Chapter Text
Samira hated dressing up. She was a jeans-and-tank-top girl. Always had been. Wearing dresses prevented her from climbing trees, racing the boys at recess, and playing doctor and patient with her siblings in the backyard after school (she was always the doctor, obviously). But Dr. Robby had encouraged her to go to this stupid hospital gala tonight.
“No, Dr. Mohan, you’re not working a double,” he’d said seven hours earlier. “The Wounded Veteran Hospital Gala is tonight, and I told you—if you’re interested in a fellowship at the VA hospital like you said you were, you need to go, shake some hands, and network. Besides, it always looks good for our team to have some faces there representing the Pitt crew.”
“Robby, you just said yesterday the only people who go to those things are ass-kissing residents and tenured doctors whose only joy in life is the sound of their own voice.”
“Exactly,” he responded, without looking up from his computer. “You’ve been on for seven days in a row. Go have some fun, meet some new people, and don’t drink and drive. I’m on the night shift tonight, and I don’t want to have to treat you for a skull fracture later.”
“I’ll think about it,” she responded bitterly. “I’m not making any promises.”
Yet here she was. Seven hours later. All dressed up and sitting at a table alone because she had shown up 25 minutes early. Like a loser. She had worn the prettier of the only two dresses she had in her closet. It was black satin, a floor-length sheath cut with spaghetti straps and an open back—something she’d worn to her cousin’s wedding the year before. She had attempted an updo at home, but it had halfway fallen out as she pulled into the parking lot, so she decided to just take it out and rock her curls free from the prison that was bobby pins.
As she sat at the table, she mentally reviewed each patient she’d seen that morning, thinking about any mistakes she might have made.
Almost administered too much naloxone to the overdose patient. That was a good catch. Shouldn’t have talked for so long to the man with the gallstones. I knew Robby was there and I’m trying to be faster around him, but I still think we should have—
“How’d you get dragged into this?” A familiar voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
She looked up to see Dr. Jack Abbott standing next to her table with that mischievous half-smile he sometimes gave her. He was wearing a white collared shirt, unbuttoned down to his collarbone, a dark grey suit jacket, and blue dress pants. He looked handsome as hell, but without a tie, he seemed noticeably more casual than the rest of the men in attendance.
“Dr. Abbott!” she exclaimed, after staring at the wisp of chest hair poking out of his shirt a second too long. “I didn’t expect to see anyone else from the Pitt crew here tonight!”
“Well, I have some friends from the VA here who roped me into coming, but I doubt I’ll stay long. I want to stop by the hospital and make sure the crew’s doing alright. I heard on the police scanner there was an apartment building fire on 5th, and who knows how many are injured.”
“Aren’t you off today?” Samira questioned.
“When has that ever stopped me? Or you for that matter?” He winked at her as he pulled out the chair next to her and sat down.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said with a smile. “How’d you get dragged into this?”
His eyes drifted down to her lips, then to her collarbones—almost imperceptibly—before snapping right back up to meet her gaze as he waited for her reply.
“Oh, you know,” she said, shyly looking away from him. “Dr. Robby’s encouraging me to network and get out, meet new people, in preparation for applying to a fellowship at the VA hospital. Although…” she gave a soft shrug, “I’ve gone to two of these things in the last month and haven’t made many new connections.”
Abbott nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I know how that can be. Especially as a resident—it’s hard to break the ice with groups of doctors and surgeons who’ve known each other for years.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel like a secret. “Well, how about this: I’ll go grab us each a glass of champagne, and then I’ll introduce you to my buddy, Dr. Castillo. He’s a great guy—did three tours and is super passionate about his team at the VA. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to meet a smart, compassionate, and determined resident like you who’s interested in a fellowship.”
Samira felt her cheeks heat up as she nervously laughed at the flattery. Why did he always know exactly what to say to get this reaction out of her? She was a praise-driven person, and Dr. Abbott was never one to shy away from giving a compliment.
“That would be great! I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“Something tells me you won’t need much,” he said, before pushing up from his seat and heading toward the open bar.
The moment his back was to her, she dove for her purse and pulled out the small vanity mirror she’d brought to check her teeth for spinach before talking to the chief of surgery at the VA hospital—a mistake she had made last time. She was pleased to find that the slight sweat from her nerves had given her face a dewy glow, and the blush had made her cheeks look rosy and flushed. She had opted for only mascara tonight—no eyeliner—but the natural makeup complimented her curly mane of hair and the small diamond earrings her mom had given her as a gift when she graduated from med school.
“Enjoying the view?” she heard Dr. Abbott’s voice say right next to her again—just before she screamed and dropped the mirror into her lap.
“How do you do that?” she asked, scooping up the mirror and setting it back in her purse.
“Uh, do what?” he said, handing her a glass of champagne and taking the seat next to her—this time scooting it three inches to the left so that when he sat down, their legs touched.
“Sneak up on me like that?”
He let out a breathy laugh and took a large sip of his champagne.
“It’s easy to do with you. You know, for a doctor, you’re not very observant.”
“Hey!” she said, lightly slapping his arm. “I am too!”
He laughed again and looked down at the table.
“Okay, maybe you are. Just… not when it comes to me.”
He met her gaze for a brief moment, then looked away, scanning the room as he took another long sip from his glass.
Was he nervous?
“So—” he said after a beat, “doesn’t look like Castillo is here yet, but… ah! There’s Dr. Xiong. He’s the Director of Cardiology at the VA hospital, and I think he’s on the board of admissions for fellowship applicants. Let’s go tell him you’re interested and—”
“What? No!” Samira interrupted.
He looked back at her with a mix of shock and confusion. “What do you mean? I thought the whole reason you were here was to network with doctors from the VA?”
“Yes, but I can’t just go up to them and say I’m interested in the fellowship. It has to come up organically. Or I have to impress them so much with my conversation that they’ll bring it up—and it’ll seem like their idea.”
Abbott's brow furrowed in amused confusion as he stared at her.
“Samira—Dr. Mohan—you have to be more assertive than that. You can’t wait for things to come to you. They’re going to get a stack of paper submissions from residents all over the country. All that matters is that they have a face to put to the name when your application comes up.”
“I am assertive,” she snapped back. “I just don’t want to appear needy—or like I’m begging for it.”
“Nothing wrong with begging for it now and then,” Abbott replied, smiling into his champagne glass before downing the remainder.
She barely had time to process what he’d just said before he was on his feet, pulling her up out of her chair and guiding her toward a group of doctors gathered near the buffet.
“Dr. Xiong! Long time no see. You’re not bored of cardiology yet? Ready to get back into EM?”
“Jack Abbott,” the man said with a laugh. “I heard you had a nervous breakdown and quit the ER to become a dog groomer. Sorry to tell you, I’m a cat man myself.”
“Haha. Good to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor, sitting up in your cozy office at the VA all day.”
Samira watched the exchange with amusement—and was suddenly very aware that Abbott hadn’t let go of her hand.
“So, Abbott, what brings you here tonight? Did you lose a bet or something? You never show up to these things.” Dr. Xiong had stepped away from his group to face them now, eyebrows raised in mock surprise.
“No, I came to introduce my top resident to Dr. Castillo, actually,” Abbott replied smoothly. “She’s made an incredible impression on everyone in the Pitt, and I’m trying to convince her to apply for the fellowship open at our hospital. She’ll make a hell of an attending one day. Dr. Ken Xiong, this is Dr. Samira Mohan.”
“So nice to meet you,” Samira said with a polite smile, still in shock at how effortlessly Abbott had managed that introduction.
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Mohan,” Dr. Xiong replied with a warm, kind smile. “Although I have to tell you—we have an incredible fellowship program at the VA. You should consider applying there instead. I’m sure you’re sick and tired of Dr. Abbott and Dr. Robby, so no sense in staying in the ER with them.”
“Oh, excuse me for a minute,” Abbott said suddenly. “I see an old colleague I should say hello to. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He stepped past Samira, the flat of his palm lightly brushing against her back as he went—and it sent the most delicious shivers down her spine.
She chatted with Dr. Xiong for ten or fifteen minutes, listening to his war stories and how he transitioned into a career in cardiology. And in that moment, she realized Dr. Robby had been right about at least one thing: doctors did love the sound of their own voice.
Eventually, she excused herself to get another glass of champagne and found Abbott at the bar, alone, smiling at her as she approached.
“Where’s your colleague you simply had to say hello to?” she asked in a playfully mocking tone.
“No colleague,” Abbott replied. “Just wanted to give you a chance to talk to Dr. Xiong. How’d it go?”
“It went good, I think!” she said, practically buzzing. “He talked to me a little about the residency program there, and the fellowship, and I feel like he’ll actually remember me if I apply. I can’t believe how good you are at that!”
“Good at what?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You managed to introduce me and get him to bring up the fellowship without making me look desperate,” she said. “You saved me so much time and stress. Thank you so much, Dr. Abbott. Let me buy you a drink to say thank you!”
“It’s an open bar, kid,” he replied with a smile as he leaned in closer to her. “But what the hell. I’ll take a whiskey, neat.”