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Samira hadn't been the kind of girl who dreamed of her wedding. When she dreamed of donning a white garment, surrounded by loved ones, on a day that would forever change her life, it had always been a coat.
Still, she felt a hundred times more nervous than she had the day of her white coat ceremony as she stepped both feet into simple ivory satin, pulling up the dress until the hem skimmed her mid calf. It was a simple thing. She and Jack shared a love of simple things. Daisies and peppermint castile soap. Jack's ancient Jeep. The three bedroom craftsmen the two of them called home.
The dress had come to her by happenstance, passed in a window display, off the shoulder sleeves and a slit up the side for Jack's benefit. She slid the dress up her body, holding the bodice at her chest.
"Honey? Can you?" she asked, turning to where Jack was buttoning a crisp white shirt in front of the floor-length mirror in their bedroom. He tucked the tails into pressed, gray trousers and buttoned the sleeves of his shirt, Casio watch fastened around his wrist. She knew he'd worn dress blues the first time. She also knew he had been a different person the last time he'd done this. More optimistic, less jaded, a person for whom loss didn't permeate every day, wide-eyed and twenty-one in the Cathedral of St. Joseph surrounded by hundreds of relatives. He tucked the chain with his dog tags and a titanium band safely into his undershirt.
Still, the smile he fixed her with as he turned and saw her holding the dress up with an arm across her breasts was the smile of a man more unburdened than she had ever known him to be. He came to stand behind her, brushing her waves over the side of one shoulder and pressing his lips to her spine where cervical vertebrae gave way to thoracic, before pulling the zipper up her back.
She turned to face him and allowed him to take her in, eyes tracing her collarbones before moving down to her ankles, tracing up to where the slit stopped mid thigh. A wide, boyish grin broke out across his face, slightly crooked teeth and bright hazel eyes. "You know, I meant it when I told you I didn't care what you wore today. You could have worn scrubs after a double in the middle of rotavirus season and you'd still be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
He took a deep breath. "Still. There's something about you in a white dress," he said, adoration so clear in his voice it made Samira's face heat.
"You getting old fashioned on me, old man?" she returned with a smile.
"What can I say, I'm a product of a different time," he rolled his eyes.
"Not a traditionalist, though. You're not supposed to see the bride before the wedding, much less spend the night together," she teased.
"Baby, no amount of luck in the world is worth one night without you in my bed," he said simply.
She rolled her eyes, but her whole body warmed at the sentiment.
"You scared?" Jack asked, a glint of knowing mischief in his eyes, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.
And because Samira never wanted to give him anything but the truth, she answered honestly. "Terrified."
He nodded. "Me too."
That caught her off guard. He always seemed certain in a way that didn't come naturally to her. Her mind was a minefield of what-ifs and maybes, always desperate to know a little more, to be a little closer to sure.
"You're scared? Do you not–I mean, you've done this before."
She knew that for a lot of people, bringing up their dead wife on their wedding day would be a mood killer, but Jack had always been her companion in loss. He knew as well as she did, maybe better, that grief's real face was love, that there would always be a place shaped like loss for the both of them, but new love helped soften the cracks where the light showed through. They both knew that there were parts of those they'd lost that were still here–more than the sum of grief.
"Still scary. Maybe more so because of it. I've lost a wife. I know what it feels like. I don't ever want to have to find out what life feels like without you. Loving someone is always a risk, sweetheart," he said.
"Was it worth it, the risk?" she asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it anyway.
"Is worth it. Always will be," he promised. "You're worth everything, Mira."
A shiver ran down her back.
"Let's do this," Samira said. She could be brave if he could.
—
Jack held her hand as he drove them to the courthouse, bouquet of simple white daisies in her lap, tied with an ivory ribbon, Wilco crooning softly in the space between them. He was uncharacteristically quiet the whole ride.
He pulled into a spot near the front, and Samira unbuckled her seatbelt but made no move to exit the Jeep. Today of all days, she would indulge him. So she waited for him to make his way to the passenger side, opening the door and offering her his hand to help her onto the uneven pavement, unpracticed in even the low heels on her feet.
Robby and Emery, Santos and Mel stood waiting for them at the entrance, Emery the only one among them who wasn't supposed to be on shift. They had promised a brief ceremony, knowing that the hospital was understaffed in the best of times.
Robby clasped Jack in a tight hug. "I'm so happy for you, brother," his wide hand spanning the back of Jack's head.
When Robby released Jack, he looked at Samira, tense but softer than he usually managed when it came to her. "You look beautiful, Samira," he said, taking her by surprise as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. It would never be easy between the two of them. Too much alike, Jack always insisted. Samira wasn't sure he was right, but something about the way he loved both of them so easily told her there was more truth to it than she wanted to admit.
Emery merely shoved at Jack’s shoulder. "Thanks for coming, Em," he chuckled.
"Someone had to be here to remind the bride she's too good for you. It was my job the first time around, figured I might as well be the one to do it this time too." Walsh winked at Samira and she smiled back. Emery Walsh remained largely a prickly mystery to her, but she'd known more versions of Jack than anyone but his sisters, and that counted for something.
"I'm so happy you asked me to be here, Samira," Mel said, earnestly, sounding as though tears were already forming.
"Last chance to ditch the old-timer and marry me instead," smirked Trinity, who'd worn a suit for the occasion.
Samira pulled them both into a big hug and whispered, "Love you guys."
They made their way to the room as a group, sitting in the wooden benches at the back of the courtroom that reminded Samira of pews and waited amidst a few other couples, dressed in varying degrees of formality, for their names to be called. Jack held her hand in his, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb.
When the judge called their names, they stood in unison, exiting to the front of the room.
Jack looked down at Samira as they stood facing each other, his whole heart in his eyes.
"Last chance to back out," he told her.
"You jump, I jump, Jack,” she quipped. A wide smile broke out across his face as they both turned to the judge.
They used the standard vows. Jack made a lifetime of promises to her everyday in a million little ways. Making dishes she hadn't eaten since her dad had cooked them. Marking up case studies and articles with his thoughts, always hungry for hers in return. Iced coffees and chaste kisses at shift changes. Sex like worship. Endless patience, never begrudging that she was a person who took her time. Love as a verb.
They each slid a simple gold band onto the other's finger, Samira's beneath a matching ring crowned with a pear shaped diamond flanked by emeralds. Silicone bands in both of their sizes were already stock piled in the top drawer of their dresser.
The judge pronounced them, still Jack Abbot and Samira Mohan, but now husband and wife. Jack slung an arm low on her waist, dipping her down and pulling her in for a dizzying kiss. Old school, she had called Jack on their first date, when he'd shown up with flowers, insisted on opening doors and pulling out chairs and walking her to her door at the end of the night. Samira felt a tear drop onto her cheek as his face hovered over hers.
A wolf-whistle cut through the air and Samira knew it was Santos. Jack pulled her back up, vermillion flush covering his freckled face. She wove her fingers in his curls and pulled him back for another kiss, ignoring Robby clearing his throat as she nipped at his lower lip before pulling back and quirking an eyebrow.
"Just wait until I get you alone, sweetheart," Jack promised at a whisper.
--
After hugs and congratulations were exchanged and their friends returned to the hospital with the promise of an open tab at Maxine's after shift, Jack and Samira made their way to a diner. It was the same one they frequented for post-shift breakfasts, a place where Samira had fallen in love, sitting on the squeaky red vinyl of a booth, eating french toast or cinnamon rolls or waffles too sweet to count as a balanced breakfast, debriefing night shifts and swapping research under the pretext of journal club.
It was the same place that Jack had finally plucked up the courage to ask Samira on a date, other members of the night shift having dwindled week after week until only the two of them remained and the tension that fizzled between them could no longer be ignored.
Samira speared a forkful of french toast and ate it hungrily. Pre-ceremony nerves kept her from eating beforehand.
Jack looked at her fondly across the table, ignoring his omelet. "So," he began with a quirk of his lips, "Do you feel any different?"
Samira let out a laugh. "I'm not sure? Less nauseous, definitely. Other than that, I don't think so. Should I?"
"I'm of the personal opinion that marriage is just a promise to keep doing what you're doing, loving each other the way you already do, forever. It's not some magic transformation. Or, shouldn't be anyway."
"I like that," she smiled. "Is it weird to be a husband again?" She didn't know if it would bring down the mood, but with Jack, nothing was really off limits.
"It doesn't really feel like 'again' I think," he took a bite, seemingly to give himself time to think. "The me that married Gen–the person that was her husband–he was someone else. He's still a part of me, I guess. And he'll always be hers."
Samira hummed in agreement, thoughtful, as Jack continued. "This version of me–I'm older. More broken. More cynical. Missing some parts," he winked. "Maybe worse for the wear. Maybe not. But different. I do hope you don't feel like you got the short end of the stick. The leftovers."
Samira turned it over in her mind. A part of her wished that Jack had gotten the chance to live a life unburdened by loss. That he only ever needed to be Gen Abbot's husband. But a Jack Abbot who had never gone to the desert, never patched up his men through fire or held them as they died, who had never come back without his leg, who never had to bury a wife, was a Jack who wouldn't have understood her the way he always had–understood the jagged shape of her heart in the way no one ever had before and she suspected no one else ever would.
"I guess some version of me has been a husband, but I've never been your husband," he smiled, reaching for her hand across the table, brushing his thumb over the ring. "And so far, it's one hell of a feeling."
"You're exactly the person I need, exactly as you are," she promised, hoping he could see how fervently she meant it. "I've never been a wife before, though. I might be terrible at it."
That got her a laugh, a deep bark that went straight to her heart. "Baby, you're the smartest person I've ever met. I've never seen an occasion you haven't risen to."
Jack was generous with his praise of her, always had been. Even before they were together. He'd told her she was the smartest person in the room two months into her intern year. A quick "great work," or "nicely done" passed across a trauma bay had made her blood heat before she really understood why.
The content had shifted with their relationship. A groaned “good girl” as she sunk to her knees and took him in her mouth. “You’re doing so well for me,” breathed as he pulled orgasms out of her long after she thought she could stand it. The way it sent shivers down her spine remained the same.
Samira was suddenly ravenous for a different reason. "We've got hours to kill before the bar..." she trailed off suggestively. "Any thoughts on what we could do to pass the time?"
Jack swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, before pulling out his wallet, dropping a hundred dollar bill on the table to cover what was probably a thirty-five dollar tab and standing to pull Samira to her feet. Seemingly unbothered by the restaurant full of other patrons, he pulled her close, running his nose up her jawline, from chin to ear before whispering "I'm sure that beautiful brain of yours will think of something."
--
Samira didn't think anyone would blame them for being late to what was technically their wedding reception. They stepped through the doors of Maxine's, into the low glow of the bar, Samira pulling Jack behind her by the hand, to a cacophony of whistles and cheers. Samira had long shed the wedding dress, by way of Jack pulling down the zipper, chasing his fingers with kisses down her spine.
They hadn't meant to be late. Nine uninterrupted hours separated leaving the diner and arriving at the bar, but time had gotten away from them. Jack had eaten her through three orgasms before turning her over and fucking another one out of her before he finished. They'd showered and crawled into bed because for Jack, it was the middle of the night. They woke up with plenty of time to spare, but Jack had taken one look at the short black dress she'd changed into for the party and muttered something about refractory periods being a young man's game before pressing her against the wall and shoving his fingers inside her until she bit his trapezius hard enough to leave a deep bruise.
Trinity surged across the bar towards them and took Samira by the hand, dragging her away from Jack. “You literally have her forever. Let me take her for a bit,” she shot at Jack who laughed good naturedly.
She looked Samira up and down and raised her eyebrows approvingly. “Obviously you were beautiful in your wedding dress, but you look hot. Marriage agrees with you,” she said, pulling her to the bar where Mel and Langdon stood side by side.
“Four tequila shots on me!” Trinity banged on the bar. The bartender lined up the glasses and poured, everyone but Langdon throwing back a glass. Santos raised her eyebrows at him in question. He rolled his eyes but nodded and Trinity tossed back his shot as well.
“The bar tab is on Jack’s card, Trinity,” Samira laughed.
“Okay. So they're on Abbot. Which as of today, means they are also on you. Much obliged,” Santos said.
“Did you two have a good day together after the ceremony?” Mel asked, leaning back slightly into Langdon, who brought an arm around her waist.
“Yeah. We got French toast at West Side then went home and napped,” Samira said.
“Judging by the frizziness of your hair compared to what it was this morning, you did more than just nap, but okay,” Santos scoffed.
Samira was not ordinarily one to share details of her and Jack’s sex life, in part because for her peers, Jack was also their boss.
But the events of the day coupled with the first shot of tequila made her buoyant and loose lipped, more than happy to brag about the man who, for today at least, was her husband instead of their supervisor.
“Twice. Or Five times. I guess it depends on what metric you want to use,” she giggled.
Langdon surprised her by whistling low. “Good for Abbot,” he said, raising a club soda in her direction. “I mean, good for you, too, but Jesus. I hope I have that kind of stamina at his age.”
Mel flushed tomato red and turned to fix Langdon with a look but he just shrugged and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.
"It's fine, Mel. He's right. I'm a lucky girl," Samira told her unabashedly.
Samira felt the broad expanse of Jack press against her back as he put an arm around her waist. "I'm the lucky one, sweetheart," he said, low in her ear, laying a hand across her abdomen and pressing his face into the junction between her neck and shoulder, inhaling.
"Okay... We're all happy for you both, but there are some things I don't need to watch," Robby interjected, flush visible even in the dim lights of the bar.
"Tough shit," Abbot threw back, keeping Samira pressed firmly to his front.
"In that case, I'm going to need scotch," Robby directed to the bartender. Jack held up two fingers and two glasses were set in front of them.
"What are you guys drinking? Santos's presence tells me probably cheap tequila?" Jack asked, having picked Samira up after many a girl's night out.
Samira snorted and Trinity shouted 'Hey! Rude!"
Langdon rolled his eyes. "Got it in one."
"Another round, please" Jack called, before raising his glass as the shots were poured.
He cleared his throat loudly, always a man who could quiet a room. Doctors and nurses all turned to where they stood.
"I'd like to make a toast to my wife," he announced, beaming at the word. "Mira, you're the most beautiful, brilliant woman I've ever met. That you've agreed to marry me is no small miracle. But I promise, every day to try to be worthy of that choice. I love you with everything I am and everything I will be."
Glasses clinked together across the room, and Samira leaned in to press a kiss to Jack's lips, tasting the smoky heat of scotch on his tongue. "I love you, too, you know," she whispered.
The opening notes of an Oasis song began to play and Jack whispered, "Can I have this dance?" and took her hand, walking to an uncrowded area of the bar. He pulled her in and she crossed her arms around his neck as he put his hands on her waist and began to sway.
Samira sighed softly, leaning her forehead on Jack's strong shoulder. "Today was perfect. I couldn't have asked for a better day," she told him.
"You're perfect," he replied, nuzzling his face into her hair. "I couldn't ask for a better wife."
Her face warmed, embarrassed at the unearned praise. "It's been 11 hours. You can't possibly know what kind of wife I am yet."
"I know it doesn't happen often, but in this instance, you're wrong," he said, gently. "I know you, Samira. I know exactly who you are. Warm and compassionate and stubborn and intelligent. Damaged. Thorough. Complicated. Perfect."
She felt flayed open and vulnerable, but she knew in her heart he was right. Jack saw to the core of who she was, all the good, including the things others had viewed as flaws. He saw the broken pieces, too, but they were never too much for him. By some small miracle, the jagged edges of her heart perfectly complemented his.
"You're pretty perfect, yourself," she returned, still swaying, her body pressed tightly to his strong, sturdy one.
"Oh. I don't know about that. I come with a lot of baggage. The PTSD, the leg, the wife, the workaholic tendencies, the trips to the roof," he shrugged, sheepishly.
"Hey! That's my husband you're talking about, so be nice," she scolded.
"Yes ma'am," he answered, faux-solemn.
"Besides, you said yourself. There hasn't been an occasion I haven't risen to. Maybe it's perfect. Maybe not. It doesn't matter to me. As long as it's us." She looked deep into his bright hazel eyes, determined to show him just how much she loved him, how sure she was in her decision to rest her future on him.
"You're right. We can do anything, as long as it's us," he agreed. He threaded thick fingers into her hair and pulled her in for a kiss. Not the heated, hurried kisses they'd traded all day. Burning, yes, but like a hearth, a low crackle deep somewhere inside both of them, steady. A home found in another person.
Samira knew it was a small moment, a world unto themselves, rocking back and forth wrapped up in each other to the faint sound of music. A small moment in what would certainly be a long night. An even smaller moment in what would hopefully be a longer life. But as Jack held her close, Samira felt the weight of it, of what it meant to be loved and seen and believed in and to love and see and believe in return. Just the two of them. Her and Jack. Forever.