mohan asking for a letter of recommendation from abbot and he hears about robbie yelling at her actually
send me a prompt + get a 412-word pitt drabble
pssst... this is for your request too @plumebeat
Abbot frowns down at the paper that was just thrust to his chest with the same resignation one would look at being served divorce papers. Of which Abbot has also been served. Thrice.
“What’s this?” He asks. “Billed me for the graze?”
Samira has no reaction to the quip. She’s standing in front of him with her arms crossed and her expression blank in a way she’s perfected in her time at the Pitt. Like she knows what she wants, and it’s the world’s responsibility to bend to her will eventually. Something else Abbot has experience with.
“I just need you to sign off on it as senior attending, as of… twelve minutes ago.”
Abbot huffs through his nose and pats for his rarely- (moderately-) used reading glasses in his pocket. “Why didn’t you get Robbie to do it before he took off?”
“He’s not too happy with me, if the yelling and the patronizing and the… extra Robbie-ness today was any indication.”
It doesn’t take Abbot long to parse what he’s reading. When he does, he looks up at Samira over the rim of his glasses expectantly.
“You wrote your own letter of recommendation,” he says flatly. It’s not a question.
“Yes,” she answers immediately, without hesitation but with the slight twitch of her brows. Like she’s confused he’s even not-asking the not-question.
“You wrote your own letter of recommendation to the sports medicine program in Denver? That’s it, no asking, no goodbyes, no…” Then Abbot takes off his glasses incredulously and says, “Hang on, hang on, you said he yelled at you—”
“It’s been a day, Jack.” Samira pinches at the bridge of her nose like she has a headache. “Can you sign off on it, or not?”
Really, it takes Abbot no time to decide.
“Well…” He folds up the paper neatly and tucks it into his breast pocket. “Accepted. Welcome aboard.”
“What? No—” She immediately goes to grab at it, persistent despite Abbot batting her away and turning to flee, and demands at his back, “Hey, hey! What are you—”
“As senior attending, I formally accept your letter of recommendation for another round in the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.” Even with only one leg, he’s better at fleeing than Samira is at chasing. “By the way, this Dr. Mohan fellow who recommended you? Solid creds. Does he want a residency, too? I can pass these fuckers out like cards, I’m senior attending now—”
“I’m going to kill you—!”
