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“You gonna sit, Mohan?”
Dr. Abbot’s eyes were still on Robby’s retreating form when Samira turned to him. She considered the vacancy left by Robby for only a moment, before letting her body collapse down onto the bench beside the other attending. For the first time all day, her chest heaved with a sigh, ribs straining to contain the expansion of her lungs.
“Atta girl. Take a load off.”
She looked over at Abbot from beneath her lashes, not wanting to get caught staring. Samira’s world was admittedly quite small these days, and, before today, Abbot has been a distantly orbiting planet. Interesting in theory, but passing by so infrequently she had never had much chance to consider him at length. From beneath her lashes, she found he was already watching her, though. She dropped her pretenses and watched him right back.
He was more relaxed than she had ever seen him, spine curved in a slouch, thighs (nice thighs, her brain supplied) spread, right foot planted. His prosthetic rested on the bench beside him. She wondered if his amputation sight was sore, wondered if he was meant to be elevating it after such a long day.
The corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptible, drawing her attention back to his face. He didn’t seem to mind her scrutiny, reveled in it, even, if his steady grey gaze was anything to go by. He lifted his beer, taking another swig. Samira mirrored him, the beer cold and comforting on her tongue, washing away the bad taste of the day. It earned her another almost smile.
“You did excellent work today, Dr. Mohan. You should be proud.”
Her smile was automatic (residents never, never shirked the praise of an attending and her reflexive acceptance was well honed), but then turned genuine, when the weight of his words settled over her.
Did he stare at everyone like this? she wondered. He had been genuinely nothing but an excellent attending today. More than excellent, really. Assertive, supportive, encouraging, demanding. There was something she couldn't put her finger on, though, an undercurrent to his interactions with her that kept snagging her attention. Pleasantly surprised by her, maybe. She hoped.
She thought of his gaze when she was standing with the pigtail catheter in hand, Walsh at his back acting like Samira had shot the man on the table herself. Not that Samira blamed her, not in the least. Abbot did not waver, not for one second, his confidence buzzing through her veins like he had drilled an IO into her to inject it into her himself. Solid work , he had said, eyes so intent on her it felt borderline inappropriate.
“Thanks.” She paused, not sure how honest she should be. Abbot was an attending (not even her attending) and she was just a third year resident. His eyes still searched hers, as if he already knew she had more to offer. “Sometimes… Well, it's hard to tell some days if I’m doing this whole thing right.”
Around them, the rest of the group had resumed conversations amongst themselves, quiet murmurings in familiar voices that helped drop Samira’s blood pressure further. She glanced over at the others, but no one was paying them any mind. They were just another attending and resident debriefing about their shift.
Turning his intense gaze away from her, he took another sip of his beer, nodding, waiting a beat before responding. “There's no one right way to do this job, as much as Robby tries to make it so. You have to find what works for you. You have to find a reason. Some days, it's harder to find that reason.”
Her head felt a little fizzy, like someone poured a seltzer inside it. She pressed the cold can of the beer to her wrist, trying to ground herself. Instead, a low buzzing started in her ears.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
She averted her gaze, finding his earnest frankness too disarming now. Only one breakdown in the bathroom after a fifteen hour shift from hell seemed like a pretty decent track record, all things considered.
Abbot was looking at her again, expectant, when she turned to answer. She ignored the way her limbs felt like they might start floating away from her body.
“I…” she started, considering her words, letting the day replay through her thoughts.
Which was a massive, no good, very bad mistake. Vivid images slammed through her thoughts.
“Gun! He’s got a gun!” Her body falling to the floor automatically, an entire childhood of active shooter drills controlling her limbs, waiting for the searing pain or, worse, darkness, to meet her body.
The blare of machines warning the doctors moving frantically through the pit that someone was dying.
Robby’s frantic chest compressions on Leah’s spent body.
Her hands, covered in blood-
“Mohan?”
This time, when she tried to breathe, her throat tightened, clogging around nothing except her own terror. She heard the jagged sound of her inhale, her vision going blurry. Her lip wobbled, trying to contain whatever was clawing its way out of her again.
“Hey,” Abbot’s voice dropped, she felt him shuffle closer, take the beer out of her hand. Without anything to hold, her fingers began trembling. “Mohan, stay with me now.”
Samira stared straight ahead, unseeing through the blur in her eyes. Her chest got tighter and tighter, as she struggled for breath. The buzzing in her ears got louder and her teeth began to click together in a chatter. She clamped her jaw shut, trying to contain it.
“Samira?” a voice floated through the air across from her, laced with concern.
She should have replied, should have assured Mateo that she was fine. Someday, she was supposed to lead a department just like this, she was supposed to be relied on to carry all the staff through stressful events. But she couldn't even breathe around the lump in her throat, let alone speak.
“I've got her,” came a steady reply beside her. “I'm going to take your hand, Mohan, ok? It’s just a little panic attack, nothing you can't handle.”
Her head twitched, trying to nod, but all her muscles were locked in a tight clench. A panic attack, of course. Her blood pressure spiking had made her head feel fuzzy, made her limbs tingle. The buzzing in her ears, also easily explained. She couldn’t believe she’d missed the signs, or that they’d come on so fast.
A warm, calloused hand picked hers up, grasping it firmly.
“You listening, Mohan? Follow my lead, easy now. In for four, hold for four, out for six. You know this, you can do it.”
She squeezed at his hand, the only part of her body that felt safe to move, the only part of her that didn't feel liable to crumple and embarrass her if she yielded an inch of control. Abbot's own grip squeezed back immediately, the stiff skin of his callouses against her knuckles.
“Good, good. I'm here with you, ok?” He shifted closer, and she felt the fabric of his shirt brush against her arm. “And I’m not going anywhere. With me, Mohan, in through your nose for four, three, there you go, one…”
A shaky breath managed its way through her nose, through the tightness in her throat, loosening her chest ever so slightly.
“Good, now hold it for four, three, two, one…”
She held the air inside her, the warmth of Abbot’s hand in hers tethering her to reality. When was the last time someone had held her hand? she wondered hysterically. When was the last time she had been held at all?
“Out through your mouth now, unclench your jaw, good, six, five, four, all of it Mohan, two, one…”
A tear streaked down her cheek, the smallest relief. A moment later, her throat was open again, letting her swallow, finally. Her body was tempted to gulp down air, but Abbot pressed on, not allowing her to fall into hyperventilation.
“There she is. In through your nose again, four, in Mohan, good, two, one…”
They continued for three more cycles, until Samira could finally blink, the tears that had stolen her vision escaping down her cheeks in retreat, dropping onto her hoodie.
“Fuck, I’m so…” she hissed, voice cracking, dashing at her cheeks with her free hand, while trying to free her other hand from Abbot’s grasp.
He held firm.
“Ah, none of that. No self-pity tonight, Mohan. Do these people look like they pity you?”
Through watery eyes, Samira looked back at her coworkers. Princess and Mateo had risen to their feet, poised to move forward if needed. Donahue had his hand out towards Javadi, keeping her at bay. Javadi, her huge brown eyes fixed on Samira, had a bottle of water in her hand, half extended.
“Happens to all of us,” Princess offered gently, retreating some, stooping to pick up her stuff. “On that note, I’m out of here. Might need to have my own breakdown. The rest of you coming?”
Mateo and Donahue didn’t hesitate, gathering their own things, following their head nurse’s orders instinctively. Javadi was a little slower, eyes catching on Mateo, before glancing back to where Abbot still held Samira to the bench.
“You too, Javadi,” Abbot encouraged. “Dr. Mohan will be just fine.”
Would she be okay? Samira thought. How was she ever supposed to be okay, if this was going to be her life? No friends outside the hospital, no love life to speak of, a constant fear that this would all be taken away from her after she had worked so hard.
Another tear, hot and fat, tracked down her face. Again, she tried to extract her hand from Abbot’s grip, but he tsked at her under his breath.
“Get home safe,” he urged their colleagues, who trailed away, following the sidewalk away from the hospital.
Once they were out of ear shot, the full force of Abbot’s attention was back on her. “You need to cry? Scream? Yell at something? You gotta let it out, Mohan, or it will eat you alive.”
“Let me go ,” she whined, petulant, yanking at her hand. Finally, he released her, and she shot to her feet, hands covering her face first, then into her hair, pulling at it.
Abbot stayed on the bench, watching her, hands loose at his sides, waiting.
“I already did ,” she confessed finally. “I already cried, I thought I was fine , I’m supposed to be in control. Not whatever the fuck ,” she gestured at herself, “this is. Maybe Robby is right, maybe I’m not cut out for this-”
“Mohan.” It was gentle, and it made her mad .
“No, no, I know the attendings all talk about it. I know I’m Slo Mo ,” she spat out the nickname she knew they all called her behind her back. “I’m a third year and I have the patient turnover rate of Javadi-”
“Mohan.” This time he was sterner, some of his attending voice slipping in, but it only loosened her tongue further.
“This is all I have . I have worked my whole life for this and it isn’t enough -”
“ Samira .”
She froze, body locking up.
“Take a breath, would you?”
She did, the shock of her given name making her compliant.
“First of all, fuck Robby, ok?” Her head snapped to where Abbot still sat, still looking at her. “Yeah, he’s my friend, so I can say that. He’s got a lot on his plate, and he’s doing his best, but sometimes that’s not enough. So, fuck him, for the purposes of this conversation.”
A cool breeze over her lips made her realize her mouth parted, gaping at him.
“Second of all, sure, you probably should get your patient turnover rate up, but you also have the lowest readmission rate, and the highest satisfaction rating, of anyone in the whole hospital. You are a miracle to your patients, Mohan.”
She tried to ignore the disappointment that he had reverted to her surname. She was so rarely called by her first name these days, so rarely afforded the familiarity of it, and Abbot had said it like it meant something.
“You are your own doctor. You have to be able live with the way you choose to practice. Not Robby, not me, not even Gloria. It’s on your conscience. If that means you’re a little slower, who gives a damn.”
He shifted, reaching for his prosthetic, slipping it back on. He held her in his gaze the whole time, hands working blindly with an easy confidence. Once it was secured, he stood. He didn’t approach her, just shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Lastly, if I ever catch you saying you are not enough again, I’ll make Robby put you on night shifts for a month and give you every single norovirus case that walks through the door. Do you understand? Nothing but puke and shit for a month. No ortho, no surgery, no cardiac embolisms,” he had the audacity to smirk at her, as if the pigtail catheter was now an inside joke between them. “Nada. You hear me?”
Samira could only nod dumbly at him.
“Good. You gotta keep this,” he tapped the side of his head with his index finger, “in line. It will hijack your life so fast, if you let it. Convince you of things that are patently untrue.”
He bent to pick up his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. “You are a great doctor, Mohan. You will be a great attending, someday. I’m sorry that you’ve forgotten that today, that nobody has reminded you of that, but you’ll get it back.”
They stood like that, Abbot calmly watching her, again , for what must be the four hundredth time that day, Samira staring back, slightly breathless.
“Come on, Dr. Mohan, let’s get you home. Walk? Bus? Car?” Gesturing with a tip of his head, he began leading her the direction their colleagues had all gone.
“Bus.”
They walked in silence, a strange cocktail of emotions swirling through Samira. Abbot, for once, seemed content to neither look at her nor speak. She knew because she kept stealing glances at him out of the corner of her eye.
When they reached her bus stop, she assumed he’d give her a wave and head off to… well, wherever it was Jack Abbot came from. To her surprise, though, he simply came to a stop next her, like this was a perfectly ordinary evening for either of them.
“Oh, you don’t have to…” she started, but a wave of his hand cut her off.
“It’s late. For my own peace of mind, I’ll just wait with you, make sure you get out of here in one piece. I won’t be able to sleep yet, anyways.”
Samira acquiesced, and they fell back into a companionable silence.
When the bus pulled up, she finally looked at him again. Unsurprisingly, his eyes were already on hers. “Thanks, Dr. Abbot. For… everything.”
“Try to get some sleep, Mohan.”
Her feet didn’t move right away, her body held in his orbit. The side of his mouth twitched, a small little smile, like he was pleased with her. What for, she had no idea.
“ Go , Mohan. I’ll see you around.”
She boarded the bus, muscle memory reaching for the overhead rails so she didn’t stumble as it moved forward. As she walked to a seat, her and Abbot were briefly still across from each other, each of her steps keeping pace with the slow crawl of the bus as it tried to accelerate. On the other side of the glass, Abbot stood still, watching, gaze unwavering, until she fell out of sight.
That night, when Samira closed her eyes, a steely stare played back and forth on the back of her lids, keeping watch until she drifted off.