Archive of Our Own

what you, uh, what you do?
made a move, could've made a move
if i knew i'd be with you
is it too late to pursue?

Samira finds it in her locker after shift change, when most of the night shift has already left the building and day shift has officially started. A small, white envelope with her name written on the front in neat, cursive letters.

She isn’t even supposed to be here. Technically, she’s off the schedule now. She only stopped by to grab the last of her stuff and say her goodbyes. But of course, she lingers, hovering just long enough to see what comes in during the morning rush.

There’s no return name on the envelop, no hint of who left it in her locker. She tears it open carefully and slides out the card. It’s plain, pale-yellow with a floral design, the kind of generic stationery you pick up from the gift shop. 'Farewell' is printed across the front.

She flips it open.

Dear Samira,
I can only hope you don’t hate me forever after you finish this letter. But I couldn’t let you go across the country without finally letting you know—

Her stomach drops. The card slips from her fingers and hits the floor with a soft slap.

Mateo rounds the corner just in time to see her bent over, frozen. He shoots her a concerned look. She forces a quick wave, a silent I’m fine, and snatches the card up with hands that won’t stop shaking.

She reads the first two lines again. And again.

I can only hope you don’t hate me forever.

I couldn’t let you go across the country without finally letting you know—

The handwriting is unmistakable. A wave of nausea rolls through her, sharp and sudden, as the truth clicks into place.

The next few minutes pass in thick, disjointed chucks. One second, she’s staring at the card; the next she’s shoving her jacket on and bolting for the exit, brushing past Dana, Robby and everyone else she meant to hug goodbye. Their confused calls follow her down the hallway, but she doesn’t slow. Her locker remains wide open behind her, belongings abandoned.

Outside, the cold morning air bites at her cheeks. Wind whips strands of hair across her face, she barely feels it. Her feet move on instinct, carrying her along the familiar route to Jack’s house from the hospital—the same she’s walked after late nights and mornings spent on his couch, journals spread across the coffee table, arms pressed together as they read, sharing warmth through thin cotton and nothing more.

Two things ring through her head:

She should be packing. Jack should be asleep before his shift.

None of it matters.

How could he do this to her? Right before she gets on a plane and leaves Pittsburgh behind for good. 

The thoughts swarm in her head, until they form into one big, angry cloud. She’s pretty sure she’s grumbling to herself, making herself look crazy in the early hours of the morning, but she doesn’t care.

When she turns onto his street and the quaint one‑story house comes into view, her anger spikes, sharp and hot.

She stomps up the brick stairs and knocks on his front door. Slams on it, really. Hard, relentless pounding that’s bound to concern some neighbors. Good thing it’s the middle of the workday.

The door swings open. Jack stands there, hair mussed, jaw tight, clearly ready to snap at whoever woke him. Then he sees her, and his face smooths out.

At Samira’s furious expression, his lips press into a thin line.

“I take it you got my letter.”

“How dare you?!”  She pushes past him, shoulder brushing his chest, storming into the house like she owns the air inside it.

“I’m sorry.” Is all he has to say.

“You have the nerve to not say anything. For years! Then two days before I get on a plane... you slip a note in my locker? And then you—” her voice cracks around the edges, “—and then you leave before I could even see you. Before I can even talk to you about it.” 

Jack closes the door quietly, almost gently, as if any sudden movement might set her off further. He stays near it, hands in his pockets, watching her pace tight circles across the foyer tile.

“That was the goal,” he says, barely above a murmur.

“You let me drive myself crazy. Some days I couldn’t tell if you had feelings for me or if you just liked my work ethic. When I confessed and you didn’t reciprocate I thought, fine, a boy doesn’t like me back, it’s not the end of the world.’”

“I’m sorry—wait, confessed?”

“But no, you just had to wait forty-eight hours before I board a plane and possibly never see you again—”

“Samira, wait a minute—” he tries, but she continues.

“I–I cried over you, you know? I told myself I was fine—and I was—but it still hurt—”

“Samira!”

She freezes. Her mouth snaps shut. Only then does she realize she’s been pacing a frantic path across his floor, breath uneven, hands trembling.

Jack steps forward slowly, palms open. “Honey,” he says, softer now, “slow down. What—confession? When did you—”

Her lips part wordlessly. She drags a frustrated hand through her hair, tugging at the curly strands a little too hard, like she's trying to pull the memory into place.

“A few months ago,” she starts, blinking rapidly as if replaying the night in her head. “After a night shift. The older lady who came in with labored breathing. I spent almost an hour with her without even realizing, and after I freaked out I…” She falters, brows knitting. “You told me it was okay. That—that I move at my own pace, and—and anyone worth my time would be happy to wait.” 

She repeats the words back to him perfectly, like they’ve been etched into her. “You already had a breakfast sandwich waiting for me when I was finished." She blinks up at him. "You… you don’t remember?”

Samira couldn't help that she had a bleeding heart, and that was (embarrassingly) the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her. Of course it stuck with her.

“Sweetheart—Samira, I—I remember that night,” Jack says gently. He gives her a crooked smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, concern pinching the corners of his face. “I just don’t remember a confession on your end.”

“It was slow,” she recites, “and we went to the breakroom to eat during the downtime.” She pauses, searching his face. He nods, encouraging her to continue. 

She takes a deep breath. “And I told you… you’re the only person who makes me feel like I’m not messing everything up. If there was anyone I’d want in my corner, it would be you.”

Jack’s face morphs from an expression of confusion to bewilderment then, finally, concern. His jaw drops.

“That… was not a confession.”

“Yes it is!” Samira protests.

“Honey,” Jack says patiently. “That was a friendly compliment at best.”

Samira gasps, offended. “It was not!”

Jack guffaws before he can help it and Samira pouts, bottom lip jutting out childishly.

“You’re laughing,” she says. “You’re laughing and I’m going through a crisis.”

“Sweetheart,” he says. She can hear the smirk in his voice. She hates that it makes her cheeks warm and her lips tip up. “You’re not going through a crisis. We’ve just been idiots for, what? Two, three years?”

Samira gapes. “Three years? I... I only realized a few months ago.”

“Well you’re gorgeous, and the smartest doctor in the ED. But you’re not that bright when it comes to romantic feelings,” She hits his arm lightly and he laughs again. “C’mere,” he says, spreading his arms. 

She doesn’t move for only a moment before she steps toward him pathetically, crashing into his chest. He wraps his arms around her tightly, cheek pressed to the side of her head, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other around her shoulders. 

“I’m sorry I didn't realize back then,” he murmurs into her ear. “And I'm sorry it took me this long to tell you. Do you hate me forever?”

“No,” she mumbles through squished cheeks. “This just… it sucks.”

“It does.” He rubs slow, comforting circles into her back. The motion makes her feel boneless.

“If I knew I would’ve—I would’ve done things differently,” she says, frustration tightening her voice. Her fists twist in his shirt, knuckles white. “Earlier.”

“I wouldn’t have,” Jack says simply.

Before she can ask what he means, his hand comes up to her hair. He tugs the tie loose, letting her curls spill free, and exhales at the sudden release of tension. His fingers slip into her hair, massaging her scalp with practiced, gentle pressure. She sags against him, melting into his frame. 

“God, I’ve been wanting to do this forever.” he confesses. “You always have these pretty curls tied up.”

Samira chuckles, eyes fluttering as his thumb rubs firm circles into the nape of her neck. A soft hum escapes her. “You wouldn’t?” she asks, hoping she doesn’t sound as insecure as she feels. “Change anything, I mean.”

“No,” he says honestly, without hesitation.

Her breath catches.

“You were always going to do amazing things,” he continues, voice low against her temple. “If I told you anything about how I felt, that might have changed where you applied. Limited the opportunities you went for.” 

She opens her mouth to protest, but he's already shaking his head.

“And don’t say that’s not true,” he adds, giving the back of her neck a gentle squeeze. “You almost packed up everything because your mom was in Jersey,” 

Her cheeks warm. She can’t deny that.

“I never wanted to hold you back,” he says, softer now, thumb brushing her hairline. “This… all of this… ensures I won’t.”

Samira squeezes her eyes shut, tears welling up quicker than she can blink them away. She buries her face in Jack’s chest, soaking the front of his sleep shirt, and the guilt hits her hard—he’s supposed to be resting, not holding her together when he already gets little sleep as is.

A sob catches in her throat and the next one punches through her chest, sending her frame racking. 

Jack’s arms loosen in surprise. His hands slip from around her quickly and moves to her shoulder, pulling away from her back so he can see her face. 

The sudden loss of his warmth makes everything worse. Cold air hits her cheeks, and she folds in on herself, crying harder. She doesn’t want him to see her like this—messy, desperate, unraveling.

“Hey, hey,” he says quickly, voice edging toward panic. “Samira, honey, what’s wrong?”

She opens her mouth, but all that comes out is a choked sob. Her chest heaves; she can’t seem to catch a full breath

Jack’s hands slide from her shoulders to cradle her face, thumbs brushing her damp cheeks. “Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, gentle but urgent. “Come on, Samira. You can do it.”

She tries, but her breath stutters.

“You gotta talk to me, baby,” he pleads, forehead nearly touching hers. “You’re scaring me.”

He places a hand to her chest, guiding her until she catches her breath. Eventually the sobs even out into shudders and Jack pets her back.

“There you go,” he praises. “Good job, baby. Just breathe for me.”

They’re still standing in the middle of his foyer, Jack, barefoot in his pajamas and Samira still wearing her jacket and tennis shoes. She doesn’t think she has the strength to move. If Jack wanted her anywhere else, he’d have to move her himself. But he doesn’t seem to be in any rush either.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters once she finally gets her bearings,voice small and raw. “I just thought of everything I potentially gave up and freaked out.” She rubs her nose against his collarbone, embarrassed. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” he promises immediately.

“Even if I’m 2,000 miles away?” she presses, lifting her head just enough to look at him. “In a completely different time zone.”

“Even if you were on another planet.” Jack cups her cheek in one broad hand, thumb brushing the tear tracks there. His left. There is no cool press of his wedding ring against her skin, she wonders how long it’s been since the last time he put it on. How long he’s been waiting for her. 

“Baby,” he says softly. “I’ve been waiting for you for years already. One more won’t hurt. And even if you don’t decide to come back—although there will always be a position at PTMC for you—we’ll figure something out.” His voice dips, vulnerable in a way she’s never heard from him. “That is… if you still want me by then.”

Samira’s heart stutters. “I’ll always want you.”

“See?” he says, cheeky now. “We both just made a promise. No breaking that now.”

She sighs. “This isn’t fair.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jack agrees quietly. “But we can’t do anything about it now.”

Samira blinks up at him, something sparking behind her eyes. “Yes we can.”

“Samira—”

“We still have time,” she presses, voice steadier now, threaded with something bold and aching. 

It’s Jack’s turn to look uncomfortable. Samira can see that he’s himself holding back, the way his pupils dilate, swallowing the warm brown of his irises. The way his grip on her waist tightens. He swallows hard, and she tracks the bob of his Adam’s apple, licking her lips.

“I’m basically done packing. It’s just the small things now. I can finish tomo—”

“Samira,” he says evenly, voice rougher than before. “What do you want? Right now. Don’t think about the future. I need to hear you say it.”

“You,” she blurts, breath hitching. “Even if it’s only for tonight.”

His jaw flexes. His eyes flick down to the tear tracks drying on her cheeks, then back up to her trembling mouth. He looks like a man starved. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice low, almost pained.

“Jack,” she says, almost irritated. “If you don’t take me to bed right now, I swear—”

He cuts her off, taking her jaw between his fingers and holding her still, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“Samira,” he says firmly. “I’m not doing this unless you’re sure for the right reasons. Not because you’re scared. Not because you’re leaving. Not because you think you’re losing me.”

Her breath stutters. “I’m sure. Because it’s you.”

He makes a low sound, almost a growl, and pulls her toward him, capturing her mouth with his. Samira responds back eagerly, a soft sound slipping from her throat before she can stop it.

Fucking finally.

It’s like the final piece of the puzzle sliding into place. Something releases in her chest, making her feel light and like an exposed wire all at once. It feels like coming home.

Their lips stay locked together in one long, breathless kiss before Jack breaks away just enough to leave a series of smaller ones against her mouth. Then he pulls back completely to rest his forehead against hers, breathing her in.

“Come with me,” he whispers.

Samira nods, voice gone. “Okay.”

She toes off her HOKAs, leaving them at the door, her jacket finding a place on the wall beside it. Jack threads their fingers together and leads her down the hallway to his bedroom. 

She glances at the pictures lining the wall, his sisters and nieces, snapshots that he’s shown her during slow nights at work. She’ll familiarize herself with his house later, now she’s just concerned with getting into his bed.

His room is dark, the only thing lighting the space being the moon outside, but she can see Jack just fine. He places firm hands on her hips, backing her up until the back of her legs hit the end of the bed.

“Okay?” he asks, searching her eyes.

“Yeah,” she says softly.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” he admits sheepishly. “I may not be as smooth as I used to be.”

She leans in, kissing him softly. 

“Me too,” she says. She smiles. “It’s a good thing we’re doing this together then.”

He kisses her again then, softer than before but just as intense. Samira’s hands find their way into his hair and he groans when she tugs at the greying curls. He licks the seam of her lips and Samira lets him push his tongue in.

Jack pushes her onto the bed then frowns.

“You’re still dressed,” he observes, like a caveman who doesn’t understand how clothes work.

“I am,” she replies. “Are you going to do something about it?”

He doesn’t respond, only reaches for the hem of her scrub top and pulls it up. Samira raises her arms, letting him pull it over her head. Next are her pants, leaving her sitting on top of his duvet in an ergonomic sports bra and panty set and her white ankle socks.

She’d be embarrassed if not for the way Jack was looking at her. Like he wanted to eat her alive. His eyes are blown wide, flush high on his cheeks and curls laying in every direction thanks to her tugging at them. The front of his pajama pants are pitched, his erected straining the flimsy material.

“Jesus, baby,” he says, running a hand up her thigh. “Knew you were gorgeous, but this…”

His gaze snaps back to hers. “You’re gonna give an old man a heart attack.”

Samira blushes. “Shut up and take your shirt off, too.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He peels off his own shirt and crawls over her, pressing her back into the mattress. Samira sighs as Jack leaves kisses across her neck and atop of her breasts.

“You can leave marks,” she whispers. “I want a reminder that this really happened. That I didn’t dream it.”

Jack groans. “Fuck, sweetheart. Yeah. Okay.”

He follows her instructions, leaving a litany of hickey from her neck down to her stomach. When he reaches her panties, he tugs them off in one fluid movement, exposing her to the cool air of the room.

“Jack!” she gasps. “I just came from the hospital.”

“Sweetheart, if you think I’m fine with fucking you after coming from the hospital but not eating you out, you’re not as bright as I thought you were,” he says roughly. “You didn’t even work a full shift—not that I would care." He nips at her stomach. "I want to taste you. Can I? Please.”

Samira can only nod and before she can change her mind, her knees are being pushed to her chest, and a broad tongue is swiping over her cunt.

“Oh, God—” She chokes as Jack licks into her over and over again. He switches between softly tonguing over her clit and fucking his tongue in and out of her. She can’t even remember the last time someone’s had their head between her thighs and she definitely can’t remember it ever feeling this good. 

Her vision whites out when she reaches her orgasm and she has to push Jack’s head away when he doesn’t stop. He resurfaces, mouth and chin shiny with her wetness and she has to physically tear her eyes away when her pussy clenches down on nothing.

He’s not having it though, he grabs her face and pulls her in for a kiss, shoving his mouth into her mouth and making her taste herself on his tongue. 

“God, baby,” he says, grinding his hips into her. “You taste so fucking good. Feel so good on my tongue. You were made for—oh, fuck.”

Jack rears back, eyes wide as he looks down at Samira.

“'Oh, fuck,' what?” She says, sitting up on her elbows. “What’s wrong, Jack?”

“I—shit,” he curses. “I don’t have any condoms. Fuck, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking—”

Samira bites her lip. 

“It’s okay,” she says finally. “We don’t have to use a condom.”

Jack’s mouth falls open. 

“Baby, no. We can’t— Not when you’re—” he stops, swallowing. “No.”

Samira shifts onto her knees, placing her hands on his bare chest. He stares down at where her palms rest against his skin, warm, rising and falling with every breath he takes. A muscle jumps in his jaw. His brows pull together. He looks conflicted.

“Samira…” He says it like a warning.

“I can get a Plan B—”

“That’s not one-hundred percent effective, if you leave and—”

She hushes him with a kiss. 

“It’ll be okay,” she promises. “Just for tonight, right?”

Jack's eyes flit across her face.

“Fine.”

He gets rid of his pants then helps her up the bed. He pushes her legs apart, groaning when he sees how wet she is. He grabs himself into his hand, pushing his tip against her entrance. 

“Okay, baby?” he asks and she nods.

Jack sinks into her slowly, giving her time to adjust to his size before pushing another inch in. Samira gasps loudly, eyes rolling back in her head once his pelvis is flush against her. Her head is thrown back against the pillows resting on the headboard, and Jack runs a comforting hand up and down her side.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he praises. “You can take it.”

Samira breathes shallowly, it’s almost too much, but it feels better than she ever imagined. Jack carves out a space for himself inside her, nudging that sweet spot inside her without even trying.

“Fuck,” she says breathlessly, blinking back tears

“I know,” he pants. “I feel it too.” He leans down to press a kiss to her cheek. “You’re doing so good.”

“Jack—” she chokes as he draws back. Rocking his hips back and forth in slow, smooth motions, punching the breath out of her chest with every stroke. 

“Baby, you feel amazing.”

Samira whimpers, searching for his mouth blindly. He presses his lips to hers, swallowing her moans.

When he reaches down to rub over her clit, her back arches off the bed violently. She comes with a loud cry and Jack fucks her through it, taking his thumb off her clit when she becomes overstimulated, slapping at his wrist.

“I’m close, baby,” he whispers. “So close. God, you feel so good. Wanted this for so long. You’re perfect, baby. Perfect.”

He pumps his hips once, twice, before he stills and Samira feels a warmth inside her. Jack shudders as he comes, tucking his face into her neck and panting soundly.

Jack pulls out slowly, placing a gentle kiss to Samira’s lips when she whines at the loss. His spend drips down her thighs, and Samira knows she’ll have to take care of it later, but she pushes it to the back of her mind. For now, she just curls up into Jack’s chest, barely listening to his instructions to stay awake as he cleans her up. The room still smells of sex, but her eyes slip closed anyway.

She doesn’t know how late it is—only that the room is dark and warm and she’s drifting somewhere between dreams and consciousness. Through the haze of her slumber, she registers Jack’s voice, softly telling her to stay. That it’s too late for her to walk back to her apartment. That he wants her here, safe. Close.

And she finds herself agreeing without hesitation, a sleepy hum of assent slipping out before she can think twice. The thought of leaving feels impossible anyway. The bed is warm, his sheets smell them, and his arm is draped heavy and protective across her waist.

She lets herself sink deeper into the mattress, into him, content in a way she hasn’t felt in years. Staying doesn’t feel like a decision. It feels like the only thing that makes sense.

At some point during the night, Jack finds his way between her thighs again and he positions her softly, thigh hitched over his so he can fuck her on her side. She stretches her neck so he can kiss behind her ear down to her shoulder and begs for him to come inside her again, a reckless thought in the back of her mind that she could leave for California carrying a part of him.

Samira wakes up the next morning to the soft brush of Jack’s nose against her neck, his lips trailing warm, sleeping kisses across her skin. She sighs, rolling over to meet him with a smile she can’t suppress.

Soon enough though, reality hits her like a weight settling on her chest. After today, they won't be just a shift away anymore. They’ll be two thousand miles apart, on opposite ends of the country, trying to catch each other between missed phone calls and busy schedules.

Jack must see the shift in her expression, because his brows pull together. He frowns at her.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he teases gently, brushing his thumb under her eye. “We’ll be okay.”

Samira gives him a wobbly smile through her tears. “I know. But still.”

He sighs and scoops her up, carrying her out of bed like she weighs nothing. The morning drifts by in a haze of quiet touches and lazy conversation, both of them pretending the clock isn’t moving. Because she walked to his house last night, he drives her home, where half‑packed boxes wait like reminders of everything she’s about to leave behind.

They spend the day packing. He sleeps over on her bare mattress, not caring that they look like broke college students, limbs tangled under a single blanket. The next morning, they rise with a shared heaviness neither of them tries to hide.

He loads her stuff into his truck, then drives her to the airport. On the way, he detours to the hospital so she can grab the things she left behind in her locker during her panicked exit. Walking through the ED at his side, she feels every pair of eyes land on them, each one looking pleasantly surprised, eyebrows raised just enough to make her want to laugh. Jack only rests a steady hand at the small of her back, guiding her toward the lockers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She says her last goodbyes, accepts a few tight hugs, and pretends not to notice the knowing looks being exchanged behind her.

Back in the truck, she stares out the passenger window, recalling the phone call to McKay—how she’d told her she wouldn’t need a ride after all, dodging every nosy question. As melancholy as it is to be leaving, she’s secretly delighted that Jack will be the one dealing with the gossip and not her.

At the airport, Jack carries her luggage and insists on paying to check her bags. She tries not to cry. She fails. He wraps her in a tight hug, arms trembling around her.

“I’ll be here,” he murmurs into her hair. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

“I know,” she whispers, mouth wobbling. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, baby.”

Samira bites her lip, then blurts, “I love you. I’m sorry—I know the timing isn’t ideal, but it’s true, and I can’t leave without telling you.”

Jack’s smile softens, eyes shining with his own unshed tears. “You never read the entire letter, did you?”

Her mouth falls open. “I—no. I read the first line and came straight to your house…”

She digs through her carry‑on, pulling out the ripped envelope stuffed beside her laptop. She starts to slide the letter free, but Jack places a hand over hers, stopping her.

“Wait,” he says quietly. “Read it on the plane.”

Her breath catches. “Jack…”

He just shakes his head, thumb brushing her knuckles. “Go,” he jerks his head toward the entrance. “Before I make this harder for both of us.”

They kiss one last time—soft, lingering, full of everything they don’t have time to say. Tears escape from her eyes, slip down her cheeks and between their joined mouths, salty and warm, and Jack pulls her tighter against him, kissing her with a kind of desperate intensity, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of her before she’s gone. His hands tighten at her waist possessively, like he doesn’t want to let her go, his whole body leaning into her as if every instinct in him is begging him not to let go.

For a moment, she feels him hesitate—his breath catching, his grip tightening, his resolve wavering.

But eventually, he forces himself to pull away. He breaks the kiss away only when breathing becomes a necessity, resting his forehead against hers, eyes squeezed shut like the separation physically hurts. 

Samira takes a shuddering inhale, her chest trembling

“Go,” he says again, gentle but firm, the word sounding like it hurts him to say it. Like he’s telling her and himself at the same time.

Samira steps back, sniffling as she nods, then forces herself to turn toward TSA, heart pounding against her ribs. Two steps from the sliding doors, something in her cracks. She looks back.

Jack is leaning against his truck, shoulders slumped in a way she’s never seen before. When he notices her watching, he straightens just enough to give her a small, downturned smile and lifts a hand in a quiet wave.

She lifts her hand in return, throat tight, then turns away for the last time—leaving Jack, and Pittsburgh, and her old life behind her.

Hours later, somewhere above the clouds, Samira finally pulls the letter from the envelope. Her fingers tremble as she flips open the torn flap, the envelope worn and creased from sitting in her bag.

She takes a deep breath and slides the card open.

By the time she reaches the last line (and wipes a few tears), she’s staring out the plane window, the world shrinking beneath her, her future stretching out in front of her like a horizon she’s not sure how to navigate.

But for the first time, she doesn’t feel alone in it.

She folds the letter back into the envelope and slips it into her bag, fingers lingering on the flap for a moment before she lets it go. A chime sounds overhead, and the pilot’s voice comes through the speakers, asking passengers to fasten their seatbelts for departure.

Samira adjusts her neck pillow, settles back into her seat, and closes her eyes. For the first time in days, her shoulders loosen. The weight she’s been carrying finally eases, just enough for her to breathe. 

Somewhere ahead, a new life is waiting. And for the first time, she feels ready to meet it.