#moh4ns

A MEME I CAN'T FIND ft. doc moretti

that pulls an unexpected snort of laughter from him that nearly sends coffee out of his nose. he's not one to laugh so unabashedly, but marco splutters all the same, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth as he regains his sensibilities and swallows the mouthful of coffee without ( too much ) incident.

they're nearing the end of a long shift ( every shift is the same length. but mel can feel the hours in her muscles today in a way that drags them on and on ) and there's a steady stream of patients that she doesn't anticipate will let up before she's off the clock. she dons a fresh pair of gloves, about to pickup a new arrival in central twelve, when samira stops her. they stand toe-to-toe for a moment, and mel opens her mouth to ask what they are doing, not opposed, but not quite sure. but samira moves, first.

wordlessly, like this is just some procedure they've done together a hundred times, like she's just handing colleague, friend, dr. king a tube and intubation tray, samira's hand raises and gently brushes a lose strand of mel's hair out of her face. it's late, mel's hair has begun to slip out of its braid, and samira tucks it back, behind mel's ear while she watches, intently. with a bashful little smile mel does poorly to conceal.

it's such a tender, intimate gesture. mel doesn't know how she is supposed to just go back to work after, but she tries, clears her throat, nods her head once, twice, quickly. "thank you, samira." mel gestures to her gloved hands. clean, uncontaminated by touching her own hair. "thank you. that was - um, very thoughtful. thank you." that's too many thank yous. "okay. um - see you later?"

brietta's gaze flits between samira and the nurse she'd been looking at. shoulders lift in a halfhearted shrug paired with that closed mouth i don't know noise. "i figure it's just a preference? some people like blondes, some people want their partners to be able to kick their ass. but just because i'm forever in love with roans, doesn't mean i'll turn down a good bay if it hits all my other standards." even if they're talking about humans, not horses.

she wobbles the pen in her hand back and forth in thought. lord knows her dating life has never been about whether she actually liked someone or not. though she's quick to snort, shaking her head to dispel any notion of those traits doing it for her. "absolutely not. i've always been partial to darker colors, strength in that. . .earnest way, you know? nothing showy, just someone who's put the effort in because maybe lifting their dog in an emergency is important to them. or something." it sounds strange and awkward even to her ears. yikes.

"don't leave me hangin, doc. what about you?"

john doesn't kiss her in the hospital. he also does not kiss her in the living room of her apartment when they're up to her knees in books, boards coming up. even when he manages to get her to come with him to one of his grandma things (it sucks going alone, mira!) he only kisses her cheek when the limo drops them at her door.

doesn't mean he isn't thinking about it every single time, every single day, each time her name crosses her mind. it distracts him. makes her laugh when he answers a question wrong, throwing one of her flashcards at him. even when she is laughing at him, she is lovely. lovely, so impossibly lovely and kind, and if he didn't kiss her right there and then in front of the hospital before a shift (what a stupid idea, now he is gonna think about how soft her lips are when benton is saying something) he thought he would combust.