45 Boxes of Books

It happens again, thirty minutes later, McKay wheeling a screaming teenager in, accompanied by a request for her company in the ambulance bay.

Samira ducks into the trauma bay to assist, the request going unanswered. She slices through the patient’s shirt in one clean snip.

Two hours later, she can’t avoid it.

“You’re ignoring me,” she hears from behind her, like honey over gravel. She continues to scribble a note for Dana on a Post-it.

“I’m doing my job, Abbot.”

“I told you to call me Jack.”

“And I decided against that,” She clicks her pen with finality, sighing as she swivels in her chair. “What do you want?”

Jack Abbot leans against the hub, head cocked in thought. A smile plays at his lips. 

“I just wanted to check in on my favorite doctor.”

“Robby’s not here.”

“Aw, you know I didn’t mean him. You off shift soon?” Mirth dances in his eyes. She’s been on her feet for sixteen hours; she doesn’t have time for mirth.

“As a matter of fact, I am.” Samira pushes her chair away from her workstation, standing and rolling her neck before making her way towards the locker room. Footsteps follow.

“You wanna grab a drink?” He’s caught up to her, turned to walk backwards so he can see her face. 

“With you?”

“No, with that guy,” he says, pointing over his shoulder where a patient is retching into an emesis bag. “Yeah, with me.”

“Hmm,” she presses her lips together in faux-consideration. “No.”

“Come on, Doc.” They’ve reached the locker room. Samira crosses her arms and looks at him. Her eyes dip for just a second, taking in his broad chest, the almost strain of the buttons on his uniform. She wouldn’t be surprised if he gets them a size too small just to show off.

“You can’t come in here.”

“I’ll wait,” he says, then adds “I’m a patient person.” Samira exhales sharply through her nose and pushes into the locker room. It’s blissfully empty, a small consolation for staying past shift change. Her fingers itch as she opens her locker, grabbing her tote bag. She changes quickly, zipping her jeans and pulling on a light purple sweater. She shakes her hair out of its claw clip, massaging her scalp.  Her eyes dart over to the small window in the door- Jack Abbot leans against the opposite wall, head tilted towards the ceiling and eyes closed. I’m a patient person. He’s so….

Her forehead knocks against her locker after she slams it shut, attempting to collect herself and ignore the phantom sensation of Jack Abbot’s hands in the space between her shoulder blades as she arched up, the sound of his voice coaxing her–come on Samira, one more, baby. She does not want to get a drink with him. She does not want to invite him into her apartment. She does not want to feel his stubble against the soft skin of her inner thighs, the heat of his gaze as she pins his arms above his head.

It was a one-time thing. It was a hard shift. It is not happening again. She steps away from her locker and releases a cleansing breath. 

She steadies her shoulders as she breezes out of the locker room, walking faster than she normally would just to make him keep up.

“I like this sweater,” he says.

“I’m sure you do,” she replies, swiping out of the hospital. They’ve fallen into step next to each other, his hands shoved deep in his pockets like this is something they do every day. Halfway through the park, she stops walking.

“This isn’t happening again,” she says, proud of the assertion in her voice.

“What’s not?” He’s playing dumb. She grits her teeth.

“This,” she gestures between their bodies. “Was a one time thing. A moment of weakness that is most definitely over.”

“Alright,” he says. 

“Okay.” She responds. “So we agree.”

“Sure.”

“Great.”

“You did say that before you called me the other night, though.”

“Oh my god,” she says, dropping her face into her hands. His voice, crackling over the speaker, drawing whimpers from the back of her throat. 

“Just sayin’. If we’re counting, I think it was more than one time.”

“Fine. One and a half times.”

“Hmm, I would count it as two. Maybe two and a half. The first time was technically a night and then a morning.”

“I’m actually going to murder you.” Her eye twitches. “You say that now,” he says, rocking back on his heels.

“Goodnight, Jack.” That earns a smile, which he quickly covers with his hand, scraping his palm against his face.