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“Jack,” he’s gray now. He wasn’t gray when they met but now his auburn brown hair has faded to almost entirely silver. She imagines it would suit him if there wasn’t so much blood in it. “to what do I owe the displeasure?”
Maybe it’s a mean thing to say when he’s actively being loaded out of an ambulance, but Samira really cannot bring herself to care. He’s upright and breathing, so in the grand scheme of things, the situation can’t be that bad. And you’re allowed to be rude to your ex-husband—it’s one of the big perks of getting divorced before you graduate med school. It’s the participation prize of a failed marriage.
“Hey there, gorgeous.”
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Samira's ex rolls into PTMC and brings a lot of baggage with him.Bookmarked by a04a
07 Jul 2026
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Samira loves conferences, she really does, and this has been a great one, but she’s also bone-fucking-tired — poor luck for those who had sessions on the very last day, when everyone was simply biding time until the closing keynote. That had been her lot, her interactive workshop on pigtail catheter use landing a few before the end. She’s a mix of wired and drained, and the antidote for both, she knows, would be a good fuck. Par for the course at these things, really; for all of their ego and posturing, it was at least guaranteed that wherever physicians congregated, someone knew their way around a human body. Where to press. Where to touch.
(She didn’t want “someone,” though. She wanted —)
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Months after Samira leaves Pittsburgh, she and Jack run into each other at ACEP.
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Bookmarked by a04a
07 Jul 2026
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Samira thought she was careful with the pictures she posted from their vacation. Apparently not careful enough, if the text she gets one morning is any indication.
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Bookmarked by a04a
07 Jul 2026
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Dr. Samira Mohan is nothing if not data driven.
Yes, she strives to be empathetic and kind to her patients in order to connect with them and treat them better.
But where she truly thrives is in the numbers, collecting them and then figuring out the story they tell.
Bookmarked by a04a
07 Jul 2026
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“Look at him, Samira,” Jack says. The words seem lodged in his throat. He's forcing them out. “Sweetheart fucking face. And they were gonna kill him.”
He kisses the dog on the top of its head. And Samira usually finds that sort of behavior foreign and disgusting, but she puddles just a little more when she sees Jack Abbot do it.
“So you took a chance on him?” she says.
“What can I say?” Jack lifts the tags on his dog’s collar with a crook of his finger. Samira watches as they slide, metal on metal, identifying information, dents and dings—and she sees it, she aches as she sees it, that scrape of metal limbs and dog tags in gray matter memories. “I'm a sucker for lost fucking causes.”
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Jack rescues a tripod dog with a history of violence. Samira learns what they each have in common.
Bookmarked by a04a
06 Jul 2026