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It was always an honor for Abbot to have Dr. Mohan by his side during night shifts, because he admired her way of working, taking her time and building a bond of trust with her patients. He rarely interfered unless she asked for his advice, as he fully trusted her abilities.
Jack was only an observer when it came to her. He simply respected her decisions, sometimes adding a bit of his own experience to enrich them, which Samira would always take a moment to consider.
He notices how comfortable Samira is with him. Every time they have to take a break, she seems to look for him, whether to tell him about a procedure she performed, most of the time earning a “Great job” from him, or just to… talk.
They talked more than necessary at times, when Jack wasn’t too busy, letting himself joke around with Shen, or while she chatted with Parker.
The two of them would end up together, sharing details of their lives, like Samira and her attempts at dating, or something as domestic as Jack searching for the perfect fabric softener. Neither of them had been successful in either, in case anyone was wondering.
It started almost automatically. At five in the morning, Samira was already able to notice Jack slightly dragging his leg as he made his way to the break room to collapse into one of the chairs… and she would follow him under the excuse of getting coffee.
“Rough night?” she asks, waiting for the machine to finish her coffee, leaning back against the counter.
Jack lets out a low breath, shifting to remove his prosthetic, if just for a moment.
“I just need a few seconds,” he murmurs, rolling up his pants slightly.
Samira gives him a knowing glance, turning to stir sugar into her cup while Jack tries to ease the discomfort with a lymphatic massage using both hands.
“…how did that date you mentioned on Friday go?” he probes.
Samira’s reaction alone is enough of an answer as she lets her head fall back with a heavy sigh.
She quickly composes herself, shaking her head. “Not so well… it seemed like he had smoked five cigarettes beforehand.”
“Really?” Jack says, his eyebrows lifting in disbelief. “I didn’t take you for someone strict about smokers.”
“It’s the worst taste someone can have in their mouth during a kiss,” she replies naturally, brushing it off. “…do you want a cup too? No sugar, I remember.”
Jack just nods, because his mind is stuck on this new discovery. Samira doesn’t like smokers, and he is exactly the kind of guy who smokes five cigarettes in a row.
He does it because of stress, alright? After a long shift, it feels like his only relief is lighting a match and bringing it to the cigarette hanging from his lips.
There were situations that required several drags just to keep going. Waiting outside the clinic for his wife, funerals, traumatic nightmares, and the most common one, finishing his shift.
Still, he keeps it in mind, storing it away. Weeks later, he runs into Samira outside while she’s on a call, rolling her eyes, and he’s leaning against his car, pulling out his pack of cigarettes.
He places one between his lips and, with the hand not holding the lighter, gestures in greeting or for her to come closer… whichever she wants to take.
Samira notices immediately, raising a hand to cut the call with a tired gesture before approaching. Jack notices she keeps a bit of distance at his side.
“It was just my mom,” she says right away, as if taking the question off his lips, brushing it off lightly.
“…you did well in there. With the girl, I mean,” he comments, distracted by the lighter in his fingers without lighting it. “She’s so scared, and you…”
“I’m glad I could help her,” Samira admits, a faint smile forming. “She almost fell asleep waiting for news, and…”
She bites her lower lip slightly, looking away, unable to finish. Something in her brown eyes turns nostalgic, almost melancholic, and Jack knows exactly what it is.
It’s the same feeling that takes over him whenever the past catches up to him at work, whether with widowed veterans… it always hits a sensitive spot.
Before really thinking about it, Abbot tucks the cigarette behind his ear and opens the passenger door. “I’ll take you home.”
“No, no…” she starts, refusing with a small gesture. “…I’ll call an Uber or something, I don’t want to bother you.”
“No way,” he cuts in quickly, unexpectedly. “Get in, I’ll take you. It could never bother me.”
“Then it’ll be our little secret,” Samira says with a soft smile that steals a beat from him before getting in, while he walks around the car.
When he gets in beside her, he realizes the cigarette is still untouched. He had been so focused on her that he didn’t even think about smoking it. He doesn’t let himself dwell on it. As soon as he drops her off at her apartment, following her directions, and gets home, he collapses onto his mattress and lights one.
Still, every time Samira takes a night shift and he sees her coming out, undoing her ponytail, her dark messy waves falling loose, the tired circles under her large brown eyes showing… he simply can’t resist postponing his cigarette just to walk her to her door again.
When Mohan returns to day shifts, he feels conflicted. One part of him misses having her there, with her intelligence and patience with patients, and their routine of him driving her home. Another part feels relieved to see her rested and alert at a reasonable hour for her health.
It’s still a pleasant surprise to finish his shift and find her one morning by the lockers, in a rather particular situation… struggling with a heating pad, trying to tuck it under her scrubs.
“…Mohan?” Jack calls, grabbing his bag from the locker. “Are you feeling bad?”
“No! No, no…” she rushes to answer. “I can totally handle it… just a break before starting. I took something for the pain anyway.”
“Did you eat anything…?” Jack insists, searching through his pockets. “Your blood pressure could drop.”
Before even hearing her answer, he offers her a cereal bar, earning a small smile from her.
“…thank you,” Samira says, accepting it with a half smile. “That doesn’t usually happen to me, I mean.”
“Better safe than sorry, Mohan,” he says simply.
Samira gives him one last glance before heading back through the emergency doors, allowing herself a few seconds to look at his gray curls, which under this light carry a reddish tint…
She turns her back, not realizing Jack looks back at her twice before leaving the building.
Jack keeps a strict rule of no smoke near Samira after seeing her stand two feet away when she tried to talk to him during one of his night breaks while he was smoking. Something about that interaction felt wrong with her distance from him, unable to admire how her strands moved with the breeze or how her eyes shone under the stars.
He usually tosses the cigarette, putting it out against the edge of his shoe, but when he really needs it, he exhales the smoke turning his head as far away from her as possible.
He has always been careful about it. He has never heard Samira cough from the smoke, which would be the only way she might verbalize her discomfort, because knowing her, she would never say it out loud.
He thought he was being subtle until his boldness is caught just as he’s about to throw his cigarette away.
“You don’t have to do that every time I get close,” her voice reaches him, stopping him cold as he turns to look at her, the cigarette still at the corner of his lips.
“It’s such a waste, isn’t it?” Samira comments, stepping beside him with her shoulder brushing his even with the cigarette lit.
Jack catches the cigarette between his fingers, takes a drag, and exhales away before answering, “I can afford it.”
A soft laugh escapes her, along with a small nod. “Sure, yeah…”
“Your hair will smell like smoke,” he warns, leaning slightly so his shoulder brushes hers. “And your scrubs too.”
“I need to wash both anyway,” she replies quickly, almost automatically.
Jack exhales a cloud of smoke to the side, watching her closely as she tucks a strand behind her ear.
“…did you come looking for me so I could take you home?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.
Her teeth catch her lower lip, playing with the answer before she shrugs with feigned innocence.
“Is it too much to ask…?” she says, batting her eyelashes, though he doesn’t smile back.
“Never,” Jack answers without hesitation, already reaching for his keys to toss them to her. “It’s colder than usual.”
Samira catches them easily. “Should I turn on the heater?” she asks as she opens her door.
Jack nods, finishing his last drag before getting in, while she looks for a Joan Baez song on the radio.
And as the weeks pass, Samira doesn’t think twice about her bond with Dr. Abbot. It’s not just a favor or a brief conversation. He is one of the few people who simply sees her, and with whom she allows herself to rest, because if he does the same with her, then it isn’t a weakness if it’s shared.
It’s a relief to walk into the break room and find him. The one person who won’t comment on how she should hurry up or stop ordering unnecessary tests, but will simply ask how she is.
Her eyes still drift to the pack of Marlboros resting on the table, and she looks up at him. “A new one or the same as yesterday?”
Jack, focused on pouring coffee, just shrugs, leaving her wondering.
“You know that’s… pretty bad for you, right?” she says for the first time. “I know it’s typical, but…”
“It’s hard to quit,” he admits plainly.
With that alone, Samira understands it’s been a difficult shift for him, so she stops insisting and accepts the cup he offers.
Jack notices her silence, takes a sip, and continues, “Have you ever smoked?”
“…no,” Samira replies simply, and under his intense gaze she adds, “Once. In high school and it was so stupid, okay?”
Jack nods slowly. “I started like that too, but I was an idiot who just held the smoke in my mouth.”
Samira frowns slightly. “So that would be…?”
“Smoking wrong,” he clarifies, with a hint of irony. “…then I learned better when it started needing to feel like I was choking on it.”
Her brown eyes narrow with curiosity, encouraging him to keep talking.
“It started when my wife was hospitalized, I guess, and… I had too much free time in the waiting hallway,” Jack says, his voice lowering at the end.
Samira places her hand on his forearm. She doesn’t say she’s sorry, because she knows exactly how those words feel.
“From then on I couldn't stop,” he admits, with a thread of raw honesty. “…if she were alive, she would never let me.”
The mood softens with the quiet huff of laughter Jack lets out at the memory of the woman whose voice he has forgotten, yet his heart still remembers.
“I loved being married. I never understood those jokes about men finding their wives annoying… I loved being someone’s husband,” he confesses, setting his empty cup down.
Samira pulls away, breaking both physical and visual contact, sighing at his words, feeling guilty as she looks at his wedding ring… and feeling particularly charmed by what he said.
“I almost never think about it… getting married, I mean. I don’t even know if I ever will…” she begins cautiously. “…but I know my father won’t be there to walk me down the aisle, and maybe that’s why I refuse to imagine it too much.”
Abbot’s hand lifts, hovering in the air as Mohan crosses her arms, her lashes fluttering rapidly as if about to dismiss it all.
“Samira…” Jack whispers, immediately wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his chest.
It’s the first time she hears her name in his voice, and maybe that’s why, instead of resisting, her whole body relaxes. She lets her guard down, resting her chin on his shoulder, her arms falling at her sides.
There’s something in the way he holds her that feels like protection for her vulnerability.
She lets herself breathe in the masculine cologne at his neck before pulling away from the embrace.
“I… I’ll go check if my patient is awake,” Samira murmurs.
Before stepping through the door, she looks at him with a small smile that she hopes he understands as gratitude. Jack does, without a word, watching her leave.
The next time Samira looks for Jack, whether to see him or go home together, she finds him on the roof, chewing irritably, leaning against the railing.
Before she can ask what’s going on, her phone vibrates in her pocket, and she knows exactly who it is… her date from earlier that week.
“I truly believe I’m going to die alone, really,” she laments dramatically.
Jack turns to her immediately, his jaw tightening. “What, another date? Was he a smoker too?”
“No, no…” Samira frowns slightly before sighing, understanding what he meant. “…I mean, sure, I hate the flavor and the smell, but there’s something I just can’t handle about smokers.”
“And that is?” Jack asks, one eyebrow slightly raised.
Samira watches him carefully as he chews, and for some reason, in the hazel of his eyes, she decides to tell him.
“…my dad was a smoker too, and that really affected his health,” she explains, shrugging as if to downplay it.
“I can’t… I could never date a smoker, knowing the consequences firsthand,” she finishes, lowering her voice.
“I think every smoker knows the consequences very well, Samira,” Jack mutters, lacking firmness.
“Yeah, for sure,” she agrees, but continues, “but even so, I don’t know… I mean, I respect their decision, but being around that kind of death makes me so…”
“Nervous?” he offers.
And all Samira can do is nod, feeling understood. “But I could never ask someone to quit for me. I think that’s such a personal decision…” she adds, then gestures to herself. “And I would never want someone to make that decision for me if I were in their place.”
“Maybe the right person would do it without you asking,” Jack declares suddenly.
She blinks for a few seconds before letting out an incredulous laugh. “For what? Love? Because of how they feel about me?”
“Someone who cares… someone who wouldn’t want you to feel any pain, not even in your thoughts,” he says simply, gently. “Especially after knowing your reasons.”
Samira’s smile slowly fades as she falls silent, watching the way his tongue moves in his mouth, lifting his upper lip as it brushes his gums.
“…what are you chewing?” she finally asks.
“Nicotine gum. Replacement therapy,” he answers plainly.
Her curiosity sparks immediately, her brown eyes widening slightly. “What? How does it work?”
“Uh… I chew one or two every hour since I’m in the first few days,” Jack explains, avoiding looking at her. “…they’re awful. They give me terrible heartburn.”
At his admission, accompanied by a grimace and a wrinkled nose, Samira can’t help but laugh softly.
“Then why are you doing it if you’re suffering?” she asks, genuinely confused.
He simply takes his keys from his pocket and tosses them to her so she can catch them, like she always does. He doesn’t say anything else, and he doesn’t need to.
Samira is already behind him, heading down the stairs to leave.
That night, after getting out of the car, Samira stays holding the door, leaning down to face him.
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” she says.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he deflects.
She tilts his head to the side with a smirk, finally closing the door, leaving Jack turning his wedding ring on his finger, feeling almost… guilty for replaying her smile in his mind before driving off.
In the following days, with Samira absent due to switching to day shifts, Jack goes back to smoking too much. More than necessary, even worse than before. He feels the need to light one, even if it’s just to smoke it for ten minutes, because otherwise he feels like he wants to crawl out of his own skin or become completely erratic.
He doesn’t even think about stopping by the pharmacy to buy patches or nicotine gum.
Instead, he resorts to buying one pack in the morning and another at night, smoking through all ten as his insomnia worsens.
There’s something deep in his thoughts that torments him too much, something he doesn’t want to admit to himself, much less to anyone else. So he avoids mentioning it to his therapist, even when she notices he has gone back to smoking.
In his free time, he returns to the cemetery after years of avoiding it. He has always hated the atmosphere and the silence. It always seems cloudy when he decides to go. He simply kneels in front of his wife’s grave, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to recover anything. Her scent, her voice, even her face, but he finds nothing but… complete darkness.
And when the sun comes out, when he leaves that place, he can’t help but think of Samira’s smile, which warms him in the same way the sunlight does.
He lights another cigarette while driving in silence, turning off the radio as soon as he gets in, and then lighting another one as he fumbles with his keys to open his front door.
His ashtray is a complete mess by now, collecting more cigarette butts in those weeks than in entire months. Jack can’t help but add more every time he wakes up screaming from nightmares that, beyond the war, torment him with… guilt.
The guilt of wanting to be close to Samira, of wanting to make space for her in his heart as if he had permission to do so again, and as if Samira would even want to stay stuck with an old man like him, full of battle wounds that would never heal.
He starts to worry about his nicotine craving when he realizes he has gone through more than two packs of twenty cigarettes in just a few days. And when he calls his late wife’s sister in the middle of the night, trying to reconstruct her image through her words… he ends up feeling even more unworthy.
“Jack… why do you live like this?” the woman on the other end of the line asks.
“Like what?” Jack replies, letting his head fall back against the wall.
“Like… like you’re betraying something, or even worse… someone”. she says, hesitant. “My sister would go crazy if she saw you being miserable because of her!”
“It’s not her fault,” he says immediately.
“Then is this how you remember her? Turning her into a martyr just to punish yourself?” she insists.
Jack falls completely silent, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke as he lets out a long sigh.
When he runs into Samira again during a night shift, there’s no conversation in the break room, much less outside the hospital.
Jack hides from her, smoking nonstop, and when he gets into the car, only noticing the empty pack where Samira usually sits, his head drops against the steering wheel.
He feels like a complete coward when his attempt at a peace offering is showing up at her apartment, after hearing from the nurses that she’s been absent due to a fever.
Still, he doesn’t mind humiliating himself a little for her as he rings the doorbell and leans closer to say, “It’s Dr. Abbot. I heard you’ve been resting…”
There’s only silence on the other side until Samira’s voice finally answers, “…come up, but only if you know how to cook.”
Jack lets out an amused huff, entering the building and taking the elevator up. When he steps out and finally knocks on her door, that’s the only thing keeping them apart after weeks.
He’s greeted by the sight of Samira with her curly hair tied up in a messy bun, wearing long socks, athletic shorts, and a shirt far too big for her. She says nothing else, just steps aside to let him in.
“Oh God, Samira,” Jack murmurs as he takes in the state of the apartment.
The couch has been turned into a bed, with pillows thrown everywhere and a blanket spread across it. The entire living room is scattered with clothes. He notices ballet flats mixed with sneakers. He doesn’t even bother looking into the kitchen, filled with microwave meals.
“Seriously?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and gesturing around.
She just shrugs, dropping back onto her refuge on the couch. “I don’t have much time to clean, okay? I’m always in a rush.”
Jack gives one last look around, shaking his head softly before walking toward her.
“Symptoms?” he asks, though his hand is already resting against her forehead.
“Fever, throat inflammation, muscle aches, fatigue… no runny nose yet, but I do have a cough,” Samira lists, closing her eyes at his touch.
“Did you take anything?” he adds, sliding his hand down to her throat, brushing it lightly.
“Phenylephrine and something for the headache when I woke up,” she replies, nodding slightly. “That was more than eight hours ago, I’m sure…”
Samira swallows nervously under his touch, though she tilts her head back to allow it.
“How about some soup, medication again, and a nap?” Jack suggests, stepping away.
She nods, wrapping herself in her blanket as she watches him move through her kitchen, looking for something edible in her fridge, preparing a soup with what he can find.
He dissolves chicken broth in hot water while slicing and peeling two onions, sautéing them in olive oil before adding them to the broth with a pinch of salt.
Throughout the process, Samira keeps watching the flex of his biceps, feeling completely embarrassed by the warmth rising to her cheeks, and her fever is definitely not the only cause.
“…why have you been avoiding me, and now you show up?” she asks, frowning.
Jack stirs the soup calmly, lifting his gaze toward her. “Because… I care about you.” For both questions, the answer is the same.
“I needed to… visit my wife,” he adds in a low murmur. “I spoke to her sister, and I…”
Samira cuts him off immediately. “It was never my intention to make a place for myself in your life by taking hers.”
She sounds so distressed and worried that Jack relaxes immediately.
“You didn’t do anything like that, Samira,” he assures her with a soft smile. “If anything, I was the one who sought you out because I wanted you in my life.”
“I still don’t want to replace anyone,” Samira replies quickly, guilt in her voice. “She must have meant so much to you…”
“And you mean a lot to me too. In a different way than she did, sure, but not any less because of that,” Jack admits, surprising even himself.
She stares at him, stunned, shaking her head quickly. “You don’t have to…”
“I admire you so much, Samira. You’re the brightest mind in every room you walk into, and… you amaze me,” Jack confesses, setting the soup aside as he kneels in front of her on the couch.
His freckled hand finds hers, holding it in her lap, his thumb brushing over her skin.
“I want you in my life. More than that, I need you in it,” he continues. “Before you… I don’t remember the last time I laughed or felt comfortable.”
“…I feel the same way,” Samira finally admits. “And I know your heart… I know, that her and…”
Jack shakes his head slowly, silencing her doubts. “It’s a different kind of love, but that doesn’t make it any less sincere.”
He brings her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles.
“If you don’t want this, I’ll understand,” Jack whispers, pressing another kiss to her skin.
“Believe me, I feel… ridiculous being after a woman ten years younger than me. What would you even do with…?” He cuts himself off as she leans closer.
Samira lets out a shaky breath, leaning in to press her lips to his in a slow, lingering kiss that quickly deepens. For the first time in her life, she doesn’t mind the bitter taste of cigarette on his lips as his tongue brushes past her teeth and along the inside of her cheek.
Her hands move on their own, driven by a need she had only imagined, tangling in the gray curls of his hair, pulling him closer as his arms wrap around her waist, adjusting without breaking the kiss, finding the most comfortable angle for her.
When they part for air, Jack chases her lips again, pressing quick, eager pecks before melting back into a deeper, more desperate kiss, clumsy and needy, their lips colliding as Samira lets out a soft laugh that he takes as an invitation to trail down to her throat, encouraged by her hands guiding him by the nape of his neck.
Eventually, they pull apart, somewhat satisfied, Samira’s chest rising and falling, Jack wiping the saliva from his chin with the back of his hand, still unable to believe it when he looks up and finds her already staring at him.
“…you’re going to get sick,” she murmurs, running her tongue along the corner of her lips.
“You’re also taking a risk kissing me, even after I’ve smoked… a lot today,” he replies, looking at her in a daze.
“Oh God, how many did you have today?”
Jack just shrugs instead of answering, and when he’s about to climb onto the couch to find her lips again, Samira’s hand on his chest stops him.
She just blinks at him, and Jack melts completely. “I’ll brush my teeth five times, alright?”
A small laugh escapes her as she watches him get up and rush to her bathroom. After a couple of lazy kisses later, Jack serves her the soup, and she eventually falls asleep in his arms.
“You smell so good…”
It’s the first thing Jack hears that morning before even opening his eyes, already feeling Samira’s nose brushing against his neck, trying to breathe in more of his cologne.
He also feels her weight on top of him, her leg draped over his waist, her arms wrapped around his bare torso. His first instinct is to press a gentle kiss to her temple before finally opening his eyes.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice still rough, which only drives Samira a little crazier.
She places a soft kiss on his jaw, then another.
“In a good mood today, huh?” Jack asks, holding her as he starts to move, propping himself up against the headboard.
Samira lets out a quiet laugh, capturing his lips in another slow kiss, not bothering to brush her teeth before letting her tongue explore his mouth. If Miss Mohan could be strict, it was only about the bitter taste of cigarettes… something Jack was trying to reduce to two on his worst days.
She catches his lower lip between her teeth before pulling away, leaving him a small kiss this time. “Will you put the patch on for me…?” he asks, his breath brushing her cheek before placing a kiss there too.
She nods without hesitation, pressing her body against his one last time before sitting up in bed, grabbing the patch from the nightstand.
Samira presses the patch onto his deltoid for twenty seconds, counting silently.
“They lowered the dose,” Jack says proudly, earning a teasing clap from her. “Thank you, thank you.”
She notices Jack starting to move, and immediately Samira is the first to get out of bed, reaching for his prosthetic resting on the nearby chair.
Jack quickly shifts, lowering the sheets, still in just his boxers. “You don’t have to do that…” he murmurs, still not used to it.
She just shakes her head, ignoring him, too focused as she sits down to guide the residual limb into the socket and secure it.
“It’s fine, Mira,” Jack assures. With her help, he sits at the edge of the bed, both feet planted firmly on the wooden floor.
Samira presses a kiss to his cheek before leaving him on the mattress, heading to the bathroom. Without hesitation, Jack follows her, wrapping an arm around her waist before she can get far.
“No, no!” she protests between laughs, ticklish under his damp kisses on her neck. “Jack!”
It’s safe to say they ended up back in bed sooner than expected.