mohabbotein

[mohabbotein]

casual

˙⟡ mohan x abbot (but it's really just abbot Thinking), wc: 1.1k

over the years, jack has become very good at just lingering. staff room? he’s in the corner, watching over the tables in the middle. nursing station? he’s pretending to mull over a patient’s chart on the workstation, listening in on ellis and shen as they compete against each other on words with friends. hell, even the roof has become a place to people-watch, amongst other contemplations.

today, during the once-in-a-lifetime day shift he picked up, he finds himself off his game, unable to resist being in the middle of it all.

“you sure you don’t want a ride?” he swings by the nursing station, hoping to appear more relaxed than he feels. 

samira looks up at him through her lashes and he almost flinches at the juvenile flip of his stomach. 

he watches her mull over it, considering she just rejected trinity’s offer. “actually, i think i might take you up on that.” her eyes dart back to the computer screen. 

he feels slightly uncertain when he can’t read her in this exact moment, because she’s always been someone he could read. he’s more cautious as time goes on. gone are the days of running red lights. is his age showing?

“done deal,” he nods with finality, swallowing hard. “your carriage will await you at exactly,” he checks his wrist, “2100.” 

“i’ll put on my best ballgown,” she smiles shyly, dimples peeking out. 

his muscles relax slightly as the corner of his lip lifts, turning away from the nursing station with some peace in mind. on his way to 8 north, he thinks maybe day shift wouldn’t actually be as bad as he once thought it was. today was definitely a blessing in disguise, serendipity, a stroke of luck even - 

“abbot,” robby’s voice rings through the crowded space. “9 west.” 

fuck. he inhales sharply, his stroll speeding up to a light brisk walk. he’s tempted to funnel his optimism down a black hole, but because he’s been actively working on cognitive reframing, he reminds himself that this slight-jog to 9 west definitely counts towards his 30 minutes of moderate intensity exercise per AHA recommendations. 

“talk to me.” jack gloves up, pushing his way through the glass door. “keep it quick, i got a sweet ride waiting for me.” 

“hot date tonight?” robby responds distractedly. he isn’t serious, jack knows this, but he feels himself getting slightly defensive. 

a beat later, he finally quips, “you wouldn’t know anything about that.”  

langdon has just about successfully intubated the unconscious patient in front of him. “50 year old male presenting with suspected cardiac tamponade secondary to hemorrhagic pericardial effusion. BP and sats dropping, currently hemodynamically unstable.” 

“STEMI,” robby adds only mildly helpfully, before turning out to oversee the case next door. jack can vaguely pick out samira’s voice giving report to robby. 

jack curses himself again for being so optimistic, then shifts that thought to gratitude because the workup is essentially already done. sure, he’s likely going to be late to samira, but that’s fine, she’ll understand, and if she doesn’t, that’s okay too - 

he sighs. maybe he’s flying too close to the sun, literally and figuratively. icarus reincarnated.

jack moves to the computer, scanning the patient’s chart. “prep for thoracotomy,” he says, reviewing the listed allergies with a quick squint of his eyes. “get garcia in here. did we consult cards?” 

“already here,” she says with the voice of a commander in the army. jack fleetingly wonders what it would’ve been like to serve with her. 

“relax, soldier,” langdon murmurs. “you’ll wake your sedated patient up if you keep yelling like that.” 

garcia snorts. “what was that? i couldn’t hear you over the consult you put in this morning, for me.”

“yeah,” langdon snips, “for surgery. that’s what you do, right?” 

“alright, let’s not get too excited about a thoracotomy,” abbot mutters. 

robby’s told him about langdon and garcia, how it reminds him of jack and walsh. jack has usually adamantly begged to differ, but he’s starting to see what robby means. 

his thoughts briefly drift back to samira’s voice as he watches langdon make the first incision. he wipes it all out of his mind - samira, robby, langdon and garcia, icarus - as the fluid begins to drain into the catheter.

it’s almost 9:30 pm when jack finishes stabilizing the patient, not to mention the extensive charting that follows. 

night shift has almost fully taken over, except for him and … possibly dana, if he looked hard enough. he’s decidedly not in a rush, considering he’s quite late for his date with samira. he managed to shoot her a text sometime in the thick of it, but it was pathetically disheartening to see ‘no prob’ pop up on his screen in response. 

he feels like he’s caught in this weird dance with her, one where he hasn’t quite stepped on her toes just yet. he’s not a good dancer - possibly more cut out for boxing - so it’s inevitably going to happen, but instead of just going for it, he finds himself hesitating more than ever. 

he leans back in his rolly chair, neck craning over to shen. “question,” he starts tentatively, “if you’re seeing someone, is it better to play it cool these days?” he fights to urge to ask what ‘the kids’ are doing nowadays.

shen’s eyebrows comically lift. “old man’s got it going on. you finally get on the apps?”

“be serious.” jack clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “the app would probably shut down if they got someone like this,” he gestures to himself dramatically, “on there.” 

“yeah, glitching out wondering what an oldie’s doing on there.” shen pauses. “being upfront is probably refreshing these days. nobody really does old school anymore. FWB, that type of thing.” 

jack hums to himself, realizing he can’t contribute much else without giving himself away. it’s too late to mull over today, and who knows when he’ll see samira next? should he pick up another day shift?

he shakes his head in resignation. dayshift was usually a once-in-a-lifetime event, and he’s already done it twice-this-year. 

nothing’s going quite like it usually does. 

it’s a little after 10 pm when he sees samira lingering outside the ER entrance, her back to him as she sways left to right.  

he - his heart - pauses. he tries not to read too much into it (both samira and his heart). 

a moment after relishing in the silence, he finally asks, “what’re you doing here, dr. mohan?” a loose grin toying on his lips. 

she turns, and there are those familiar dimples again. she’s changed into something arguably more comfortable than sweat stained scrubs, hair billowing over her shoulders. 

“heard you had a sweet ride waiting for you, wanted to see what that was all about.” 

he blinks at her, pressing his lips together into a small smile before nodding slowly. “yeah, yeah i think we can arrange for that.” 

“maybe something to eat too?” 

“oh, i know just the place.” 

he’s relieved to realize that maybe it’s not as casual as he thought it was.

[mohabbotein]

yes. yes, he is.

[mohabbotein]

[mohabbotein]

casual

˙⟡ mohan x abbot (but it's really just abbot Thinking), wc: 1.1k

over the years, jack has become very good at just lingering. staff room? he’s in the corner, watching over the tables in the middle. nursing station? he’s pretending to mull over a patient’s chart on the workstation, listening in on ellis and shen as they compete against each other on words with friends. hell, even the roof has become a place to people-watch, amongst other contemplations.

today, during the once-in-a-lifetime day shift he picked up, he finds himself off his game, unable to resist being in the middle of it all.

“you sure you don’t want a ride?” he swings by the nursing station, hoping to appear more relaxed than he feels. 

samira looks up at him through her lashes and he almost flinches at the juvenile flip of his stomach. 

he watches her mull over it, considering she just rejected trinity’s offer. “actually, i think i might take you up on that.” her eyes dart back to the computer screen. 

he feels slightly uncertain when he can’t read her in this exact moment, because she’s always been someone he could read. he’s more cautious as time goes on. gone are the days of running red lights. is his age showing?

“done deal,” he nods with finality, swallowing hard. “your carriage will await you at exactly,” he checks his wrist, “2100.” 

“i’ll put on my best ballgown,” she smiles shyly, dimples peeking out. 

his muscles relax slightly as the corner of his lip lifts, turning away from the nursing station with some peace in mind. on his way to 8 north, he thinks maybe day shift wouldn’t actually be as bad as he once thought it was. today was definitely a blessing in disguise, serendipity, a stroke of luck even - 

“abbot,” robby’s voice rings through the crowded space. “9 west.” 

fuck. he inhales sharply, his stroll speeding up to a light brisk walk. he’s tempted to funnel his optimism down a black hole, but because he’s been actively working on cognitive reframing, he reminds himself that this slight-jog to 9 west definitely counts towards his 30 minutes of moderate intensity exercise per AHA recommendations. 

“talk to me.” jack gloves up, pushing his way through the glass door. “keep it quick, i got a sweet ride waiting for me.” 

“hot date tonight?” robby responds distractedly. he isn’t serious, jack knows this, but he feels himself getting slightly defensive. 

a beat later, he finally quips, “you wouldn’t know anything about that.”  

langdon has just about successfully intubated the unconscious patient in front of him. “50 year old male presenting with suspected cardiac tamponade secondary to hemorrhagic pericardial effusion. BP and sats dropping, currently hemodynamically unstable.” 

“STEMI,” robby adds only mildly helpfully, before turning out to oversee the case next door. jack can vaguely pick out samira’s voice giving report to robby. 

jack curses himself again for being so optimistic, then shifts that thought to gratitude because the workup is essentially already done. sure, he’s likely going to be late to samira, but that’s fine, she’ll understand, and if she doesn’t, that’s okay too - 

he sighs. maybe he’s flying too close to the sun, literally and figuratively. icarus reincarnated.

jack moves to the computer, scanning the patient’s chart. “prep for thoracotomy,” he says, reviewing the listed allergies with a quick squint of his eyes. “get garcia in here. did we consult cards?” 

“already here,” she says with the voice of a commander in the army. jack fleetingly wonders what it would’ve been like to serve with her. 

“relax, soldier,” langdon murmurs. “you’ll wake your sedated patient up if you keep yelling like that.” 

garcia snorts. “what was that? i couldn’t hear you over the consult you put in this morning, for me.”

“yeah,” langdon snips, “for surgery. that’s what you do, right?” 

“alright, let’s not get too excited about a thoracotomy,” abbot mutters. 

robby’s told him about langdon and garcia, how it reminds him of jack and walsh. jack has usually adamantly begged to differ, but he’s starting to see what robby means. 

his thoughts briefly drift back to samira’s voice as he watches langdon make the first incision. he wipes it all out of his mind - samira, robby, langdon and garcia, icarus - as the fluid begins to drain into the catheter.

it’s almost 9:30 pm when jack finishes stabilizing the patient, not to mention the extensive charting that follows. 

night shift has almost fully taken over, except for him and … possibly dana, if he looked hard enough. he’s decidedly not in a rush, considering he’s quite late for his date with samira. he managed to shoot her a text sometime in the thick of it, but it was pathetically disheartening to see ‘no prob’ pop up on his screen in response. 

he feels like he’s caught in this weird dance with her, one where he hasn’t quite stepped on her toes just yet. he’s not a good dancer - possibly more cut out for boxing - so it’s inevitably going to happen, but instead of just going for it, he finds himself hesitating more than ever. 

he leans back in his rolly chair, neck craning over to shen. “question,” he starts tentatively, “if you’re seeing someone, is it better to play it cool these days?” he fights to urge to ask what ‘the kids’ are doing nowadays.

shen’s eyebrows comically lift. “old man’s got it going on. you finally get on the apps?”

“be serious.” jack clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “the app would probably shut down if they got someone like this,” he gestures to himself dramatically, “on there.” 

“yeah, glitching out wondering what an oldie’s doing on there.” shen pauses. “being upfront is probably refreshing these days. nobody really does old school anymore. FWB, that type of thing.” 

jack hums to himself, realizing he can’t contribute much else without giving himself away. it’s too late to mull over today, and who knows when he’ll see samira next? should he pick up another day shift?

he shakes his head in resignation. dayshift was usually a once-in-a-lifetime event, and he’s already done it twice-this-year. 

nothing’s going quite like it usually does. 

it’s a little after 10 pm when he sees samira lingering outside the ER entrance, her back to him as she sways left to right.  

he - his heart - pauses. he tries not to read too much into it (both samira and his heart). 

a moment after relishing in the silence, he finally asks, “what’re you doing here, dr. mohan?” a loose grin toying on his lips. 

she turns, and there are those familiar dimples again. she’s changed into something arguably more comfortable than sweat stained scrubs, hair billowing over her shoulders. 

“heard you had a sweet ride waiting for you, wanted to see what that was all about.” 

he blinks at her, pressing his lips together into a small smile before nodding slowly. “yeah, yeah i think we can arrange for that.” 

“maybe something to eat too?” 

“oh, i know just the place.” 

he’s relieved to realize that maybe it’s not as casual as he thought it was.

[mohabbotein]

caught you containing multitudes bro lmao i love every glittering facet

[mohabbotein]

Living in my brain rent free!!!

[mohabbotein]

MOHAN & ABBOT The Pitt | Season 1

[mohabbotein]

something so compelling about mohabbot is the fact that there’s this older man, army vet who’s definitely Seen Some Shit who carries around mobile operated portable ultrasounds and combat medical equipment who’s a little prickly on the surface and definitely has some walls up. and he is down astronomically amazingly bad for the prettiest workaholic on planet earth who’s been told she makes work her life and has a massive heart and SO much empathy for everyone. and they collide in the best possible way and the sparks are so PALPABLE every scene they share. i’m just actually obsessed tbh.

[mohabbotein]

action potential.

--samira and jack find themselves in an odd limbo of "what are we?" - a game jack feels he's a little too old for.

hurt/comfort, light angst, yearning and pining! wc: 3.2k. cross posted to ao3.

samira sighs, shutting her locker. a warm arm brushes against hers, flush against her skin.

“good night, mohan.”

“good night, dr. abbot,” she whispers.

they linger near each other for a second longer. her stomach coils, twisting and winding and clenching minute by minute. her heart rate’s easily close to 120. her body continues betrays her, heat radiating off of her skin.

differential? jack.

(possibly IBS as well. POTS, maybe? no, it’s definitely jack. jack is the diagnosis.)

jack inhales sharply, jamming his locker open and shoving his worn backpack in there. he’s more careful with the brown paper bag in his right hand (sandwiches he’d made for him and samira because she’s usually starving after shift), except tonight, he’s not fully convinced she’d want a shitty turkey and cheese he slapped on two pieces of white bread.

(admittedly, it’s never just a turkey and cheese sandwich with abbot - and definitely not when he’s putting it together with samira in mind. in this case, it’s also a pickled slaw, some green onions, cilantro, mashed avocado, sprouts, and hot sauce. cooking is a newer venture for him, but samira already calls it fine dining, which satisfies abbot beyond words.)

samira can’t remember the last time she and abbot had an actual meal together. nights blend into days in a way that she’s not used to - she hasn’t seen abbot in weeks just because of their work schedule. consequently, it’s almost like they’ve forgotten how they used to talk to each other. she doesn’t even know how to bring it up to him - that they’re not the same anymore, that this is not the ‘them’ she knew.

was there even a ‘them’ to begin with?

her eyes lower as she tugs at the scrunchy from the back of her head, curls billowing over her shoulders. her hair has gotten a lot longer since pittfest, no longer needing someone else to help her untangle the ends in the back (although she wishes abbot still would).

she moves to leave and he involuntarily reaches out to tuck her loose hair out of her face, the familiarity of his calloused fingertips sending goosebumps down her spine.

“good work today.”

before she can respond, he’s gone.

he ended up keeping both sandwiches for himself.

‘lunch?’

samira glances up at collins as her phone vibrates. she doesn’t know when she and heather became close enough to take lunch breaks together, but she assumes it has something to do with the way heather started observing her and abbot together.

‘i have to chart but i’ll bring my laptop.’

collins is already up, flagging robby down. “we’ll be back in 30.” samira continues to watch her as she turns to dana. “we’ll be in the break room but pagers are forwarded to king and langdon.”

samira tucks the laptop under her arm as she wriggles her locker open. her eyes drift to the locker next to hers, sizing up the scrawled ‘abbot’ on the magnet. she smiles, thinking it looks like chicken scratch.

a crumpled piece of paper with aforementioned chicken scratch floats down into her hand as soon as she swings the metal door open.

‘dinner tomorrow?’

“romantic,” collins hums quietly from behind her.

the corner of samira’s lip lifts as she carefully folds the note, tucking it away in her pocket. “i’m not sure it is,” she murmurs, drawing in a heavy breath.

the break room feels more sterile than usual, the sink surprisingly empty and the coffee pot spotless.

samira feels heather’s eyes on her and she looks up from her veggie wrap.

“what’s on your mind?” heather asks.

“7 south.”

“samira,” heather chastises.

“heather,” samira sings. she's tempted to continue singing (poorly) to cut the tension.

“listen, if it’s abbot -”

“honestly? it is.”

heather opens her mouth, only for it to quickly shut again. the quiet space between them expands like a hot air balloon.

“i mean,” samira starts with deliberation, crunching through the carrots and the lettuce and the bell peppers and goodness, her jaw hurts from crunching so much, “i just don’t think i understand … us. him?”

heather leans back in her seat, stretching her legs out. her feet knock against the leg of samira’s chair, an invitation to elaborate.

“i don’t think he fully understands this. us? i don’t even know if there is an us.”

“he left you a note in your locker.”

“i don’t know how to say it. we’re in this weird gray area right now. maybe he doesn’t want to, like, DTR? it’s not like i asked him to. it just feels like we’re avoiding each other now and i don’t even know why. it doesn’t help i haven’t exactly seen him in a while now.”

heather contemplates for a minute, watching samira intently. she thinks about how samira looks small at this moment, shoulders rounded over as if she could curl in on herself at any moment.

(it reminds her a bit of how she felt with robby.)

“abbot’s an all-in kind of guy,” heather states with some finality, “but i do think this is new territory for him.”

“he’s the largest onion i’ve had to try and peel,” samira mumbles, conveniently leaving out that tears are just another commonality in her relationship with both abbot and onions.

heather’s lips spread into a smile as she hangs her head back, stretching her neck and staring at the ceiling. “maybe you guys should watch shrek together. that’ll get the mood going, then you can tell him to quit acting like an onion.”

“i doubt he’s seen it, honestly,” samira sighs, “and shrek might actually be more romantic than whatever … this is.”

heather looks back up at samira. samira watches back, knowing full well she’s thinking about what advice she can extract, package, and tie in a pretty bow from her (still ongoing) relationship with robby.

“it’s going to be complicated,” heather says in a low tone. “it’s going to be complicated with a lot of ups and downs and roundabouts, but he’ll come around.”

samira swallows the last bits of her food with more difficulty than she’d like to admit.

“you’re used to ups and downs. you’re good at ups and downs, but you need to know when it’s not worth it either.”

she doesn’t need heather to say that he’s full of ups and downs and roundabouts, but isn’t everyone?

dana pops her head in the break room. “we need you guys back out here.”

the door begins to close behind dana as samira giggles, “get out me swamp,” and heather says, “what are you doing in my swamp?!”

this is out of jack’s depth.

there aren’t many things out of jack’s depth, but samira was one of them. he wasn’t quite expecting things to move in any direction, but they have, and now he doesn’t know what to do.

or, for clarification, he knows what he wants to do. he just isn’t quite convinced if it aligns with what she needs.

the alarm on his phone goes off and he sets up his computer on the desk against the window.

“jack, how are you?”

“i’m good, i’m good,” he lies. it’s a courtesy he always gives his therapist at the start of each session before getting right into it. “i feel like i’m in high school.”

his therapist almost spits his drink out. “tell me more, man.”

“i just - ” jack pauses, looking down at his reflection mirrored against the black coffee in his wide-rimmed mug, “i wasn’t expecting anything to happen after, you know, my wife. my expectations were low - different.”

“what were your expectations to begin with?”

“nothing, honestly.”

jack thought he was always going to be a one-and-done sort of guy. he still thinks he might be. it feels almost like a betrayal to her, in a way. to both her and samira, and in some convoluted way, himself.

therapy really changes a guy, because he would have never considered himself or his feelings in the equation until a few years ago.

(jack has also definitely seen those jokes on the internet - ‘what if the worst guy you know is getting validated at therapy right now?’ - and wonders from time to time if he’s ‘the worst guy’ someone knows. it’s a major fear he’s yet to tackle with his therapist, but it’s currently on the bottom of the list all things considered.)

“your wife and this new person you’re seeing,” his therapist begins tentatively, “are different people, with different thoughts, personalities, actions, words. even their relationships with you are different.”

jack knows this, of course. of course his late wife and samira are different. of course his relationships with them are different. his wife is irreplaceable, and samira is an entirely different personality that he can’t even align with any other pre-existing personality in his life. she’s a totally new cast member.

he’s not worried about replacing his late wife in the slightest, but when he poses the issue from samira’s perspective, he realizes he hasn’t really addressed any of this with samira herself.

“i’m worried i’ll hold samira back.”

“from what?”

“seeing other people.”

“have you thought about how she might want to see you too, and not other people?”

no, jack had not really considered this. he’s still resistant to considering it, and maybe he’ll bring it up with her. fret not, he wants to tell his therapist, he’s thought long and hard and still has a few bullet points that require rebutting.

“it might create issues at work.”

“that didn’t stop you from pursuing your wife.”

damn, this guy’s good. jack’s lips curve down, frown deepening. “i came here for validation, man.”

“i’ll validate that you sound like you’re in high school.”

jack rolls his eyes and confirms that he’ll see his therapist next week before shutting the computer down. he stretches, grabs a cup of water, and surveys the food in his fridge. as he slips his wallet and keys in his pockets, he thinks about his own residency, remembering how he needed stability, not uncertainty, more than anything. this also applied when he left the army and when his wife died and perhaps even during some of the hardest ER shifts of his life.

it probably applies now too, but oddly enough, it feels a lot more attainable now than it has before.

“i need you to get it together, samira.”

samira swallows hard at robby’s staccato, a rhythm she hasn’t heard for quite some time. he had seemed to be calmer, more patient, more understanding of her way of practicing these past few months - just because it was different doesn’t mean it was wrong.

maybe she got caught up with the finer details today. maybe he didn’t sleep. maybe gloria was around (gods, what she would do to get rid of management). maybe it was a combination waiting to result in disaster.

she hears him draw in a deep breath, eyes watching her intently. her front teeth almost draw blood from her bottom lip.

“your head isn’t here today. go home.”

go home? go home? she doesn’t need to go home. she still has at least another hour left in her shift. she needs to just keep moving, keep going, pick up more patients (which she knows she can) and - “robby, please, i can - ”

“dr. mohan, can i get handoff for this patient?”

robby looks up as samira turns around. robby’s eyes narrow, a sharp laugh escaping his lips.

“finish up with abbot. we’ll talk later,” robby mumbles, fingers raking through his hair as he moves towards dana.

samira’s eyes stay fixed in place, only startling once jack’s eyebrows lift questioningly at her. it’s not an invitation in the slightest, which numbs the wrinkles of her brain even more. she feels herself watching him, but it doesn’t really feel like she’s watching him.

“5 north,” jack says quietly as she moves towards him. his left leg props up on the workstation, back curved over the tablet resting against his thigh.

(does his right leg hurt at all?)

he waits a moment, staring down at the chart in his hands. when she still doesn’t say anything, he murmurs, “samira.”

“hm?”

“5 north, honey.”

she swallows hard, like tar was just funnelled down her throat. she feels disconnected from her own body as she tries to sound out the right words.

“right. 68 year old male, NSTEMI.” she feels herself malfunction - robby, jack, her stroke patient, whitaker? javadi? where were they —

it’s pure static in her brain.

humiliation? shame?

“focus,” jack murmurs quietly. he looks directly up at her. he feels her drifting, her synapses glitching. he wants to grasp her wrists, to stop her from straying from herself and bring her back down to earth. “keep talking to me. you’re almost out of here. stay focused.”

“i just -”

“i know, honey, i know.”

does he? does he know?

she feels the life drain out of her through the bottom of her feet, knees almost giving out.

“can’t you just come home with me?” she finally whispers.

jack’s heart has been broken before - over and over and over again - and he remembers exactly how it feels every single time. he thinks this might be a new version of heartbreak that he’s never experienced before, watching someone he cares very much for going through the same exact thing he has, without being able to do a thing about it.

jack comes home at 9:30 am - an hour and a half after his scheduled shift was supposed to be over. he makes sure gloria hears of it.

he also mentions changing his schedule for the next few weeks, but ultimately that comes down to whether shen’s going to be a little shit about trading nights or not.

right before he leaves for the day, collins tells him that samira called out. the drive back home feels a little bit longer than normal, but it gives him enough time to decide how long he’s going to sleep and how much time he’ll need to prepare for dinner tonight, among other arguably more important things - such as figuring out what the hell is going on with samira.

he’s slightly surprised to see her asleep on his couch, but he had been wondering when she was finally going to put the open invitation to use considering he told her where to find the spare key a while ago (predictably in the potted plant outside his door - a housewarming gift from robby, also cared for by robby because abbot doesn’t have a green thumb, green finger, or even a green mole on any part of his body).

he sighs. it’s been a while since he’s seen her so unguarded like this.

he plants himself on the floor in front of her, side squishing against the cushion and arm propping up on the sofa. he sets his prosthetic to the side, massaging his thigh. his free hand works through the ends of her hair, gently untangling the curls. he feels an intense heat radiating off of her and presses the back of his hand to her forehead, frowning when he feels the fever.

his joints crack as he gets up and shuffles to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen, pulling out tylenol, motrin, theraflu, and sudafed.

“jack?” he hears samira call from the living room.

he pulls out the mucinex too.

“i’m here,” he says, arms bundled with bottles. he presents them to her like a puppy bringing his owner a big stick. “pharmacy to couch, kinda like farm to table. new initiative at the abbot household, but we’re still in our pre-seed phase.”

samira smiles, sitting up to grab the glass of water from jack’s left hand. jack presses his hand to her forehead again for good measure, before plucking out the tylenol and mucinex for her. he puts the rest of the pills on the coffee table before sitting down on the rug in front of her again, placing his hands on her thighs as he steadies himself.

“what can i get you?” he asks gently, looking up at her. “what do you need?”

for a moment, she thinks it’s unbelievably unfair for him to look so good after a 12-hour shift overnight. she chalks it up to the sunlight hitting him in just the right ways. golden hour must have come early today.

“you look tired,” she says bluntly. “i need you to get some rest. i might just stay here for a bit longer before i go home.”

he looks down at the rug, hands gently sliding up and down along the sides of her legs. “you came here for a reason after playing hooky, sweetheart. tell me what’s going on.”

“i just - ” she starts quickly, defensively. “i just, i don’t know. i woke up feeling like shit and you were the first person i wanted to see today.”

she feels naked in front of him, playing offense in a game she’s not very familiar with.

she was good at getting by on her own. she had always been good at getting by on her own. she was good at being by herself, but she hadn’t realized how truly alone she’d felt until she was with jack, and even just being in his apartment by herself for a few hours was a testament to that.

she feels jack blinking up at her and she grows warmer under his gaze. she’s afraid she’ll start sweating any minute now, and the odds are already against her in case she breaks her fever.

“these past few weeks have been tough,” he says gruffly and she snorts. no kidding. “i’ve just been worried that i,” he pauses, lips pursing, “maybe i’m just not the best fit for you, you know? you’re young, you’re still in your residency, you have such a long way to go.”

“are you breaking up with me?”

“no,” jack says quickly, swallowing a smile. “no, i just want you to know what i’ve been thinking about. my therapist thinks i sound like i’m in high school,” he mumbles sheepishly, looking away.

“considering everything, i’d arguably say you’re far out from high school,” she giggles. “actually, i feel like high schoolers would not think as much as you have.”

“crazy, right? let me get you my therapist’s number, i’ll have you vouch for me.”

“as much thinking as you’ve done for us, i have too,” she says proudly, “and a lot of that thinking was just missing you. i know you’re worried about … a lot of things, but they’re things we can work through together, right?”

jack normally thinks he’s very cool under pressure, but right now, he embarrassingly feels the pink tinge creep up his neck and wrap around to his cheeks.

“i know you’re worried about my future or whatever,” she starts - he echos ‘or whatever?’ offensively - “but i respect you so much, i like you so much, and i want to do this. i’ve already run through the worst case scenarios in my head, and i trust that you wouldn’t even let it get there. i’m not worried about this. i’m worried about you, but that’s different.”

he hums. “i have a lot of baggage, samira. i don’t pack lightly.”

“i’ve already got a good look at your go-bag, it’s nothing i can’t handle.”

samira looks at him for a moment before leaning forward, clasping his cheeks between her hands. she presses her lips to his, feeling him smile against her.

“i wouldn’t mind a little more convincing, honestly,” he teases.

abbot has to call out of work that night, and collins ended up going home with a hundred extra bucks.

bonus: jack tries to cook indian food that night. as good as he's gotten at cooking - a therapeutic journey, he argues - samira ends up taking over.

[mohabbotein]

abbot's internal monologue: i wonder what the coolest pose is for me to stand in during this mass casualty briefing rn

[mohabbotein]

Shawn Hatosy as Dr. Jack Abbot THE PITT | 1.14

[mohabbotein]

he's traumatized and he's funny and he yaps and he goes to therapy and he cares and and and he was made in a lab for me ily jack abbot

[mohabbotein]

drabbles

˙⟡ home

[mohabbotein]

home

˙⟡ mohan x abbot, wc: 375, fluff

the first time jack overhears samira speaking with her mother in her first language, he’s surprised he can already understand a few words. he must’ve picked them up when he was deployed, but it had to have easily been years ago. 

when she hangs up, he proudly says, “i understood ‘like,’ but couldn’t tell you what you said you liked.” 

she laughs, sitting herself down beside him on the sofa. “i was just telling her that i’m still liking work and i’m learning a lot.”

“oh, i bet you’re learning a lot.” 

“enough,” she chastises. “soon enough, i’ll be the shen of day shift.” 

“wouldn’t you want to be the me of day shift?” 

“no, because i want to be with you during day shift, but a girl can dream … during normal circadian rhythm hours.” she pauses. “maybe i’ll be the ellis of day shift.”

“nah,” abbot says with a frown. “you guys are pretty different. i wouldn’t compare you to shen either. guess you’re stuck with me.” 

she hums, stretching her legs out and resting her head on his lap as she closes her eyes. “fine by me.” 

the second time jack overhears samira speaking with her mother, he’s able to pick up on a few extra words - like work, cooking, and home. 

it’s the third time he finally takes matters into his own hands, single-handedly slowing the progression of his brain age by picking up a new language. he’s proud to say he already has a few up his sleeve, but learning this one means a little more to him (and his neural plasticity) - so much so that he goes out of his way to sign up for an online tutor and hit the local library for a copy of the ‘dummies’ version. 

when samira comes home that night, she hears him talking to himself. 

“jack?”

“mira,” he says excitedly, stringing together a choppy “welcome home” in her native tongue.   

she’d always known she had a home in jack abbot, but now, she’s more excited to bring him home to her mother and finally call him family. 

(she gives him a homework assignment that night: an indian cinema. unbeknownst to her, he was already a long-time fan of the industry).

[mohabbotein]

jack abbot x samira mohan

˙⟡ drabbles

˙⟡ action potential (ao3)

[mohabbotein]

masterlist

⋆˙⟡ jack abbot x samira mohan

[mohabbotein]

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ welcome to mohabbotein ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

-- works.

masterlist

ao3

-- other.

sideblog slay

this blog is 21+, standard dni

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