file emergency placement. Probably a temporary home by tonight or tomorrow. Maybe a group facility if we can’t find an available family.”

Samira’s stomach sank.

“She’s been through enough,” she murmured.

Janette gave her a careful look. “You’ve been here all night with her?”

“I couldn’t leave.”

The social worker’s voice lowered. “If you’re seriously considering fostering, even temporarily, you should start the inquiry now. It’s not immediate, and you’d need background clearance, a home visit—”

“I know,” Samira interrupted. “I’m just… thinking.”

“Okay.” Janette handed her a card. “When you’re done thinking.”

Samira nodded and took it, slipping the card into her pocket like it might burn.

She went back to Amara’s room. The girl was awake now, sitting up quietly, her bear still cradled in one arm.

“Hi,” Samira said.

Amara’s eyes flicked up, then back down.

“I brought you a banana muffin. It’s not very sweet, but it’s warm.”

The girl reached out and took it. Held it in her lap.

“I talked to someone today,” Samira said softly, kneeling to her level. “Someone who’s trying to find you a safe place. It might take a day or two.”

Amara didn’t reply, but her fingers tightened around the muffin’s paper.

“You’re not alone, okay? I know it might feel that way. But I’m still here.”

For now, she didn’t say. Because she didn’t want to lie.

But something inside her—a quiet, steady hum—was beginning to say: maybe for longer.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Later that evening, long after the halls had quieted and the fluorescent buzz dimmed to something almost gentle, Samira sat again beside Amara's cot. The girl had finally dozed off with her arms wrapped tight around the bear, head tilted toward the wall like she could disappear into it.

Samira held her phone in one hand, Janette's card in the other. She’d called. Asked the first questions. Opened the first doors.

It didn’t feel like a life-altering moment. No dramatic music, no revelation.

Just a tired woman in too-old sneakers and tea-stained scrubs, promising a scared little girl that she wouldn’t be shuffled off into the unknown. Not yet. Not this time.

"You’ll come home with me," she murmured to the room, voice barely a whisper. "Just for a while. A few days. A week, maybe. We’ll figure it out."

She didn’t say it out loud to anyone else, not yet.

But she meant it. And for now, that was enough.