the pitt | abbot/mohan/robby | 8k | explicit

god i've been letting this ferment. every time i read it i get bowled over by 'samira manages to be more miserable because her new boss' praise means nothing to her.' literally a one sentence KO.

everyone's miserable and nobody's happy... except abbot. because he keeps in touch. because now that samira isn't under him at work, it means she can be under him in bed-- ok i'm gonna stop now.

even w/jack taking her out for dinner dates every so often samira IS miserable at her fellowship. which is strange because she has friends now! she's easily one of the best in her program. praise is heaped upon her. she's glowing at work. & still miserable

jack finally realizes what's up when samira unsubtly tries to pry for robby details—

"You're talking about me?"

Jack shrugged, leaning back in his chair in a way that made his suit jacket pull across his shoulders, and Samira's eyes kept catching on it, though she felt bad for ogling him. "He couldn't believe I'd spend my free night doing anything other than grabbing beers with him." His expression hadn't changed, but somehow he looked insultingly smug. "And he didn't believe I had a date with a beautiful woman until I mentioned you."

"So Robby knows," Samira motioned between them. "And he's..."

"What does he have to do with our date?" asked Jack, watching her carefully.

& somehow jack ambushes them with a dinner together. robby looks like he's developed a new & painful stomach ulcer. samira is so flustered she drinks too much and blurts, when robby asks how the program is going, that her supervisor has nothing on him, really, and both of them are nauseous about it for the rest of dinner.

"Shh." Jack covers her mouth with his, kissing her until he's confident she can be quiet. "You gotta help me out here, Mohan."

"I am," she says, annoyed. She's the one with her ass balanced on the cold porcelain of the sinks here. Whatever her face is doing makes him snort and press a kiss to her cheek.

"Good." One his hands slides down her thigh, hooking around the back of her knee and tugging her closer to the edge. Samira leans into the mirror for balance, her breath catching at the way Jack stares at her, the way she's on display, skirt shoved up, underwear long gone.

He smirks, one corner of his mouth twitching up, and Samira braces herself with one hand, the other reaching for his hair to drag him in, feeling the way he laughs directly against her cunt.

"Fuck," she says, the word dragged out, shuddering, as he wastes no time getting to it. There's none to waste — their food's probably getting cold. Samira can't remember what they ordered, just that they did. "Fingers. Jack," she twists her hand in his hair, trying to get him to listen to her even as she grinds herself against his face, "I need your —"

The rest of her request is cut off when he shoves two fingers into her at the same time the bathroom door pushes open. Had they forgotten to lock it?

"Oh my god," she says, her legs clamping around Jack's head, fingers pulling at his hair in a way that only makes him redouble his efforts. "Shit."

Robby stands there, stunned. The only thing moving is his eyes, jumping from Samira's ankles to her face to Jack's shoulders and the way he's using them as a wedge to hold Samira's legs open. Fuck. Samira closes her eyes, biting back a moan. When she reopens them, Robby's still there.

• robby & samira have the worst best sex of their lives, set maybe three-four months post-pittfest & samira's grabbing her clothes when she realizes:

• there's a ring on robby's nightstand. and a tan line on his finger.

• and a picture frame, face down

(who does the ring belong to? god knows. maybe i would if i'd written it down when the thought hit me. we can make up a delusion together)

First of all: I’m insanely into this, would read any iteration!!!

Second of all: it’s Robby’s ring (duh), because he and Jack have been doing this cyclical — and frankly exhausting — relationship thing for nigh on a decade, and at some point after covid and Heather they got married and were actually happy for a little while there. But because Robby saying Marry me to plug the hole in a sinking ship (his own, they really were doing okay for once) makes a terrible foundation, it inevitably falls apart again, at least until pittfest when they’re like oh maybe…. we should…. not give up on us.

Samira’s shoulders were up by her ears, her arms crossed over her chest; Robby was maybe the reddest Jack had ever seen him, his eyes wild with panic. “What the hell is going on?”

“We don’t know,” Robby said, his voice cracking, at the same time Samira laughed hollowly and said, “It’s a mess, brother,” and Jack was suddenly glad for all the time he’d spent in active combat zones because it made it shockingly easy to silence the dick-centric part of his brain that thought …interesting and focus on the actual problem in front of him instead.

Lmaoooo you’re telling me! Someone put that cruelty in my inbox and I had to think about a dozen diff post-split scenarios all day!!! At least if Samira has amnesia, that fic is about everyone pretending to still be together while being desperately sad* that they’re actually not!

“I just want to go home,” Samira says, her voice so small something deep inside Robby cracks in half. She leans forward, pressing her face into his stomach. “Can you — where’s Jack? Can we —”

“Samira.” Robby stops himself from touching her ear. She exhales heavily, her breath hot through his t-shirt. He’d pulled on the first thing he saw when the hospital called. “What did the doctors say?”

She makes a strange noise, so Robby crouches down, putting himself in front of her and her black eye, waiting patiently while she scrunches her nose and thinks. “I… don’t remember.”

Her hand curves around his jaw, her thumb settling at the corner of his mouth, in the patch where his beard doesn’t grow. She hasn’t touched him like this in ages, not since before she took the job at West Penn.

“Can we go home now?” she asks again.

Robby sighs. He really wishes they’d called Jack instead.