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He’s asleep when he gets the phone call.
He can never usually sleep during the day. If he’s being totally honest with himself, he can never usually sleep at night either, not very well. But he’s in Samira’s bed and everything smells like her, and it’s enough to lull him to sleep. The only thing that’s missing, that would make this better, is Samira. But she’s working, and doesn’t finish for another few hours, so he contents himself with her lingering scent and the memory of her kissing him goodbye when she left early this morning.
When his phone rings, he’s surprised to see that it’s Robby. Robby’s not really a phone call kinda guy, more of a quick text like Jack himself, a few words and meaningless emojis. It makes him panic, makes him think something must be wrong.
“Robby?”
“She’s ok, Jack. Samira’s fine, physically at least.”
Jack sits up in bed, his chest tightening.
“What’s happened?”
“Look, I think you’d better come in. We shouldn’t talk about this over the phone.”
“I’m on my way.”
…
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, fuck’s about right.”
“How old was she?”
“7.”
Jack drops his head to the floor. A little girl dead at 7 because her father couldn’t remember to keep his stupid gun locked up. What a fucking waste.
“Where is she?”
…
When he steps out onto the roof and sees her, he feels completely helpless.
She’s sitting on the ground, her head in her hands, knees pulled up tightly to her chest. He can see her scrubs; how much blood has splattered on them. He walks slowly towards her, fighting every instinct to just scoop her up in his arms and take her far, far away from this place.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
She looks up and fuck, Jack’s heart breaks a little.
Her hair is loose and messy and has the tell-tale signs of a tired resident manically running her hands through it. Her face has streaks of blood on it and her eyes are filling up with tears.
Jack crouches down next to her, reaches out and gently tucks her hair behind her ear. He watches her lean into the touch, and so he reaches and takes his face in her hands, stroking her cheeks. It’s only now that he’s closer that he can see how much she’s shaking.
“Oh, Mira. Baby.”
“It was all so horrible.”, she says, her voice barely a whisper.
He just nods, listening.
“And so, fucking pointless. She was still talking when she came in, and so I thought that maybe she would be ok, that we could fix her. And then…there was just blood everywhere. And she was crying, she kept crying out for her Dad. And everyone was just trying so desperately to stop the bleeding, and I just froze. And I just held her. And I told her everything would be ok. But it wasn’t, was it? Everything was pointless.”
“She died in your arms, Mira. Being soothed. That matters, what you did today. It means you’re a good doctor. And a good person.”
She sniffs and looks down at her hands. Jack can see how much blood is under her fingernails.
“I want to go home, Jack. Please, will you just – please take me home.”
“Yeah, course. Let’s go home.”
He pulls her to her feet, wrapping an arm tightly around her waist to steady her, and together, they walk to the door.
…
Samira doesn’t say a word in the car. Just stares out of the window. She’s still shaking.
Jack reaches out and touches her gently when he can, squeezing her shoulder or knee. It seems to offer momentary comfort.
Just get her home, Abbot, he thinks. Just get her safe.
…
When they get home, she heads straight upstairs. Heads straight to the bedroom.
He catches her hand before she can open the door and gently pulls her away.
“Jack, please. I just want to go to sleep and forget that today ever happened.”
“I know, baby. I just think you’ll feel better if you shower first. I think it’ll soothe you.”
A pause. She’s crying now. Tears silently rolling down her cheeks.
“I don’t know if I can…”
“I’ll help you.”
…
In the shower, the shaking subsides.
She even leans back, face relaxed as the hot water sprays her, and Jack gently washes the blood off her face and hands.
He dresses her in one of his t-shirts and a pair of shorts. She leans into him then, fully collapses her body against him.
He holds her tightly and leads her to bed.
…
He keeps the light on. If she wakes up, he doesn’t want her to be afraid.
She’s asleep, head on his chest and arm draped over his waist. He’s got one arm around her, the other holding a book that he’s only half reading.
He desperately wants to take away all the pain and anguish she’s feeling, desperately wants to take it from her and instil it in himself so that she doesn’t have to suffer.
But he can’t. So, this is what he’ll do. He’ll do whatever he can to help her.
…
The first nightmare comes 3 hours after she falls asleep, Jack half asleep with the book long abandoned.
She jumps out of his arms screaming, body soaked in sweat.
He’s sitting up next to her in a second, just as the loud screams turn to desperate sobs.
“Mira, can I touch you?”
She nods, covering her face with her hands.
He pulls her tightly against him, one hand coming up to stroke at her hair, the other around her middle. He kisses the top of her head and whispers sweet assurances against her temple, and then gradually lays him back down with her. Her breathing settles after a while.
What Jack doesn’t expect is for her to lean up and kiss him. Not a quick kiss either, it’s long and passionate and she’s trying to take her own shirt off. He grabs at the hem of the shirt to stop her. She looks bewildered.
“What?"
“Baby.”
“You don’t want to?”
“It’s not about that, it’s- “
“What’s it about?”
He sighs. Hates this.
“Mira, we can’t have sex because you’re not in a good headspace. You know that sweetheart."
And now she looks mortified. And his heart hurts.
He pulls her into his lap as she starts sobbing and gently rocks her until the cries are infrequent.
She just clings to his shirt, fisting it in her hands.
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
“No, no, no. You don’t apologise for anything, Mira.” he says, planting a kiss on her cheek.
“I love you.”
“I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.”
…
He makes tea in the morning. Just like every other morning.
But it’s not just like every other morning. Because his girlfriend is in pain.
He makes the tea anyway.
And just as he’s about to take it upstairs, Samira comes into the kitchen, still in his shirt and shorts.
She looks better. A little brighter at least, and she greets him with a small smile.
“Hi.”
“Hi you.”
She hugs him tightly.
“Thank you for taking care of me. I’m sorry I’m a lot of work.”
He pulls back but keeps her close.
“You’re not a lot of work, Mira. Not to me, anyway.”
“Well, doesn’t change the fact that I made myself look like an ass last night.”
“Baby, you had an emotional response to a terrible thing you witnessed. Don’t beat yourself up over what you’re feeling.”
She smiles.
“You working today?”
“No, I’m all yours. Let’s take the tea upstairs before it gets cold, yeah?”
…
The day passes. They stay in bed for most of it.
Samira naps intermittently, allowing her body to physically recover. Jack lies with her, holding her hand usually.
He orders pizza and they eat it in bed, watching re-runs of sitcoms. Samira laughs at some of it. God, it’s good to hear her laugh.
That night, he spoons her, her own hand holding his close to her chest. She sleeps peacefully.
She’ll be ok, he thinks. I’ll make sure she’s ok. She’s my girl.