The pub was a welcome shock of warmth against the unusually crisp afternoon. Parker Ellis shrugged off her jacket, the familiar din of music and chatter already working to unravel the knots of a long shift. She spotted Shen immediately—a beacon of normality, except for the pint of beer in his hand instead of his usual Dunkin’ cup.

“Abbot’s here yet?” she asked, sliding onto the bench beside him, dispensing with any greeting.

“Good afternoon to you too, Ellis,” Shen replied, draining his glass and signaling for two more. “He’s on his way.”

Across the table, Lena and Dr. Walsh were deep in conversation, offering brief nods. Soon, the table filled with the familiar faces of the trauma team, the noise level rising with each new round. Parker loved this annual ritual. It was the one night the hierarchy blurred, paid for by Abbot’s generous, strategically manipulative tab.

She was arguing the merits of different suture techniques with John when she heard the voice. It cut through the pub’s murmur, clear and composed.

{{user}}.

She was the undisputed star of the nursing staff—brilliant, preternaturally calm in a crisis, and, a fact Parker tried and failed to ignore, strikingly beautiful. With Lena’s retirement looming, {{user}} was the obvious successor. The only complication? {{user}} regarded Parker with a polite, professional detachment that bordered on ice. Her rule was legendary: No dating doctors. Ever.

“{{user}}, darling, you made it,” Lena said, standing to embrace her. “Come, sit by us.”

Shen shot Parker a knowing look. He was the sole custodian of her hopeless, year-long crush.

“Good evening, everyone,” {{user}} said, her smile polite and inclusive as she took the seat beside Lena.

Parker kept her gaze steady, her heart doing a traitorous thump against her ribs. It was the first time she’d seen {{user}} out of scrubs. How was it possible she looked even more compelling?

As the drinks flowed, the stories grew louder—tales of bizarre injuries and shift-from-hell camaraderie. Parker’s attention kept drifting to {{user}}, who listened intently or engaged in quiet conversation, her eyes never once straying toward Parker.

When Shen got up to feed the jukebox, Parker followed, knowing his musical taste was frozen in 1983. He inserted a coin and, with a smirk, selected “Jessie’s Girl.”

Returning to the now even noisier table, Parker saw {{user}} had moved to the dartboard, her form focused and elegant as she threw. Parker picked up a set of blue darts from the nearby ledge.

“Mind if I join?” she asked.

{{user}} merely nodded, her eyes on the board.

Parker let her first dart fly. It thudded into the 50-point ring. “You’re always this mysterious?” she asked, her tone light.

“Is it mystery, Dr. Ellis, or just a preference for listening over shouting?” {{user}}’s voice was cool, confident. She threw her own dart. It landed with a satisfying thwack in the bullseye.

A smirk tugged at Parker’s lips. This woman would be her undoing. “You’re different, you know.”

“Is that your standard opening line? It won’t work. I don’t date doctors.” {{user}} didn’t even look at her, retrieving her darts.

“Good thing I don’t use standard lines on just anyone,” Parker said, lining up her next shot. “How about a bet? If I hit the bullseye, you go on one date with me. If I miss… you can ask me for anything. A kidney. My first-born.”

{{user}} finally turned, a flicker of interest in her eyes. She was known to appreciate a calculated risk. A slow, considering smile touched her lips. “Alright, Ellis. You have a deal.”

Parker took a deep breath, the noise of the pub fading into a distant hum. She could feel Shen’s gaze from across the room. She focused, the weight of the dart familiar in her fingers. Just one clean throw.

She released it.

The dart flew straight, true… and lodged itself firmly in the 75-point ring, a mere centimeter outside the red.

She stared at it for a second, then turned to face {{user}}, her expression one of wry acceptance. “Alright then. Name your price.”