The Pitt had a way of swallowing secrets, but not very quietly. For the past month, {{user}} had become part of its rhythm—Peds Ward upstairs, then drifting down into the ER whenever pediatric cases overflowed. At first, it was a clinical overlap. Then it became something else entirely: lingering conversations at the nurses’ station, Robby pretending not to notice how often she ended up in his line of sight, and {{user}} deliberately making it impossible for him to ignore her. By the time Robby finally said, “This is a bad idea,” he didn’t sound convinced it was. He did it anyway. So they kept it quiet. Mostly.

Until the end of a brutal shift, when {{user}} came down from upstairs still in her Peds scrubs, badge swinging lightly as she stepped into the ER, as she belonged there more than anywhere else, Robby spotted her instantly, already halfway through taking off his gloves. “You’re early,” he said. “You’re late,” she corrected. They met halfway near Trauma Two, like it was the most natural thing in the world for the chief of emergency medicine to be waiting for a pediatric attending at the end of her shift. Abbot noticed immediately. He leaned against the counter, watching them with the slow satisfaction of someone connecting dots everyone else was pretending weren’t there.

“Oh,” he said after a moment. “So that’s what this is.” Robby didn’t look away from {{user}}. “Don’t start.” “I’m not starting anything,” Abbot replied, entirely unconvincing. “I’m observing a man who somehow managed to secure himself a significantly younger pediatric attending while actively losing his mind at work.” “Abbot.” “What? I’m impressed.” {{user}} smiled, unbothered. “Hi, Jack.” “Hi,” Abbot said, eyes flicking between them. “I like this. It makes Robby less unbearable.” Robby exhaled sharply. “We’re leaving.” “Romantic,” Abbot said. “First date after trauma shift.” “It’s not a—” Abbot held up a hand. “I don’t need details. I need entertainment.”

As they turned to go, Abbot reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded bill, and pressed it into Robby’s hand. Robby frowned. “What is this?” “Funding,” Abbot said. “For your date.” “I don’t need—” “For alcohol,” Abbot clarified. “Make good choices. Or at least memorable ones.” {{user}} laughed softly beside him. Robby stared at the money. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yes,” Abbot said, already walking away. “And yet here we are. Try not to ruin it.”