Chapter Text
“Dr. Mohan, are you with me?”
Samira snapped out of her loose train of thought, the lull of voices around her coming back into full focus. The medical conference goers mingled around her in the Vegas hotel with a particular enthusiasm that she did not share. Samira hated to admit that she was irked by it all. After four days, it was baffling that there was anything left to discuss. She was so close to the door that would grant her a warm bath, a glass of wine, and the last journal that Jack had lent her.
She smiled apologetically, “So sorry, Dr. Stone! Can you repeat your question? It’s just a little loud in here.”
The doctor smirked back, leaving Samira feeling a bit slimy, “I wouldn’t necessarily call it a question…just a proposal to let a real doctor take you out, show you a good time, convince you to come to the reasonable side, unlike this ER cowboy stuff.”
She blinked hard twice, “A real doctor…as opposed to me being a fake one.”
He rolled his eyes, laughing shortly, “I think we’ll agree to disagree on the practice, but I’m sure there are a few other things we could agree on.”
A fire of fury rolled through her limbs, causing her to outwardly shiver. She knew that some doctors let their cockiness follow them outside of the hospital doors, but she had never encountered a confidence that reeked so plainly of misogyny.
“Dr. Stone, was it?” Samira whipped her head around to find Dr. Jack Abbot standing tall, a strong furrow in his brow. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but we were invited by the conference to speak about our ‘ER cowboy stuff’ as you called it. Also, my colleague is one hundred percent the smartest person in our hospital, so I’d wager this isn’t even a fair match. Why don’t you scurry along and get a refill of that sour, maybe you’ll find some masculinity at the bottom.” Jack flicked his finger toward the man’s drink before staring him down in a way that left him with no choice but to follow orders. By the end of it Jack’s face had gone red enough that she could watch his natural color slowly return.
“Jack, I can stand up for myself, you know?” Samira scolded him playfully, but held a small smile so he would know she wasn’t too serious.
“You don’t think I know you can hold your own?” Jack questioned. “Sometimes a little backup isn’t the worst thing.” Samira turned in the direction of the doctor, who was now hitting up another woman across the room, confirming that getting to know her had never been part of his intentions. It still brought her a small pang of grief that she hadn’t been special enough to hold his attention, which she immediately resented herself for.
As if he could read her mind, most days now it seemed he was living in her train of thought, Jack turned to her frowning, “You know that doctor is completely out of his league. I’ll actually be disappointed if you’re giving him the time of day.”
Standing in a sea of people, Samira felt a particular loneliness settle in. As much progress as she had made with friendships inside and outside the Pitt, her romantic life remained nonexistent. Part of the problem was standing right beside her in the form of her favorite unrequited crush. Crush didn’t even cover it at this point. Dr. Jack Abbot was the only reason she got up some days, the person who reminded her that a horny thirty-year-old lived beyond the medical jargon that took up most of her brain space. He was simply wonderful. And yet probably so wonderful that he would never see his colleague that way.
That doctor was the bottom of the barrel, but damn did it feel good to be hit on. A little shame crept into her body before settling into her cheekbones. Jack surveyed her before throwing his arm around her shoulders and steering her out of the busy room, “I didn’t mean it like that, Mohan. You could have anyone in this place. Don’t sell yourself short for a douchebag.”
Samira snorted, dropping herself into a hotel lounge chair, “I think you really underestimate my prowess in the dating pool.”
He stood in front of her, leaning over with his arms crossed, “Maybe it’s a little unprofessional of me to say, but I find that hard to believe.” Samira held her breath. “You’re an attractive woman.” The words landed somewhere tender. “You really should put yourself out there more. The hospital isn’t the best market, and you’re going to be an attending in a month and then you’ll have more room to breathe.”
She turned toward the window, the Strip’s lights flashing against her face. In the ER it was easy to hear something like that and move on to the next patient, file it neatly into the back of her mind. Here there was nowhere to go, and no way to hide the quiet disappointment that she wasn’t the someone being considered.
“Samira?”
She smiled at him, not quite reaching her eyes, “Yeah, Jack?”
“You left me for a second. I was asking what your plans were for our last night in the City of Lights?”
She laughed softly, “Just a glass of wine in the room and that journal you sent me on insulin access.”
Jack stared at her for a long moment, and she had come to memorize this particular face. It meant he was sizing her up, trying to figure out how far she would be willing to go, to complete a procedure, to take a risk. She was always doomed to take the risk when he looked at her like that.
“No,” he said simply.
“No?”
“Yeah, no! We’re in Vegas, Mira! I can’t let you rot in your room on your last night. You presented like a badass, and now we need to celebrate.” She could count on one hand how many times he had used that particular nickname, but unfortunately not the number of times she had made herself come thinking about it.
“I’m not sure, Jack…”
He raised his hands suddenly, like a grand idea had just arrived, “What if I was your wingman tonight? We go out, find you a good lay, and I make sure they’re not a serial killer or something equally concerning.”
“You want to be my wingman?” she asked, genuinely dumfounded.
“Yeah! Let’s do it. I’ll give you fifteen minutes to change out of this business casual get-up, and then we’re going out,” he said with a clap, carrying on like it was the best idea since germ theory.
Samira was quickly realizing the night was already decided, and it was probably better to jump than go down fighting, “Fine, but I’m going to need at least thirty.”
“Deal.”
A wide smile spread across his face as he pulled her out of the chair and shooed her toward the elevator. She chanced a look back at him as the doors opened. She could have sworn she was imagining the small twinge of sadness sitting at the corner of his grin.