Chapter Text
Jack Abbot isn’t quite the animal lover. His late wife was definitely a dog person, so they had a dog. Sure, he took good care of it. Always checked if it had food and water; took it for walks whenever she couldn’t; threw some toys around when it brought one to him. But he wouldn’t go out of his way to give it attention. They... Coexisted.
Jack Abbot isn’t quite the animal lover. So the phone call he got from Samira mid-shift wasn’t all thrilling.
“S’mira,” he says as soon as he steps into the ambulance bay.
“Hi. Busy?”
“Never for you.”
“Okay. Hm. We’ll be together for 9 months in a couple of days.”
“Mhm.”
“So. Uhm. What else lasts 9 months?”
“I don’t know. Pregnancy.”
“Exactly. We’re having a baby.”
He scoffs. “You’re not pregnant.”
”Of course I’m not pregnant. But there was an adoption event near my apartment last week. I signed up for a kitten… And it went well.”
“Okay. Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“...I don’t know. I thought it could make a decent surprise.”
“It sure is unexpected.”
A few seconds of silence come from her side of the line.
“You’re upset with me.”
“No. I’m not upset.”
“You are. I can just pay a fee if you don’t want a cat.”
“Samira. It’s fine.”
“Is it?”
“It is. Wasn’t on my wish list, but whatever makes you happy. We can talk more about it later. Anything else?”
“Do you want to choose her name?”
“I’m not the best at name picking.”
“...Please?”
He sighs. “Alright. I’ll think of one.”
“Okay.” Jack can hear the smile in her voice. It’s... Pleasant. Very pleasant. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
A cat. A small cat. It’s… Not his cup of tea. But it’s what Samira wants. She sounded excited to tell him. So he’ll deal with it.
Which leads him to wait for her in his car, ten minutes before her shift starts, because she had just picked it up — he’s surprised someone was okay with her picking it up at six in the morning — and didn’t want to leave it alone in her apartment.
Opening the passenger's door and getting in with a cat wrapped in a blanket and a giddy smile plastered on her face, Samira. She leans in for a quick kiss, then carefully unwraps the pet, lets the fabric fall onto the car’s mat. It’s a strange mix of yellow-orange and black fur all over it, except for its white neck and front paws. Samira had messaged him that it looked like a mix of cat brands. Breeds. Brands. Who cares.
She places it on her lap. It jumps down. She glances at him. “Do you like her? She’ll be four months old in a week.”
“It’s a cat.”
She keeps her eyes on his for a few seconds. Sighs, picks the cat up. “...You don’t like her.”
He frowns. “I never said that.”
“Do you even have to say it? I told you, if you didn’t like the idea, I could–”
Jack closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. “Samira. If what makes you happy is a cat, then you can have as many cats as you can fit in my place, and I will live with them without complaint.”
Samira nods. “...Okay. Yeah.” She doesn’t believe it. Opens the passenger door, steps out, sets the kitten in the seat. “I’ll get her after my shift. Love you.”
The door’s closed again before he can say it back. Hates it: leaving things half-said. Hopes they can make this out after her shift. After a moment, he starts the car and maneuvers out. Acts like he doesn’t see the cat shoving itself under the seat; focuses on driving.
He turns on the radio, although the drive isn’t long. Soon, he’s pulling up in front of his garage. Steps out, then finds the cat and picks it up with a palm under its abdomen — his other hand gets his keys. He considers getting the blanket out; decides against it. The kitten hisses at him, wriggles. He ignores its thrashing, and it stops.
Unlocking the door, it makes itself right at home. As soon as Jack puts the cat down, it’s going under the furniture. He doesn’t bother trying to drag it out; it can explore the space on its own. Instead, he face-plants himself on the couch and sleeps. Usually, he’d shower, eat something; only then make his way to bed. This morning, if he showers, he’ll think. This morning, if he thinks, he’ll be reminded of the thick, soft tone of her disappointment. This morning, if he’s reminded he upset her, he’ll have to find out how many cuts his razor blade can make while shaving.
It’s past one in the afternoon when he finally wakes up. There’s light weight on his back, vibrating — purring. He reaches as best he can, scratching what he’d guess is the cat's back. Turns his head to the side.
“Hey.”
The answer he gets is the same soft whirr. Which makes him stay in place for a couple more minutes. It’s comfortable enough to make noise. Good for the cat, he isn’t as relaxed. A trip to the bathroom and microwaved leftovers would do the trick, but he’d have to get up —too much work.
When he finally sits up and stretches with a groan, it’s almost two. The kitten fell off his back onto the cushions when he turned to the side, yet only opened its eyes. Closed them again, given a few seconds, and went back to purring.
Jack takes his trip to the bathroom. Microwaves his leftovers.
Stares blankly at the wall while eating. Then he’s going around, looking for anything to do — anything is better than thinking. And the little thing on his couch is suddenly interesting. Going out to buy the pet some basic stuff? Good excuse, good distraction. Plus, if it got picked up in the morning, it probably hasn’t eaten since. Which may be a problem? He doesn’t know how often cats need to eat. He assumes it's hungry.
It? He also has to give it a name. Samira calls it a she. The pet store may give him an idea.
A cold shower, decent clothes, and he’s ready to go. Lifts the kitten from below again, though this time she doesn’t struggle. All fight has left her after what he assumes is the acceptance of her fate. He respects that. Turns out they’re not so different.
In the car, Jack places her in the passenger seat. Closes the door, crosses to the other side, and she’s already not there anymore. He knows she’s inside, so he doesn’t mind. Closes the door, stares at the steering wheel, mapping out the city in his head for the best route to his desired store. Then he’s driving again. Some 90s rock on the radio fills his ears. The smell of gas catches his nose; he huffs. He can also watch — from the rearview mirror — the cat climbing onto the back seat, staring at the trunk.
His trip to the pet store ends up quicker than expected. Perhaps he shouldn’t have accepted help from one of the workers — now he’ll have nothing to bury his head in when he arrives. But at least he got the cat’s basics. Food. Litter box. And a leash so he doesn’t have to keep carrying her around. He doesn’t buy bowls or toys or beds; those should be of Samira’s taste. It’s her cat, after all.
Speaking of the kitten, he doesn’t understand her. She hisses at him whenever he goes to pick her up or moves his hand remotely close to her in the car, yet when he ignores her and lifts her off the surface anyway, she does nothing. She did scratch him the first time, not that he cared enough to do anything about it.
And he still doesn’t know what to call her. Wonderful. He’ll have something to think about until his shift.
He convinces her to get out of the car this time. The leash's pretty handy. He takes it off of her when they’re inside, places the litter box in the bathroom he thinks has the easiest access. She seems to know its use, taking from how she followed him there, and his rug is intact. Nice.
Then he sets the wet food and water on some aluminum bowls he finds on his cabinets. Places them in front of the kitchen counter. The cat emerges quickly. He’d guess she smelled the food. Eats pretty fast, slows whenever he approaches. She also sinks her face into the water. Pulls it out, sneezes, hits the bowl, jumps at the noise, spills most of the water out. She’s not very smart. Nothing interesting happens besides that. Jack washes the bowls, carries his police scanner from the bedroom to the living room, turns it on, and takes another nap on the couch. Gets up to prepare for his shift, finds the cat sleeping on top of the scanner. Does nothing about it; doesn’t even turn it off. Showers, changes, methodically organizes his bag, leaves as quietly as possible.
Jack doesn’t manage to fix things with Samira. He searches the department up and down, then talks to Ellis — she’s already with Mohan’s cases, so she must’ve already left. Clearly, on purpose. Thus, 12 hours of more suffering; at least he has sick people to distract him. And she’ll have to be here after them. He’s not clocking out until they talk it out, no more avoidance.
It’s an average shift. A couple of weird cases, a couple of overreactions, a couple of emergencies the patients didn’t realize were emergencies. But the night feels longer than usual. Perhaps it’s that he is in agony, Samira being upset with him is torture.
But Jack’s right. She’s here by seven in the morning again. He’s off until tomorrow evening. There is more than enough time for a conversation, and he’s not waiting anymore.
“Dr. Mohan.”
She stops as soon as she hears his voice. Sighs. “...Does it have to be now?”
“Yes.” He walks with her back to the stairwell.
Avoiding his eyes, Samira reluctantly breaks the silence. “I don’t know why I’m upset about it. In fact, I don’t wanna talk about it. You’re right, I should’ve talked to you first. You don’t have to like everything I like.”
Ah, both live off assumptions, the number one being ‘I shouldn’t bother my partner.’ Who is he to judge, when he’s done the same thing?
“Samira, honey,” he whispers, offering her a hand. She takes it, he brings hers to his lips. “I like your cat.”
“I- You don’t need to lie to make me feel better. And- And it’s not my cat anymore.”
He brings her palm to his jaw, leans into it. “Not your cat anymore?”
“I announced it for adoption online. I’ll see if there’s anyone interested and review their suitability tonight, and… I- I don’t want to talk about it. Please.”
He tries to meet her eyes. She doesn’t let him. She is very, very upset. “Okay. No talking about it.”
She nods. Pulls her hand back; he lets her. Steps back. “I’ll… Work.”
“Okay. Let me make you dinner after your shift.”
Again, she nods. Makes her way inside.
“Love you.”
Perhaps she didn’t listen. Perhaps she simply didn’t answer. Either way, he’s hurt her. And he needs to fix it.
He walks to his car, pulls out his phone as soon as he's inside. Dials a familiar number. The call connects after a few seconds.
“Hey. Marco. You working tonight? I need a favour.”
It is kind of a delivery. He’ll pick up the cat from Samira and deliver it to Jack's place. Yes, he’ll have to find where she announced it and make a compatible account. Samira just doesn’t know that.
Jack pays him 200 bucks for the task. He’d open his wallet without a second thought if it meant seeing the smartest doctor he’s ever known — who is also his marvel of a girlfriend — smile again. After almost half an hour of going through Petfinder and Adopt-a-Pet, he finds her. Samira announced the kitten as Jackie. Of course she would.
With that information, he helps Marco set up a profile. His name, his address. All other information is based on Jack’s. Which would probably help. Income, available space. Tells him to keep him updated, and drives home.
He does. It’s the middle of the afternoon, Jack’s been trying to keep himself occupied. Couldn’t sleep. So he cooked himself a decent lunch, enough for leftovers he could freeze. Cleaned up his kitchen. Vacuumed the whole house. His phone buzzes, and he prays to nonexistent gods that it’s Samira. It’s not. But it’s Marco, not so bad.
Delivery Marco
[15:38] She messaged me 4 pick up, 8PM
8 PM. Good. He doubts Samira is coming for dinner. She’s devastated. But knowing her, she’ll show up later, in hopes he’s in bed. And if she doesn’t, he can pay her a visit with his “new” kitten. Jack replies as best as he can.
(You)
👍[15:38]
Still, until it goes well, he can’t sleep. So he continues going. Reorganizes a shelf he doesn’t even use anymore. Gets Samira’s blanket out of his car and lays it on the couch. Puts ‘The Last Detail’ on the TV to watch while checking how many push-ups he can still do. Opens a random page in one of the recipe books he has and tries to follow it. Cleans the kitchen again after putting it in the oven. Goes to his bedroom, starts the computer, searches around for studies Samira would find interesting, prints them out. Highlights a few excerpts, occasionally checks the oven.
It doesn’t come out well. Probably tastes good, though — Samira will be the judge of that. He’s placing the tray onto the cooktop when his phone buzzes on the counter. He reaches for it almost immediately.
Delivery Marco
[20:06] Cat acquired, omw
(You)
👍[20:07]
Another 20 if you get here before 8:30 [20:08]
Delivery Marco
[20:08] Bet
It’s finally past eight. And he’s lost worse, 20 bucks won’t be what kills him. He hopes Samira is. Since she crossed his mind, he messages her too. Stares blankly at their conversation until her reply comes.
(You)
Honey. Are you coming for dinner? [20:10]
Samira
[20:14] no
(You)
Please do [20:15]
I want to cook for you [20:16]
9 months together [20:16]
Samira
[20:19] maybe later
(You)
Ok [20:19]
Love you [20:20]
Samira
[20:20] yeah
[20:23] love you
Jack wants to talk more. Ask more. But there’s honking outside, and he recognizes who it is.
Stepping outside after finding his wallet, Marco doesn’t even take his helmet off. Opens the delivery bag on the back of his motorcycle, carefully pulls out the hissing cat. Jack slips four bills out of his wallet, and they do their little exchange. Chat for a couple of minutes. Then Marco says something along the lines of ‘Pleasure doing business’, gets on his bike, and drives off. Fair enough.
At least he got the kitten back; Samira will be happy. He carries her inside — one hand supporting her hind legs, the other her chest — and he’d guess she recognizes him, since the cat didn’t squirm in his hold. Cat? Not just cat. She has a name now. Marco commented that her front paws were a different colour, like little gloves. And, sure, that’s something. So no more ‘Jackie’.
Mittens. Sounds like a cat name, has some thought put into it. He hopes Samira likes the name. He hopes Samira likes the dessert. He hopes Samira likes the surprise. He hopes Samira still likes him.
He places her beside the arm of the couch, on the blanket, goes to wash his hands. Jack watches the cat rub and nuzzle the cushions before toppling down on the blanket. Then he checks the kitchen cabinets, seeking inspiration on what to make for dinner.
Pasta is already boiled al dente when he gives up on cooking. He is hungry, no denying it; he wants to cook for Samira, also no denying it; but exhaustion is rapidly catching up to him. So Jack adjusts the volume of the police scanner, sits down beside the cat, tells himself he’ll finish it after a couple of minutes. A lie; in those couple of minutes, he’s out like a light. It’s not restful sleep — that he only has when Samira’s beside him — yet sleep is sleep; he’ll take what he gets.
The sound of the door lock clicking open is what brings him to stir. He stays in place; knows who it is, admires her entrance. Beautiful. As always. Samira closes the door. Stops as soon as her eyes meet the couch.
“Jack?”
“Honey,” he murmurs, clears his throat to get rid of the hint of grogginess in his tone.
“You… Is- It’s Jackie?”
“Mhm. Well. Mittens now.” One of his hands rests against his lips, he yawns. “I gave her a name like you asked me to. But we can keep Jackie if you want. Just thought it’d be a bit narcissistic.”
She doesn’t answer. Gets rid of any distance between them, pulls his hand away, seals his lips with hers. Makes him groan; his mind is still hazy with sleep. Not hazy enough to stop his hands from finding her waist, from chasing the taste of her lips.
Her knees press against the couch, Samira straddles his lap. Brings her forehead to his, pulls her lips away. Inhales shakily.
“I’m- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–”
Her already thick voice cracks, her throat bobs as she swallows down the words. Tears begin streaming down her face as if they’re out of her control. He kisses them away, wraps his arms around her.
“You did nothing wrong, honey. Nothing wrong. See? It ended up just fine.”
Samira nods, rubs her eyes with the heel of her palm. Takes a deep breath. “...Mittens.”
“Mhm.”
“I- I like it. Mittens.” She rests one hand on his shoulder. With the other, she reaches to scratch the cat. Jack nuzzles her neck, watches goosebumps form on her skin with the scrape of his stubble. A sigh escapes her. “Why didn’t you just–”
“You wouldn’t let me.”
Her lips part. Then shut. Then part again. “You’re right.”
“Mhm.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Mmhm.”
“...You invited me for dinner, and you’re falling asleep.”
“You’re not upset with me anymore. Now I can get proper sleep.” He lifts his face only enough to look at her. “I can finish dinner if you’re hungry, but it’s late, you probably already ate.”
Her hand reaches below Mittens, guides her to her lap. “I did. Did you?”
“Mmh.”
“Jack.”
He raises one of his arms. Frees her hair from the confines of her claw clip. “Did I what?”
“Already eat.”
“No.” His finger reaches for a strand of her hair; twirls it. “Dinner can wait.”
Samira glances down at her lap, where the cat has settled and begun purring. Her palm slides from its belly to up and down its back. “Not when all you had was lunch.”
He takes her occupied hand and brings it away from Mittens. Intertwines their fingers. Samira narrows her eyes. “I can’t pet her?”
“I’m more interesting than the cat.” His face loses itself against her neck, between her curls.
“Are you?”
“I sure hope so.”