prisna
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She has to say it. She has to say it, because the last time someone was rolled away from her on a gurney it was to the morgue. Brushing the pads of her thumbs over his cheekbones, Samira stoops until their foreheads touch, her lips ghosting over his.
“I love you,” she whispers, eyes wide open.
Jack’s mouth curves into a gentle smile.
“I know.”
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At shift change, Jack is stabbed by a patient brought into the Pitt. Samira Mohan can only watch, and wait, and wait.
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Samira's had her whole life mapped out since she was thirteen. You know what they say about best-laid plans.
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She’s drunk on the floor of Trinity and Whitaker’s living room, and they’re talking about nudes when she admits she’s taken them, but never built up the courage to send any. That it’s always felt awkward, that she’s never felt pretty or sexy or delicate enough, that it’s always felt cringe.
Trinity blinks at her in confusion. “But you’re hotter than the surface of the fucking sun. I’ve seen what’s under your scrubs, Samira. What do you fucking mean, not sexy enough?”
“Seriously, have you seen yourself?” Mel asks. “You could put anyone on their knees.”
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Samira Mohan turns thirty, decides to buy herself lingerie about it, and takes some nudes. And then she accidentally texts one of them to Jack Abbot.
Bookmarked by prisna
21 Apr 2026
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When he boards the elevator he’s upset. By the time he leaves the elevator he’s angry, each reverberation of his feet hitting asphalt felt in the remaining bones and surgical grade titanium in his right leg, all the way up to his hip. It takes him less than sixty seconds to walk from the parking deck to the ambulance bay. Ten feet from the entrance, he sees Robby walk through the first set of doors, past Ahmad, and then through the second set of doors. His pulse roars in his ears, his heart pounding in his chest. For the first time in years, Jack Abbot feels something approximating rage, an emotion he has long assumed to be medicated out of him.
His hands furl into fists.
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Robby commits the critical error of making Samira cry. Jack reacts.
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Bookmarked by prisna
26 Apr 2026
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She looked over at him, startled, but Abbot wasn’t looking at her face, he was looking at her hands where they rested on the table, or maybe at something past her hands that she couldn’t see. “I thought— I mean, you wear a wedding ring,” she said hesitantly.
He looked up at Mohan, keen-eyed and sharp. “Well, I wear dog tags, too,” he said.
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Abbot and Mohan's unspoken situationship gets out of hand at work, and Mohan suggests a private conversation.
Whether or not any actual talking gets done is another question, though.- Language:
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Bookmarked by prisna
26 Apr 2026