Arizona had been planning this for months.

Between surgeries and hospital politics and the general chaos of being Chief of Pediatric Surgery, finding time for volunteer work wasn’t easy. But she’d finally carved out her Saturday afternoon, loaded up her car with supplies, and driven across town to Sunshine Children’s Home.

The name had given her hope. The reality was… less encouraging.

The building was old, paint peeling in places, with that particular institutional smell that spoke of too many kids and not enough resources. The director, Mrs. Chen, had greeted her with the kind of grateful desperation that made Arizona’s heart ache.

“Dr. Robbins, thank you so much for coming. We haven’t had a proper medical assessment for most of these children in over a year.”

A year. Arizona had smiled and nodded, but internally she was already cataloging everything that could go wrong with a year of deferred medical care.

Now she was set up in what used to be a supply closet, her portable exam equipment arranged on a folding table, trying to make the cramped space feel as welcoming as possible. She’d brought stickers—lots of stickers—and her brightest smile.

The first few kids had trickled in with their caregivers, and Arizona’s professional assessment was troubling. Missed vaccinations, untreated ear infections, signs of malnutrition that spoke to stretched resources rather than neglect.

But these were kids, and kids deserved magic, even in less-than-magical circumstances.

“Alright, who’s ready for the most fun checkup ever?” Arizona announced to the small group gathered outside her makeshift exam room, her voice carrying that particular blend of enthusiasm and authority that made even scared kids curious.

Time to be Dr. Sunshine.