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Samira Mohan doesn’t think she’ll ever be marked. Her parents weren’t and they are happy enough. It all seems silly to her anyway, Prince Charming running after Cinderella because he saw a mark on her foot that matched his or Snow White’s prince thinking it was alright to kiss her unconsenting, sleeping mouth because of the apple on her collarbone that matched the one on his hip.
or
The one where they're soulmates.
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Bookmarked by if_only
29 Sep 2026
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"So you gonna tell me why your head is bleeding?" she asked softly as she shone the light in his eyes.
"Fell," he mumbled. "Head hit the bar on the way down."
"Oh, so you were at a bar? I'd never have guessed," she said dryly. "And did it hurt anywhere else when you fell?"
"Dunno"—he shrugged—"Did it hurt when you fell?"
"When I fell?" she said, confused.
"Yeah," he smirked, eyes sleepy. "From heaven."
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OR: Samira Mohan treats a familiar patient.- Language:
- English
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Bookmarked by if_only
21 Sep 2026
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“Do you always do that?” Santos asks, spinning mindlessly on a stool.
“Do what?” Mohan, sounding only half-interested, doesn’t look away from the case study that Jack had sent her less than a day ago and that she’s been reading for the last 15 minutes.
Jack glances over from his tablet just in time to catch Santos waving her finger at Mohan’s sitting figure, but he’s not quite sure what she’s gesturing at.
“Y’know. Match upstairs and downstairs.”
—
or, samira has a habit of matching her undergarments. jack notices. - confessions while under the influence for #mohabbottropefest
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Bookmarked by if_only
21 Sep 2026
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“I don’t want to go home,” Samira says quietly.
Jack’s expression softens. “A meal then. Or at least a drink. Something to wind you down.”
She studies him for a long while, too emotionally wiped for propriety as she takes him in, and he lets her, patient as ever. Waits her out in the way that only he knows how.
Sure enough: “I could go for a drink.”
“Lefty’s?”
“Your place?” she counters demurely.
—
It’s been a long couple of days and Samira needs a drink.
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Bookmarked by if_only
21 Sep 2026
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Jack’s finalizing handover with Robby at the hub when the call goes off. As with everything in the ED, signs of distress are met with a calm focus that lends itself to years of experience. The room doesn’t flinch. Jack looks at Dana, who casually looks up at the board and shoves her pen into her scrub pocket.
“I thought Mohan took Central 9.”
What follows is a chain reaction of events.
There’s a cry for help. It’s more like a scream and the sound of it is shocking enough to break through the controlled chaos of the department, because it’s not one of pain or grief; it’s terror. It makes the hair on Jack’s neck stand up as he jerks his head towards it, a hard feat for a man who has witnessed some of the worst things a person could imagine and lived with the PTSD of it. In that second, everything splinters. Jack’s feet are already moving towards Central 9, Robby and Langdon sprinting close behind. He spots Ahmad, running at speed across the corridor, and it’s the adrenaline that helps block the pain signals to his brain where his prosthesis meets his limb as his feet pound the floor.
Bookmarked by if_only
21 Sep 2026