#jacksamira

She walks out onto the roof with him. Stands next to him. Pushes her flyaway hairs behind her ears, slicking them there easily with the rainwater.

“You’re safe,” she says quietly, looking up at him.

His jaw finally unlocks. He’s still staring straight ahead, but it’s more movement than anyone else has managed to get out of him.

“You’re safe here,” she says again. “I’m standing next to you, Jack. We’re on the roof at work. It’s raining.”

His voice is thick. “I know.”

“I know you know,” she replies. “But you need to hear it. You need to say it.”

Jack lets out a ragged breath. “Go back inside, Mohan. Robby has dry scrubs.”

“Where are you, Jack?”

“You’re gonna get sick — ”

“Where are we standing?”

“Did Santos call me Batman?”

Samira turns toward him. Looks up, blinking against the rain. “Look at me.”

He keeps staring straight ahead. Breathes out a maniacal laugh. “They want me to go downstairs and I can’t go downstairs, Samira. I can’t, I just…”

Samira’s hand curling over his wrist is gentle, but her voice is decidedly not. It’s the tone she takes with difficult patients, with patients who dismiss her, who refuse to listen to her.

“Look at me right now, Jack, and tell me where we are.”

He will never be the type of patient that dismisses someone like Dr. Samira Mohan.

“The roof,” he whispers, glancing over at her. “We’re on — we’re on the roof. At work. There was — there was. Fuck. There was thunder and it’s raining and — fuck, you’re getting soaked, please, just — ”

“You’re safe,” Samira says again, her thumb brushing over the inside of his wrist. She rests her other hand over his arm, soft skin sliding against his. “It’s raining, and we’re on the roof, and we’re not going to go downstairs.”

“We’re not?”

“No. We’re going to sit underneath the doorway and get out of the rain, but you’ll still be able to see the sky. We’ll stay there as long as you need.”

Jack lets out a soft noise, something that’s a mix of anger and relief. His shoulders visibly relax. His hands start to tremble as the adrenaline dumps. “Jesus fucking Christ, Samira. How do you do that?”

Samira dips her head until he finally looks over and meets her eyes. “How do I do what?”

Jack shakes his head, turning his wrist in her grasp so he can tangle their fingers together instead. “How do you manage to always figure me out?”

One side of her mouth tips up; a little wry, a little proud. “It’s a gift,” she says. “Or maybe you’re just not entirely as mysterious as you’d like to be. Come sit with me.”

His steps are slow, but he makes it back to the doorway with her. Watches as Samira props it open so they can sit inside the entrance, huddled together on the floor to watch the clouds rolling above them in the sky.

“You’re safe here,” she says again, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek. There’s a towel being wrapped over his shoulders. “We’ll stay up here as long as you want.”

“You have patients,” he says, but leans his head on her towel-covered shoulder.

She kisses his wet curls. “So do you.”

“I just need a few minutes,” he insists.

he’s shaking and nauseous, manages to mumble something about the headache and makes to move off of her. but samira’s arms just tighten around him; her fingers press into the ache at the back of his head and down over his shoulders, shushing him when he tries to quip about how ‘… his head just can’t ever let him have anything nice, huh?’

but she’s telling him it was nice. it was what she wanted, what they’ve both wanted for so long. just — this, the intimacy and the shared afterglow and the having someone. feeling so close that it’s like their souls are touching.

he’s twitching and going soft inside her, trying to catch his breath and roll the ache out of his neck where the muscles are still tight from his release. he kisses her collarbone and her jaw, the curl stuck to her temple with sweat. presses his forehead against the cool silk of her pillowcase next to her hair.

‘don’t pull out,’ she whispers, thighs lazily falling open again underneath his hips. ‘not yet.’

he can still hear his own heartbeat. exhales harshly at a particularly pleasant digging of her thumb into the base of his skull. but he doesn’t move. lets himself relax against her.

‘i have propranolol in — ‘

‘the bathroom cabinet, I know. and i’ll grab a zofran from your drawer, right next to the biofreeze and the contact solution. and the receipt from our first date.’

that gets him to smile, a hidden thing against her pillow. ‘it was a good date.’

‘mm. the tiramisu was terrible.’

‘yeah. but the company wasn’t.’

samira’s fingers tug so, so gently at his hair until he’s moving, sitting up and kissing her as the throbbing in his head steadily dulls. eventually, he pulls out and rolls onto his back. watches her as she moves through his bathroom, reaches out to touch her as she digs through his bedside table, breathes a soft ‘thank you’ when she crawls back into bed next to him on her knees, one hand holding a glass of water and the other a pair of pills. he takes the meds from her and then lays back, dragging the backs of his fingers up her thighs as she straddles his lap.

‘rest, yeah?’ she murmurs, leaning down until their chests are pressed together. ‘just for a few minutes. I’ll be here when you wake up.’

‘right here?’ he whispers, thumb catching at the corner of her mouth on the way to the edge of her brow.

her dark, brown eyes are so fucking bright when she’s this close.

jack wants her to always be this close.

‘right here,’ she promises, tapping a finger against the line of his jaw. ‘i’m not going anywhere, jack.’

he manages to sleep for twenty minutes. dreams of samira’s left hand tangled with his right as they walk through the backyard. feels a smaller hand tucked into his left. looks down to see a boy walking with them — curly hair that glints red in the sun; bright, brown eyes blinking up to meet his; a smile that lights up his whole face, tugs a little more to one side than the other.

….