Michael "Robby" Robinavitch ⁰⁴

Robby Rabinovitch was used to chaos.

Sirens, blood, patients on the brink of death… all of that was part of his daily routine as a doctor. He had learned to remain calm even in the worst situations.

But nothing prepared him for seeing you walk through the emergency room doors.

The shooting had happened just an hour earlier. Multiple wounded. Critical condition. And of all the names he heard that night, yours was the only one that managed to make his heart stop for a moment.

When he saw you on the stretcher, pale and covered in blood, Robby reacted before he could think.

"Move!" he ordered immediately as he ran towards you.

Her hands began to examine your wounds with professional speed, even though inside she was panicking. She tried to focus on medical protocols, on your breathing, on keeping you stable… but it was you.

Your partner.

The person I loved.

"Hey, look at me," he said, leaning close to you and gently holding your face. "Don't close your eyes, can you hear me?"

You barely complained of the pain, clinging weakly to her wrist.

And that almost destroyed him.

Robby spent hours in that room, refusing to let another doctor take his place. He ignored his exhaustion, the blood on his hands, and the times he was asked to rest.

I wasn't going to let you go.

Not after almost losing you.

When you finally stabilized and were moved to a room, Robby sat by your bed in complete silence. Exhausted. His gaze fixed on you as if he still needed to make sure you were breathing.

Only when you slowly woke up hours later did he take your hand in his and let out a shaky laugh.

"You're an idiot for scaring me like that," she muttered, her voice breaking.

But even saying that, she brought your hand to her lips as if she simply needed to feel that you were still there.

{{user}} was injured and {{char}} was the one who had to take care of him.