Archive of Our Own ^beta

Morning briefing usually told Santos exactly how the rest of the day was going to go.

Today, for example, Robby was smiling.

Not enough that anyone would comment on it. Not enough to cross into unprofessional territory. Just enough that the permanent crease between his eyebrows had eased, like he’d slept sometime in the last twelve hours, or someone had told him they weren’t disastrously understaffed.

That meant the shift would probably be tolerable. Barring any crazy shit happening like Pittfest, or a repeat of the time a storm knocked out the power and the backup generators took an hour to kick in.

Santos noticed because she always noticed the small things. It was a survival skill. And because, lately, Robby smiling in the morning had started to feel less like luck and more like a pattern.

Dr. Abbot was still at the central hub when she arrived, midway through his handoff. He was leaning across the counter, standing closer to Robby than strictly necessary—arms folded, voice pitched low. Santos couldn’t hear the words, only the cadence, steady and familiar. Robby nodded along, pen tapping absently against his small notebook, posture loose in a way Santos had learned not to expect from him.

Robby rarely let himself look that relaxed. He hadn’t yesterday. Not the day before, either. Nor on mornings that didn’t begin with Dr. Abbot doing the handoff.

When Dr. Abbot finally straightened, he smiled—slow, deliberate—and said something that made Robby exhale a quiet laugh. Not a polite one. A real one. Then Abbot turned and disappeared down the hall, army backpack slung over his shoulder.

Santos filed the moment away.

She’d been collecting moments like that for a while now. Not long enough to call it a fully-fledged theory yet, but long enough to know there was something there.

Robby cleared his throat and clapped his hands once. “Alright. Morning briefing.”

The room shifted into place. Santos took her usual spot, eyes still on him. She wondered if anyone else noticed that he looked lighter than usual, like the ED hadn’t been grinding him down quite as hard.

He ran through staffing assignments, reminders about charting, and shot Whitaker a pointed look about PPE compliance. Then, like it had only just occurred to him, he added, “Oh. One more thing.”

A few heads lifted.

“The annual PTMC charity auction is coming up,” Robby said. “About a month from now.”

There were murmurs. Someone groaned quietly.

“The hospital will be auctioning dinner dates again,” he continued. “All proceeds go toward facility improvements. This year it’s earmarked for pediatrics.” He paused. “We usually have one male and one female physician from each department. Volunteers are preferred.”

Santos watched his face. He didn’t look thrilled. He never did when it came to mandatory hospital social events, especially the ones disguised as fun.

Mohan raised her hand. “I’ll do it.”

Robby’s smile this time was open and genuine. “Thank you, Samira. I appreciate that.”

He glanced around the room. “Anyone from the male sector feeling equally charitable? You’d be making my life significantly easier.”

Silence.

Not even a fake cough. Not even Whitaker pretending to consider it.

Dana, who had been leaning against the counter with her coffee, raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you volunteer, Cap?”

A few heads turned.

Robby blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Me?” He let out a short laugh. “This is a charity auction. The point is to raise money.”

Dana hummed. “And?”

“And that requires someone people will actually bid for,” Robby said easily. “I’m doing pediatrics a favor by staying out of it.”

Dana studied him for a beat, unimpressed. “You know that’s not true.”

Robby smiled at her, fond and dismissive. “Agree to disagree.”

He waited, like maybe that exchange would inspire someone else to step up.

It didn’t.

Robby lingered a second longer than necessary, eyes sweeping the room like he was giving them one last chance to save him.

Santos almost felt bad.

Almost.

“Well,” Robby said at last, resignation creeping into his voice, “if no one’s volunteering—Abbot it is. Like always. He’ll be pleased to know he’s still the most desirable male physician in the ED.”

That earned a few quiet laughs.

Santos didn’t join in.

Robby’s posture shifted as the room started to break apart, shoulders squaring as he slipped back into work mode. The smile faded, tucked away like something he didn’t think he was allowed to keep.

Oh.

That was interesting.

So announcing that Dr. Abbot was being auctioned off had knocked him out of his good mood. That didn’t bode well for the rest of the shift, but it was interesting nonetheless.

Santos frowned, her thoughts already circling the pattern.

The days Robby snapped at people more easily and sighed through consults. The days he didn’t. The days he ordered food for the department and let the little things slide. The days he smiled without seeming to notice he was doing it.

Those days lined up—almost perfectly—with Dr. Abbot’s night shifts.

Abbot on meant at least one handoff. Sometimes two if he was working consecutive shifts. So that meant twenty minutes together, give or take.

And apparently, that was enough. Enough to make Robby softer. Kinder. Lighter.

Santos exhaled slowly.

If twenty minutes of Dr. Abbot could do that, then having him around more consistently could only help. Robby deserved more than scraps of good mood carved out between shifts.

Santos wasn’t under any illusion that Dr. Abbot moving permanently to days was an option. But Robby seeing him more outside of work was feasible. That was actionable.

It would be good for morale. Patient care, too—probably.

More importantly, Santos had never been particularly good at minding her own business when something clearly needed intervention.

And Robby clearly needed help. Anyone with two functioning eyes could tell he was head over heels for Jack Abbot. Santos was also fairly certain it was mutual. The chemistry between them was so obvious it bordered on a workplace hazard.

The auction announcement echoed in her head, neat and promising. She’d worked with less and made it work.

Santos didn’t smile.

But she did start planning.

Santos kept a low profile for the day. Sure, most of the time trouble found her, not the other way around, but now that she was dead set on getting their Chief Attending a date, she didn’t want to give Robby a reason to suspect her of anything.

So she observed. Watched. Considered who would be the best team to initiate the plan.

She was more than certain that pretty much everyone on their shift would be in. Santos was also confident she could get Garcia on board (not that it took much to convince her own girlfriend—Santos could be very persuasive when needed), and Ellis from the night shift. Having those two would help them pull in more people from surgery and nights, respectively.

But for now, she’d start with a smaller pool. The usual suspects.

Santos texted the group chat that had been created for off-work hangouts.

Santos: drinks tonight after shift. mandatory.
Donnie and Mateo liked this message

Mel: ??

Huckleberry: define mandatory

Santos: you’re coming huckleberry
Huckleberry reacted with an eye roll emoji to this message

Crash: i’ll come if you promise me i’ll be home by 9 pm
Crash: my mom will kill me if i get home later than that

Mohan: you can count me in. i feel like a drink

Everyone was in.

Well. Mel left it a bit of a mystery, but she did show up by Santos’s locker, bag slung over her shoulder, like she was ready to leave.

“I need to be done by eight,” Mel said, adjusting the strap. “I have to pick up Becca.”

“Sure,” Santos replied. “I promise it won’t take long. I just suggested drinks because it’s something that needs to be discussed off PTMC property.”

Mel nodded and went to check on Mohan.

They all left together. It would’ve been more suspicious if they didn’t—after all, their group chat wasn’t called after shift shitfaced for nothing. And sure, they mostly stuck with beers in the park across the street, but they went to a proper bar at least once a month.

Mel and Mohan walked ahead, talking quietly, Javadi trailing behind them like a lost puppy. Donnie and Mateo hung back, arguing about something Santos assumed involved odds. Whitaker stayed close, eyeing her suspiciously.

“I just want it noted,” he said, “that I didn’t agree to whatever this is.”

“You’re walking to the bar,” Santos said. “That’s participation.”

“It’s not,” he said. “You’re my ride home.”

Santos threw a syrupy smile his way.

“Still counts.”

The bar was close enough to the hospital that no one had bothered changing, far enough that it didn’t smell like antiseptic. They slid into a long booth together, familiar and unceremonious, like this was just an extension of the shift instead of a deviation from it.

Drinks were ordered—non-alcoholic for Javadi, since she was still under the drinking age, and for Mel, because she didn’t like the taste. Bags ended up in a pile under the table.

Glasses arrived. Condensation dampened the table. The noise settled into something manageable.

Mel was the first to look at Santos directly, fingers wrapped around her glass. Not impatient. Just expectant.

“Okay,” she said. “You didn’t ask us all here for no reason.”

Mateo leaned back, already grinning. “I’m calling it right now that this is about the auction.”

Donnie perked up. “Please tell me this is about the auction.”

Mohan smiled into her drink. “I assumed it was.”

Santos sighed. “You’re all unbearable.”

Whitaker frowned. “That’s not a no.”

She leaned back against the booth. “You’ve all noticed the shift goes smoother on certain days.”

Mel nodded without hesitation. “Yes.”

No sarcasm. No elaboration. Just agreement.

“Specifically,” Santos continued, “days that start with a handoff from Dr. Abbot.”

Donnie laughed, nearly sloshing his drink. “Is this you saying Robby’s nicer to everyone when he talks to Abbot first thing in the morning? Because, yeah. We know.”

“There’s a whole betting poll about them,” Mateo added, like that settled it.

“Even my parents have commented on it,” Javadi confessed.

Mel frowned slightly, thinking. “I thought it was because Dr. Abbot’s thorough. Fewer surprises carry over.”

Santos tipped her head. “That’s part of it.”

“But not all of it,” Mohan said, setting her glass down.

Santos smirked. “Exactly.”

Mel hesitated, then asked carefully, “You think… it’s personal.”

“I think,” Santos said, choosing her words, “that Robby looks like someone who is noticeably happier when Abbot is around. And noticeably less so when he isn’t.”

Mel absorbed that, eyes unfocused for a second.

“Okay,” she said slowly.

Whitaker looked between them. “I feel like I skipped a chapter.”

“The auction,” Santos said. “Dr. Abbot’s getting auctioned whether he wants to be or not. Robby said so.”

“Oh, he likes it,” Mateo said. “They usually leave him for last because even Gloria knows he’s the one who brings in the big bucks.”

“But that is not why we’re here, right, Santos?” Donnie leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Someone’s going to win that dinner.”

“Yes,” Santos said. “And I think it should be us.”

“In Robby’s name,” Mohan said, like it was obvious.

Mel’s brow furrowed again. Not skeptical. Careful. “Would Dr. Robby be okay with that?”

“If he isn’t,” Santos said, “then we raffle the dinner between us. No one’s going to force anything on them.”

Mel considered that, thumb tracing the rim of her glass. “The money still goes to charity.”

“Exactly,” Santos said. “Think of the children.”

That did it.

Mel nodded once. “Okay. I’m fine with that.”

Mohan smiled. “If it gets Robby off my back more often, I’m sold.”

Donnie lifted his glass. “This is going to be expensive. Joanne from HR goes feral every year over Abbot, and even the donors bid on him.”

“I can think of a few people who might want to get in on this,” Mateo said, already pulling out his phone. “I’m sure we can get enough money to win the auction.”

Whitaker let out a long sigh. “I’m surrounded by people who should not be allowed to make plans together.”

“You don’t have to do the bidding,” Santos said. “You’re just morally implicated by donating to our little fundraiser.”

Javadi, who’d been quiet for a while, spoke carefully. “As long as no one’s embarrassed.”

Santos met her eyes. “That’s the whole point. We bid on Dr. Abbot for Robby and tell them both after it’s done.”

Mel pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Dr. Robby deserves something good,” she said. “Even if he doesn’t realize that yet.”

That felt right.

Santos watched the table as drinks disappeared and the idea settled. No resistance. No convincing. Just quiet agreement.

Good.

She hadn’t dragged them here to persuade anyone.

She’d dragged them here because she already knew they’d help.

Santos decided Dana was the logical next step.

If they were going to pull this off without Robby catching even a whiff of it, they needed someone who understood both the department politics and the people involved. Someone who knew when to push, when to redirect, and when to pretend she hadn’t seen anything at all.

Dana checked every box.

Whitaker did not look reassured by this logic.

“Once again,” Whitaker said as they lingered near the charge desk, waiting for an opening, “I just want it on record that I did not volunteer for this part.”

“You did,” Santos said. “When you decided to go out for drinks with the rest of us to discuss the whole plan.”

“You were my ride home,” he hissed. “That’s not how consent works.”

She glanced at him. “Relax. I’ll do the talking. You’re here for accountability.”

“I’m here so that when this goes catastrophically wrong, I can say I warned you.”

“That’s still accountability.”

Whitaker sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Can you at least ask her not to fire me?”

Santos blinked. “Why would she fire you? Dana doesn’t have that kind of power.”

He stared at her. “Dr. Robby does. And Dana is the only person he’s afraid of. And in case you’ve forgotten—you’re trying to secretly raise a small fortune to buy our boss a date with another attending.”

“For charity and morale,” Santos said.

“That is not the reassuring detail you think it is.”

Dana was at the computer, scrolling through some labs, glasses perched low on her nose, phone pressed to her ear. They waited until she hung up before approaching. When she looked up, her gaze flicked between them once before settling into something amused and alert.

Dana looked up. “Why do I feel like this conversation is about to be interesting?”

“Because it is,” Santos said.

Whitaker muttered, “Debatable.”

Dana smiled faintly. “Go on.”

Santos leaned her elbows on the counter and lowered her voice. “We’re thinking of running a small fundraiser.”

Dana’s eyebrows lifted. “For?”

“The auction,” Santos said. “To bid on Dr. Abbot.”

Dana studied them for a moment. “And why would you do that?”

“It’s for Dr. Robby.”

Dana didn’t interrupt, which Santos took as a good sign.

“We think Robby and Dr. Abbot are in love with each other,” Santos continued, like this was obvious. “Or at least… interested in exploring each other’s bodies? I don’t know—I don’t really want to think about that part in detail. But their chemistry is palpable.”

Whitaker winced. “This is the part where I start sweating.”

“And,” Santos continued, ignoring him, “Robby is noticeably easier to work with on days he sees Dr. Abbot. If he were happier more consistently, that would objectively improve morale.”

Dana stared at her.

Then she laughed.

Not loudly. Not enough to draw attention. But enough that Whitaker physically flinched.

“Oh,” Dana said. “Oh, this is excellent.”

Whitaker groaned. “That’s not reassuring.”

Santos brightened. “So you agree?”

Dana nodded, still smiling. “Wholeheartedly.”

Whitaker rubbed his face. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“We’re not forcing anything,” Santos said. “If Robby hates the idea, we drop it. If someone else outbids us, that’s fine too. The money still goes to charity.”

“When this backfires,” Whitaker said, resigned, “can you please vouch for me and tell Dr. Robby I was coerced into helping?”

Dana didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”

Relief washed over his face. “Thank you.”

Santos frowned. “Why do you keep assuming this will backfire? Even Dana agrees this is a good plan.”

Dana smiled. “I don’t mind easing Whitaker’s guilty conscience.”

Santos chose to ignore that.

Dana folded her arms, clearly entertained. “You’re keeping this quiet, right?”

“Very,” Santos said. “Well, I mean—Robby can’t know, but we were gonna try to get as many people as possible to chip in.”

“Makes sense,” Dana said.

Whitaker squinted. “You’re being extremely calm about this.”

Dana met his eyes. “I’ve worked here a long time. I’ve seen and heard a lot more crazier shit than your plan.”

Santos took that as reassurance.

“We were also thinking of speaking with Garcia and Ellis,” she said. “Pull in surgery and nights.”

Dana hummed. “Smart.”

Whitaker glanced between them. “You’re really okay with us secretly funding a date for our boss.”

“It’s for charity,” Santos rolled her eyes.

Dana tilted her head fondly. “I understand the premise, Whitaker.”

Relief settled in Santos’s chest. “So you’ll help?”

“Yes,” Dana said. “I’ll support the fundraiser. I’ll keep things discreet. I’ll make sure no one does anything stupid.”

Whitaker let out a breath. “Thank you.”

“Will you donate?” Santos asked. They might as well start collecting now.

Dana shook her head immediately. “No.”

Santos blinked. “Why not?”

Dana smiled, amused in a way Santos didn’t fully understand. “I’m not spending my own money to pay for my friends to go on a date.”

“It’s for morale,” Santos said.

“And charity,” Whitaker added.

“I support both,” Dana said. “Just not financially.”

Whitaker snorted.

Santos frowned, but nodded. As long as Dana helped with the fundraiser, that was half the battle won.

“Fine,” she said. “Support is enough.”

Dana smiled. “You’ll have plenty.”

Santos straightened. “Okay. Then we’re doing this.”

Whitaker sighed. “We’re really doing this.”

Dana watched them turn to leave, her expression still warm, still entertained.

“Try not to traumatize anyone,” she called after them.

“No promises,” Santos said.

Whitaker muttered, “I’m updating my résumé.”

Santos ignored him.

They were officially committed now.

Once Dana took over collecting, the fundraiser stopped feeling theoretical.

Dana didn’t rush it. She helped spread it out, slow and careful, over the better part of a month. Nothing flashy. Nothing traceable. No single conversation that could be overheard and stitched together into something incriminating.

Santos respected the restraint, even if it went against every instinct she had.

Her role was still outreach: quiet conversations, well-timed enthusiasm, and knowing exactly who to approach and how.

Perlah and Princess were also indispensable from the start.

They never asked questions Santos wasn’t prepared to answer, and they never spoke about it in English when they didn’t have to. Santos could switch to Tagalog mid-sentence the second Dr. Robby came within range, and they’d nod along like she was complaining about cafeteria food or supply shortages.

Midway through the month, Santos almost blew everything.

She was halfway through a low-voiced pitch to Princess about some of the nurses’ contributions when Dr. Robby’s voice came from directly behind her.

“Santos, you here?”

She jumped so hard she nearly dropped the tablet she was holding.

“Yes, Dr. Robby,” she said, pivoting smoothly, like she hadn’t just been whispering in Tagalog about fundraising logistics.

Robby squinted at her. “Why are you sweating?”

Princess didn’t miss a beat. “She ran here,” she said easily. “From chairs.”

Santos nodded emphatically. “Running. Very bad for me.”

Robby studied her, eyes narrowing. “Weren’t you a gymnast?”

“That was,” Santos said carefully, “a while ago.”

He held her gaze for another second, like he might say something else. Then his phone went off. He glanced down, sighed, and the moment passed.

“Carry on,” he said, already turning away.

He walked off still looking slightly suspicious. Santos waited a full thirty seconds before exhaling and slumping against the nearest counter.

Princess leaned closer. “That was close.”

“Too close,” Santos muttered.

Collins took long to convince.

Santos approached her carefully, with Mohan present like a human shield. Collins listened with her arms folded over her stomach, expression flat and unimpressed.

“You want me to give you money,” Collins said slowly, “so you can buy Robby a date.”

“It’s also for charity,” Santos said.

“Not to mention that if Robby finally gets some, maybe he’ll stop riding us so hard,” Mohan added.

Collins raised an eyebrow. “I’m pregnant.”

“And this year’s auction money is going straight to pediatrics,” Santos said gently.

Collins stared at her for a long moment. Then she sighed and pulled out her phone.

“Fine,” she said. “But I’m capping it.”

“That’s completely fair,” Santos said. “We love a budget-conscious queen.”

Garcia—Yolanda—was different.

That conversation happened off the clock at Yolanda’s apartment, shoes abandoned by the door, the kind of quiet night Santos usually liked best. Takeout containers sat half-empty on the coffee table, forgotten in favor of each other.

Santos waited until they were relaxed, limbs tangled, Yolanda’s fingers warm against her skin.

“I need to ask you something,” Santos said, already leaning in.

Yolanda smirked. “You know you can ask me anything.”

Instead of asking, Santos kissed her—slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that promised follow-through. And she followed through. She let her hands and lips do most of the talking.

Only later—much later—when they were catching their breath in Yolanda’s bed did Santos finally explain the auction. Dr. Abbot. Dr. Robby. The theory. The plan.

Yolanda listened, eyes soft, thumb tracing lazy circles against Santos’s arm.

“You didn’t have to do all that just to get me to agree,” she said eventually, amused.

Santos blinked. “I know. I did it because I wanted to.”

Yolanda laughed quietly. She kissed Santos’s shoulder. “Of course I’ll help you. I don’t even care about Robby and Abbot’s love life—I just think it’s endearing when you get this excited about something.”

Santos groaned and buried her face in Yolanda’s neck. She was still working on being more comfortable with the lovey-dovey talk.

“Can you also maybe speak to other people in surgery?” she asked finally, because this was the important part.

“Sure,” Yolanda said. “I can handle that.”

Garcia donated. Then she donated again. Then she somehow convinced Walsh to donate, which Santos didn’t ask questions about because she didn’t want to know what promises had been made.

The fundraiser’s  numbers climbed steadily.

Ellis was last, by design.

Because Ellis was sharp, fearless, and her favorite hobby was fucking with Dr. Abbot. Also because this had to happen during shift change, when both Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot were already in the building, which made the whole thing feel like defusing a bomb.

Santos caught her by the lockers.

“I need a favor,” Santos said without preamble.

Ellis smiled slowly. “This already sounds illegal.”

“It’s not,” Santos said. “It’s… philanthropic.”

“I’m listening,” Ellis said, intrigued.

“You know you love messing with your boss,” Santos continued.

Ellis’s smile widened. “Go on.”

“Our whole shift thinks Dr. Abbot and Dr. Robby are deeply, catastrophically in love with each other,” Santos said. “So we’re buying Abbot at the auction. For Robby.”

Ellis stared at her.

Then she laughed. “Oh, this is deranged.”

“We’re doing it for purely selfish reasons,” Santos said. “Robby is noticeably nicer when he sees Dr. Abbot during handoff. Prolonged exposure should help in the long run.”

“And you want my help,” Ellis said.

“Yes.”

Ellis didn’t hesitate. “I’ll talk to Shen. And the rest of nights. They’ll eat this up.”

“Dana’s the one collecting,” Santos added.

Ellis snorted. “I’ll be discreet.”

A few days before the auction, Dana approached her. And by approached, she meant Dana stopped beside her, pretended to study the board while Santos charted, and spoke without looking at her.

“We can stop collecting,” Dana said.

She passed Santos a small piece of paper so discreetly it could have been a scene from a spy movie, then walked off before Santos could even lift her head to reply.

Santos checked the number once.

Then again.

They had collected just a little over $17,800.

Enough to compete. Enough to win. Enough to make Joanne from HR and the donors sweat.

She slid the paper into her pocket, heart pounding, and looked up just in time to see Dr. Robby laughing during handoff with Dr. Abbot before the latter took over—shoulders loose, expression warm.

Santos smiled to herself.

They had this in the bag.

By the time Santos handed over her ticket for entry, she was already vibrating with nervous energy.

Technically, buying a ticket to the hospital charity gala counted as a donation, which meant their whole group had paid twice: once into Dana’s carefully managed pot, and again for the privilege of attending the auction itself in formal attire while pretending this wasn’t all a very elaborate scheme.

Dana was there, of course, looking stunning. So were all the department leads, a handful of familiar faces from surgery and other floors, and enough hospital administration to make the air feel faintly judgmental. The rest, Santos assumed, were donors.

Robby had been forced to attend in his capacity as department leadership.

That much was obvious from the look on his face when Santos spotted him near the bar.

He was wearing a suit. A real one. Tailored, pressed, unmistakably expensive in the way that suggested it only ever came out for weddings and funerals.

It wasn’t that he looked bad. He didn’t. Even Santos—a lesbian with standards—could admit that objectively.

It just felt… wrong.

Like someone had taken a familiar object and rearranged it slightly. Robby in scrubs made sense. Robby in hoodies made sense. Robby in a suit felt like the universe experimenting.

She nudged Mel with her elbow. “Does it feel illegal to see Dr. Robby in a suit, or is that just me?”

Mel squinted thoughtfully. “I think he looks nice.”

“Nice,” Santos agreed. “But unsettling.”

Mel hummed. “He does look like he keeps forgetting what to do with his hands.”

Robby did, in fact, look like he’d briefly considered shoving them into his pockets and then remembered that suits probably came with rules.

Across the room, Dr. Abbot was having the opposite problem.

He looked infuriatingly at ease.

Dr. Abbot in a suit should have violated some kind of policy. It fit like it had been chosen with intent—jacket open, posture relaxed, drink in hand. He was holding court near the cocktail tables, laughing easily, speaking with donors like this was exactly where he belonged.

Santos watched as two donors leaned in a little closer while he spoke.

Of course he was charming. Of course he was flirting. Santos would have been more surprised if he wasn’t.

Whitaker appeared at her side, already on his second drink. “He’s going to bankrupt us.”

“We’re not bidding against him,” Santos said. “We’re bidding for him.”

“Exactly,” Whitaker muttered. “He’s charming everyone here, and some of these people can absolutely afford to drop twenty grand on a whim.”

Cocktail hour did exactly what it was designed to do. People mingled. Donors circulated. The auction items—vacation packages, art pieces, restaurant experiences—were quietly hyped by staff with practiced smiles.

The doctors being auctioned drifted through the room with just enough subtlety to keep things tasteful.

Mohan looked stunning and entirely unbothered, chatting easily with donors who were very clearly sizing her up as an excellent investment.

Santos caught Robby watching her at one point, pride softening his expression.

Then, inevitably, his gaze drifted.

Back to Dr. Abbot.

Santos watched a woman from orthopedics touch Abbot’s arm as she laughed.

Robby noticed too.

The shift in his expression was subtle, but Santos caught it: the tightening at the corner of his mouth, the way his gaze lingered a second too long before he looked away.

“Is he jealous?” Javadi whispered.

Mel considered. “I think so.”

Santos wholeheartedly agreed, which only cemented this whole plan as an excellent idea.

Robby chanced another glance.

Dr. Abbot had moved closer, saying something low that made the woman laugh before stepping away. When he caught Robby looking, he smirked.

Robby looked away immediately, cheeks turning an alarming shade of red.

Santos nearly choked on her drink.

Dinner followed. Speeches were made. Pediatrics was praised. Santos clapped when appropriate and whispered commentary when not.

Finally, the lights dimmed just enough to signal the shift, and the auctioneer took the stage. By the time they reached the physicians, the room was warm with wine and anticipation.

“Tonight, we’ll be presenting our physicians by department,” he announced. “Ladies first, followed by their male counterparts.”

Most of the doctors went for solid amounts, but none passed the eight-thousand-dollar mark. Good. That meant they had room to maneuver when it mattered.

Yolanda was up next, representing surgery. She winked at Santos as she passed their table.

Santos instinctively reached for her paddle.

Donnie slapped it down. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s for charity,” Santos protested.

“She’s your girlfriend,” Whitaker hissed. “You already have her for free, and we need that money for Dr. Abbot.”

Yolanda sold just shy of eight thousand, and Santos had to actively suppress a pout as she watched her girlfriend charm the man who’d bought her.

Emergency Medicine came last.

“From the Emergency Department,” the auctioneer said, smiling, “Dr. Samira Mohan.”

The bidding started strong.

Then it kept climbing.

Great for pediatrics. Less great for their remaining budget.

Dana met Santos’s gaze from across the room and raised an eyebrow, calm as ever.

Mohan sold for over ten thousand, the first of the night to break the mark. Robby beamed, leaning in to say something that made her smile as she returned to her seat.

Then the auctioneer cleared his throat.

“And finally, also from the Emergency Department…”

The room shifted.

“…Dr. Jack Abbot.”

Abbot stepped up like this was exactly where he belonged.

He smiled into the microphone, said something charming, and the first bid came immediately. Then another. And another.

Santos’s pulse kicked up.

The numbers climbed faster than she liked.

A woman Santos was pretty sure was Joanne from HR jumped in early. A guy from surgery followed. Then someone Santos didn’t recognize raised their paddle with a confident flick of the wrist.

Santos raised hers as well.

Whitaker did too.

So did Mel.

So did Javadi, hand shaking slightly.

Robby turned toward them, baffled, why are you bidding written all over his face.

The bidding tightened. The room hummed.

Abbot scanned the crowd, amused, clearly enjoying himself. His eyes caught on Robby.

Robby looked away, choosing instead to stare in bewilderment at his underlings bidding on the love of his life.

Santos raised her paddle again.

Joanne from HR upped it.

Santos didn’t hesitate and raised it again.

The auctioneer paused, savoring the tension. “Any further bids?”

Joanne from HR glared at their table, but she didn’t raise her paddle again. Which was good, because Santos had just offered pretty much their entire budget on that last bid.

“Well, then. If there’s no further bids…” The gavel came down hard. “Sold to number seventeen!”

The applause hit first.

It rolled through the room in a warm, roaring wave, louder than it had been for anyone else that night. Whitaker’s hand clamped onto Santos’s arm like she might bolt.

They’d won.

They’d actually fucking won.

Their table erupted. Mel gasped. Whitaker swore. Javadi clutched her glass. Mateo and Donnie cheered.

Dana lifted her glass in a subtle toast. Mohan looked so very proud. Perlah and Princess whispered excitedly in Tagalog.

Dr. Abbot smiled from the stage, still unaware he was about to become a logistical nightmare.

Robby looked like reality had tilted sideways.

“I’ll ask the winning bidder to join us on stage,” the host said.

The spotlight swung towards their table.

“Oh absolutely not,” Whitaker hissed, shielding his face.

For the first time, Santos hesitated. All of them should go—they’d all contributed—but none of the traitors moved, and the pause was stretching. Someone needed to meet Dr. Abbot on stage.

So she stood.

Her legs felt strangely light as she made her way toward the stage, heels clicking against the polished floor, applause following her like a living thing. She could feel Robby’s stare from across the room before she saw him—sharp, disbelieving, already suspicious in that way that meant he knew something was wrong but hadn’t yet figured out what.

Dr. Abbot turned when she reached the steps, amusement lighting his face.

“Well,” he said, leaning down just enough to be heard over the noise, “this is unexpected.”

She took his offered hand, steadying herself as she stepped up beside him. “You clean up nice, Dr. Abbot.”

“Careful,” he said lightly. “Buy me dinner first.”

The host laughed, gesturing for them to face the room. “Dr. Abbot, congratulations. Looks like you’ll be spending an evening with—”

“Dr. Trinity Santos,” she supplied into the mic.

Abbot glanced at her again, his grin sharpening, and kissed her hand.

“You know, if you wanted to switch to nights, you really didn’t have to butter me up like this. I’m always happy to steal good staff,” he whispered, clearly amused.

Santos smiled, small and deliberate.

“Oh,” she said, pitching her voice just for him. “This wasn’t just me.”

His brow creased. “It wasn’t?”

She leaned in, just enough to make it conspiratorial. “We have plans for that dinner.”

The smile he’d been wearing froze—only for a second—but Santos saw it. Saw the moment something clicked sideways in his head.

“We?” Jack echoed.

Before he could ask anything else, the host was already thanking them, ushering Santos back down with another round of applause. Jack stayed onstage a beat longer, gaze tracking her retreat, thoughtful now instead of playful.

Santos didn’t look back.

She slid into her seat amid quiet chaos.

Javadi stared at her like she’d committed a felony. “What did you say to Dr. Abbot? His face changed all of a sudden.”

“I told him we,” she gestured to the whole table, “had very specific plans for his dinner.”

“You are going to get us all killed,” Whitaker muttered, glancing over at Robby’s table.

Across the room, Robby was no longer pretending not to watch.

He hadn’t stood. He hadn’t clapped. He was sitting very still, jaw tight, eyes locked on Santos like she’d just detonated something in his living room.

Dana appeared at her side. “You did great.”

“I think Robby’s going to murder me,” Santos said faintly.

Dana smiled serenely. “Eventually. But not publicly.”

The host returned to the microphone, tapping it once. “And that concludes tonight’s auction. Thanks to all of you—we’ve raised just over a hundred and seventy-four thousand dollars for pediatrics!”

The room erupted.

Mohan let out a sound that might’ve been a sob or a laugh. Santos clapped along, heart pounding, adrenaline still buzzing in her veins. That was a lot of money. Enough to matter. Enough to justify everything.

Robby didn’t clap.

He stood instead, murmured something to the attending beside him, and disappeared toward the bar as the crowd shifted into after-party mode.

Dr. Abbot followed.

Santos stayed put, eyes tracking them across the room—Dr. Abbot leaning in, posture casual, Robby stiff as a board, hands tight around a glass he wasn’t drinking from.

Whatever Abbot said, Robby’s head snapped up.

His eyes went wide.

The cat was out of the bag. He knew something was up.

“I think,” she said carefully, “we should probably go tell Robby we bought Dr. Abbot for him.”

She took a sip of champagne, mostly to give her hands something to do.

“He looks like he’s going through something.”

They didn’t let Santos go alone.

That much was decided the moment she stood. Whitaker rose immediately, like he’d been bracing for impact, followed by Mel and Javadi. Mateo and Donnie trailed after them, beers in hand, and Mohan drifted in last, wineglass raised slightly like she was settling in for a show.

Robby clocked them before they were halfway there.

He looked exhausted already.

Dr. Abbot, meanwhile, was leaning comfortably against the bar, posture loose, one hand wrapped around a glass he was very much drinking from. When he spotted Santos approaching with what looked like half the Emergency Department, his smile widened into something like anticipation.

“Well,” he said easily, “here comes the cavalry.”

Robby shot him a look. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

Jack shrugged. “You told me yourself something weird was going on.”

Robby grimaced. “You told me Santos implied they were all in on it.”

“I did,” Jack said, unrepentant. “I felt that was relevant.”

Santos stopped in front of them and folded her arms. “Okay. So. You both clearly know something’s going on. We were not subtle.”

“That’s one word for it,” Robby scoffed.

Dana appeared at Santos’s shoulder like she’d been summoned, arms folded, lips twitching. Santos took that as permission.

“So,” she said, planting her feet. “Before you freak out—”

“I don’t freak out,” Robby said automatically, earning a snort from Abbot.

“—we should explain,” Santos finished.

Abbot’s gaze flicked over the assembled group, amused. “I’m all ears.”

Robby looked at Santos. “I just don’t understand the angle.”

There it was. Not accusation. Not anger. Just confusion.

Santos took a breath. “There isn’t an angle. Not the kind you’re thinking.”

Robby’s eyes narrowed. “Then explain why my entire department spent an unholy amount of money to buy a dinner date with Dr. Abbot.”

“For you,” Santos said.

The words landed cleanly.

Robby froze.

Dr. Abbot blinked slowly, and then let out a low laugh. “Oh.”

Robby laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. “No.”

“Yes,” Santos said.

Silence stretched.

Abbot straightened, interest sharpening into something focused. “You bought me,” he said carefully, “for Robby.”

“Correct,” Santos said.

Abbot shifted toward Robby now. “Okay,” he said slowly. “This just got better.”

Robby dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t understand why you’re all so invested in my personal life.”

Mel tilted her head. “You’re happier when Dr. Abbot is around.”

Javadi nodded quickly. “Like… measurably.”

Robby looked back at the group. At Santos, who was vibrating with nervous sincerity. At Whitaker, who looked ready to flee the country. At Mel, who was smiling softly, like this was simply a kindness. At Dana, who was enjoying this far too much.

“That’s not—” Robby stopped, exhaled, and tried again. “That doesn’t mean you get to meddle in my—” he gestured helplessly between himself and Jack, “—whatever this is.”

Dana stepped in smoothly. “It kind of does, actually. Your mood sets the tone for the shift.”

Robby stared at her. “Dana.”

“They came to me first,” she said cheerfully. “And I approved.”

“You approved,” he repeated.

“For morale,” Dana said. “For pediatrics. And because we care about your wellbeing, which very obviously includes your love life.”

Robby flushed.

Dr. Abbot, who had been watching this unfold with undisguised delight, leaned an elbow on the bar. “For the record,” he said, “I’m extremely flattered.”

Robby glared at him. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely,” Abbot said. “I thought we’d already gone over this.”

Santos pressed on before Robby could combust. “We’re not forcing anything. If you don’t want it, we’ll eat the loss. The money still goes to charity.”

Robby looked like he was seriously considering that option—but Abbot turned fully toward him now, all charm and confidence, performance dialed just enough to make Robby’s ears go pink.

“So,” he said lightly, “I would love to take you out to a fancy dinner. On the hospital’s dime.” He leaned in, voice dropping. “It’s practically irresponsible not to say yes after all the money they spent on me.”

Robby stared at him. “You’re not helping.”

Jack winked. “I’m helping myself.”

Dana cut in. “I think you should go.”

Robby stared at her. “Of course you do.”

“Free dinner,” Dana said. “For a good cause. And if you say no, you’ll devastate them.” She nodded toward the group. “Look at their faces.”

Santos did not bother hiding her hopeful expression.

Robby sighed, defeated. “This is what peer pressure feels like.”

Dr. Abbot leaned in, voice low. “Charitable peer pressure.”

A beat.

Then Robby nodded. “Fine.”

Abbot’s smile widened. “Fine?”

“Yes,” Robby said, resigned.

The group reacted instantly.

Mel beamed.

Whitaker muttered, “Thank god.”

Javadi let out a breath she’d clearly been holding.

Mohan grinned like this was better than cable.

Abbot’s gaze softened when he looked at Robby, teasing, giving way to something warmer. “Say yes properly. They earned it.”

Robby huffed a reluctant laugh. “Yes. I’ll go to dinner with you, Jack.”

Dr. Abbot grinned. “Excellent. I expect you to dress as nicely as today.”

Santos finally relaxed, satisfaction settling deep in her chest.

They still didn’t know how their date was going to go.

But watching Robby fail to hide his smile as Abbot leaned a little closer, Santos was pretty sure they’d just pulled off a minor miracle.

Robby hadn’t realized just how fancy the restaurant was until they were seated.

Jack had told him to wear a suit, but Robby had assumed that was just Jack being Jack—not because the place actually demanded it.

White tablecloths. Low lighting. The kind of restaurant where the menus were heavy and the servers spoke softly, like loud voices might shatter something delicate. It was expensive in a way that made Robby instinctively straighten his spine and keep his hands folded neatly in front of him.

Jack, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease.

Of course he did.

“You clean up nicely,” Jack said once they’d ordered drinks, his gaze dragging slowly over Robby in a way that made his pulse stutter. “It’s so rare to see you all dressed up I almost forgot how much I like this look on you.”

Robby glanced down at himself, tugging once at the cuff of his sleeve. “You’ve seen it recently. I wore it at the auction.”

Jack laughed. “That’s because it’s your only suit.”

Robby shot him a glare. “It is not.”

Jack leaned back in his chair, utterly delighted. “It absolutely is.”

Robby opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. Closed it again. Jack’s grin widened.

“Don’t worry,” Jack said. “It’s my favorite.”

“Because I look nice?” Robby asked, already knowing the answer and immediately regretting the question.

Jack’s gaze turned unapologetically warm. “Because I love taking it off you,” he said easily. “And because it looks very good on our bedroom floor.”

Robby flushed so hard it felt like it reached his hairline.

“Jack,” he hissed, glancing around the restaurant like someone might arrest them for public indecency.

Jack laughed, soft and pleased. “You’re adorable.”

“I am not,” Robby muttered.

Jack leaned forward, lowering his voice. “You still get shy when I flirt with you,” he said, fond and amused. “After all these years.”

Robby stared into his glass. “We’re in public.”

“Well, that’s true,” Jack said mildly. “You’re never shy when we’re alone. Especially when our days off coincide.”

That earned him a sharp look. Jack only smiled wider.

Dinner arrived, grounding Robby just enough to breathe again. He stared at the plate for a second, then took a bite—and immediately closed his eyes.

Jack watched him with open amusement. “That good?”

Robby swallowed, and reopened his eyes. “It tastes better when Gloria’s paying.”

Jack laughed, delighted. “I knew you’d appreciate that.”

“I know the hospital is technically paying,” Robby said. “But let me have this.”

Jack waved a hand. “No complaints from me.”

Robby huffed a quiet laugh, the last of his stiffness melting as the evening settled into something easier. Jack looked good across the table, suit jacket shrugged off, sleeves rolled just enough to remind Robby exactly how distracting he could be. He looked almost as delectable as the food in front of him.

For a while, they talked about neutral things—work, the food, a shared disdain for hospital fundraising committees. But eventually, the thought Robby had been circling all evening surfaced.

“This is… really nice,” Robby said. “But I feel bad.”

Jack paused. “About?”

“About this,” Robby gestured vaguely between them—the table, the restaurant. “Dana told me pretty much everyone from ED and even surgery chipped in for the auction. They think they… set us up.”

Jack watched him carefully. “And that bothers you.”

“Yes,” Robby said immediately. “They think seeing you more often will make me happier. Go easier on them. They basically implied that.” He huffed quietly. “They don’t know we’ve been together for years. They think they’re the reason this is happening.”

Jack reached across the table, fingers brushing Robby’s knuckles. Not holding—just there.

“We could tell them,” he said lightly.

Robby stiffened. “Tell them?”

“That we had a good date,” Jack clarified. “That it was worth the effort.”

Robby blinked. “That’s not telling them the truth.”

Jack shrugged. “It’s not lying either.”

Robby considered that, but the unease lingered, a tight knot just under his ribs.

“They still think I’ll be in a better mood if our shifts don’t align.”

Jack’s eyes gleamed.

“I’ll make sure your mornings start right,” he said. “We can do a different kind of handoff, at home. No effort required on your part.”

Robby huffed a quiet laugh despite himself. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

Jack squeezed his hand once. “I enjoy you.”

That did it. The last of Robby’s resistance gave way.

He relaxed back into his chair, letting the warmth of Jack’s presence do what it always did—steady him.

“Happy anniversary,” Jack said softly.

Robby smiled, small and genuine. “Happy anniversary.”

Jack lifted his glass. “To free dinners.”

Robby clinked his against it. “And nosy colleagues.”

Jack grinned. “Especially them.”

Robby watched him across the table, heart full, and thought that maybe it wasn’t so bad to let other people believe they’d helped something beautiful begin.

Later—much later—they made it home.

Robby barely had time to set his keys down before Jack’s hands were on him, familiar and warm, tugging him closer. The kiss was unhurried and affectionate, carrying the weight of years and the quiet thrill of celebration.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I love seeing that suit on the floor,” Jack murmured against his mouth.

Robby smiled into the kiss. “Then get busy. It won’t get off me by itself.”

Jack laughed, hands sliding to his waist, guiding him toward the bedroom with practiced ease.

Robby didn’t resist.

After all, he had a shift in the morning—and he needed to be in a good mood.