Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x OC! Nurse! Girlfriend!
Summary: the prompt
Warnings: harassment on the workplace, blood, broken nose, metal breakdown, therapy (i guess)
Word Count: ~1.5k
The first firework of the day went off somewhere outside the hospital just as Charlotte clocked in.
A dull, distant boom—muted by thick ER walls—rolled through the building like a reminder of everything they were missing.
Robby barely reacted beside her, already halfway into doctor mode, eyes scanning the board before he’d even fully stepped behind the desk.
“Happy Fourth,” Charlotte muttered dryly, tying her hair up.
“At least we’ll be miserable together,” she had said that morning, leaning against his kitchen counter, coffee in hand, watching him drag himself through another shift he didn’t want.
It had earned a laugh. A real one. Rare enough that she’d paused just to look at him.
Now, hours later, that moment felt like it belonged to a different lifetime.
—
The ER was drowning.
Not busy—drowning.
Every bed full. Hallways lined. Voices overlapping into a constant, grating noise that never quite settled. The air felt tight, like it had been breathed too many times already.
And underneath it all, something else lingered.
Tension.
Emma’s assault earlier had shaken everyone more than they wanted to admit. No one said it outright, but it clung to every movement, every interaction. Staff flinched a little easier. Security hovered a little closer.
Robby had buried himself in work.
Of course he had.
That was how he coped—by not coping at all.
Charlotte had noticed the way his jaw stayed locked, the way his tone had gone sharper with patients, the way he didn’t linger anywhere for more than a few seconds.
He was running.
She just hadn’t realized how close he was to breaking.
—
“Charlotte, can you go over to the waiting room to check on a guy? They say he’s probably about to pass out.”
Dana’s voice cut through the noise as Charlotte stepped back into the nurses’ station.
Charlotte didn’t hesitate. “Okay, sure.”
Anything to keep moving.
Anything to keep from thinking.
—
The waiting room hit her like a wall.
Louder. Hotter. Messier.
People talking over each other, kids crying, someone arguing with reception. The usual chaos—but amplified.
A man was already down on the floor, pale and barely responsive, nurses crouched around him trying to stabilize before moving him.
Charlotte moved toward them automatically.
Focus on the patient.
Always the patient.
But before she could reach him—
“Hey!”
The voice was sharp. Angry.
She turned just enough to see him—mid-fifties, red-faced, pacing too close.
“I’ve been here all evening and no one even came up to check on my kid! He says his arm might be broken and we’ve been here for hours!”
Charlotte kept her tone steady. Calm. Controlled.
“Sir, I know you’re tired of waiting, but there are people here in worse condition than a broken arm—”
“Yeah?” he snapped, stepping closer. “While you nurses go around being all soft-spoken instead of actually doing your job?”
There it was.
The edge.
Charlotte felt it—but didn’t let it show.
“Sir, I’m going to ask you to calm down.”
“Calm down?” His voice rose, sharp and ugly. “You stupid b—”
She didn’t even see the swing fully coming.
Just the movement—
And then—
Impact.
A sharp crack across her face.
Pain exploded instantly, blinding, disorienting. Her head snapped to the side as something warm started pouring down over her lip.
For a split second, everything went quiet.
Then chaos rushed back in all at once.
Voices shouting. Security moving. Hands grabbing the man, pulling him back as he struggled.
Charlotte staggered, vision blurring, breath catching wrong in her throat.
“Someone get Robby here, now!” Dana’s voice cut through everything.
Charlotte barely registered being guided—pulled—back into the ER.
“Dana, I’m fine, I swear—just a little blood—”
“You are struggling to breathe, Char. Let’s just check you out, okay?”
“I’m fine, just a little blo— ouch—”
“Yeah,” Dana muttered, already assessing. “Definitely broken.”
Charlotte let out a weak, breathy laugh that hurt more than it should.
“I swear… first Emma, now me… this place is cursed.”
“Only found out now?” she tried.
But her voice wavered.
Just a little.
—
By the time Robby heard, it felt like the world tilted under his feet.
“Hey, Robby—gosh, finally,” Dana said, spotting him.
He barely slowed. “What’s up? Heard you were calling me.”
“Charlotte was hurt—”
He stopped.
Completely.
“—wait, what?”
“Hey—easy,” Dana said quickly, hands up. “She’s alright. Just a broken nose. The dad of—”
“Where is she?”
“…Trauma 5.”
He was already moving before she finished.
—
He’d seen everything.
Gunshot wounds. Car wrecks. Bodies broken in ways most people couldn’t imagine.
None of it prepared him for this.
Charlotte.
On an ER bed.
Blood still staining her skin, gauze pressed under her nose, eyes just slightly too glassy.
For a second—just one—he froze in the doorway.
Then the doctor in him snapped back on.
“Robby, I swear, I’m fine—”
“What happened?”
His voice came out too cold.
Too controlled.
He stepped closer, already assessing—eyes scanning her face, her breathing, the swelling.
Girlfriend second.
Patient first.
“Guy got mad he and his son were waiting for hours,” she said, trying to keep it light. “Aimed straight for my face.”
“Did you do an X-ray?”
“Yeah. Broken nose, airways intact. Still hurts like hell to breathe.”
He nodded once, already reaching for gloves.
“Okay. Sit still.”
She watched him for a moment.
Really watched him.
“Robby…”
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t look up.
Just kept working.
—
It didn’t hit him all at once.
It came in pieces.
The swelling under her eyes.
The way her voice caught when she tried to breathe too deeply.
The faint tremor in her hands she was trying very hard to hide.
And then—
The blood.
Still there.
Still real.
Something in his chest cracked.
His hands stilled.
Just for a second.
“Robby?”
Her voice was softer now.
Careful.
That did it.
He exhaled sharply, pulling back, ripping the gloves off like they were suddenly suffocating him.
“I should’ve been there.”
The words came out low. Rough.
“What?”
“I should’ve been there,” he repeated, louder now, pacing once across the small room. “This—this is exactly what—”
“Hey,” she cut in gently. “This isn’t on you.”
“Yes, it is,” he snapped, turning back to her. “It is. Emma this morning, and now you? This place is falling apart and I’m—”
“And you’re what?” she asked, steady despite everything. “Doing your job?”
“That’s not enough!”
The room went quiet.
Charlotte blinked at him.
Robby dragged a hand through his hair, breathing uneven now.
“You could’ve—” he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. “I walked in and you were—”
He couldn’t finish.
Didn’t need to.
Charlotte’s expression softened immediately.
“Oh.”
There it was.
The real problem.
Not the broken nose.
Not the assault.
Him.
“What?” he asked, almost defensive.
“You were scared.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were,” she said gently. “Robby.”
He opened his mouth to argue.
Then closed it again.
Because yeah.
He had been.
Terrified.
The image of her on that bed—hurt, bleeding—had hit something deep and raw that he’d been ignoring for months.
Years, maybe.
He leaned back against the counter, running both hands over his face.
“I thought…” he started, voice quieter now. “For a second, I thought I was too late.”
Charlotte’s throat tightened.
“Hey,” she murmured, reaching for his wrist. “I’m okay.”
He let her take his hand.
Didn’t pull away.
But his grip tightened around hers like he needed to make sure she was actually there.
“I can’t do that,” he said.
“Do what?”
“This,” he gestured vaguely. “Act like it doesn’t get to me. Like I can just… keep going.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“That’s what you’ve been doing.”
“I know.”
Silence settled between them.
Heavy, but not uncomfortable.
Just… honest.
“I get it now,” he said after a moment. “What it feels like.”
“What?”
“The fear,” he said. “Of losing someone like that. Out of nowhere.”
Charlotte’s chest tightened.
“And I keep thinking…” he continued, voice dropping, “if I left—if I went on that sabbatical and something happened to me—this is what it would feel like for you.”
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
Because he was right.
He let out a shaky breath.
“I can’t keep pretending I’m fine,” he admitted. “I’m not.”
Charlotte squeezed his hand gently.
“Then don’t.”
He looked at her—really looked at her this time.
Not as a patient.
Not as a problem to fix.
Just… her.
“I’ll go,” he said.
She frowned slightly. “Go where?”
“Therapy.”
The word felt strange coming out of his mouth.
But he didn’t take it back.
“I’ll go,” he repeated. “I mean it this time.”
Charlotte’s eyes softened.
“You don’t have to promise that because of me.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m doing it because I don’t want to end up… like this. Waiting until something breaks before I deal with it.”
A small, tired smile pulled at her lips.
“Good.”
He huffed out a quiet breath, some of the tension finally easing.
“Yeah.”
She studied him for a second.
Then, gently—
“Come here.”
He hesitated.
Only for a second.
Then stepped forward.
Careful of her injuries, he leaned down just enough for her to wrap her arms around him.
It wasn’t graceful.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was real.
He buried his face briefly against her shoulder, exhaling like he’d been holding it in all day.
Summary: She has always been jack's carbon copy, so when Pittsburg police brings in an altered man after he started hitting himself on the car on the way to the station, jack isn't surprised by who walks in.
Warnings: drugs, harassing a police officer, blood, stitches
Authors note: Haven't written in ages
Word count: <1k
The Pitt was chaos like usual.
Late evening. Shift overlap. Patients everywhere. A waiting room that had long since stopped pretending it was under control.
“Alright people—man, mid-thirties, under unknown substance, being brought in by PD,” Dana Evans said, hanging up the phone.
“Sounds like PD is also having a fun night,” Lena Handzo muttered, not even glancing up.
“Now it’s a night shift problem,” Dana added, turning just as Jack walked in. “Hey, Dr. Abbot—you’re on this one.”
“I just clocked in. Can’t I have five minutes of peace?”
“No.”
A beat.
“Trauma 2 is open. PD’s here in under ten.”
—
Before the ER doors even opened, the noise hit first.
“HEY—HEY—STOP DRAGGING ME—HEY YOU STUPID B*TCH JUST LET ME GO—”
“Man, mid-thirties, no idea what he’s on, hit his head on the cruiser—hard. Had to secure him in the back,” Officer Rowan Abbot said, voice steady despite the chaos, as she and her partner hauled the man inside.
And Jack—
Jack didn’t even look surprised.
Of course it was her.
Same last name. Same tone. Same unshakable control in the middle of absolute disaster.
His carbon copy.
“Watch his head—he’s already taken a hit,” Rowan added, already moving with the team as they transferred the patient.
The man thrashed, restraints groaning.
“YOU THINK YOU CAN LOCK ME UP—YOU THINK—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rowan muttered, pressing him down with practiced ease. “We’ve heard it all before.”
Jack stepped in, gloves snapping tight.
For a split second, their eyes met.
Nothing.
Not here.
“Vitals?” Jack asked.
“Elevated across the board. Pupils blown,” Rowan shot back instantly.
Like she belonged here.
(And she did.)
The patient bucked again, harder.
“HEY—DON’T TOUCH ME—”
He spat.
It landed across Rowan’s arm.
Jack didn’t even blink.
“Alright, that’s enough for tonight. Someone sedate him.”
“Already on it,” Mateo said, moving in.
“HEY—I’M NOT DONE WITH YOU—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rowan’s partner muttered, pulling back as the team took over. “Save it for the charges.”
Rowan stepped away—
And only then did Jack notice.
Blood.
Running down her cheek.
Not hers at first glance—
Until it kept going.
A thin line from her hairline, cutting down past her temple.
“Dana,” Jack called, already moving.
“I see it,” Dana said, grabbing Rowan by the arm and steering her toward an open bay. “Come on, Officer, you’re benched.”
“I’m fine—”
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’ve had worse—”
“I don’t care.”
—
Rowan sat on the bed, jaw tight, while Dana grabbed supplies.
Jack followed.
Of course he did.
He hovered for half a second.
Then—
“Oh, this is great,” he muttered.
Rowan didn’t even look at him. “Hi to you too.”
“You get assaulted often or is this a new hobby?”
“He was high.”
“Oh good,” Jack deadpanned. “That makes it better.”
Dana shot him a look. “You gonna help or just emotionally damage your kid?”
“I’m multitasking.”
Rowan huffed a quiet laugh despite herself.
Dana cleaned the cut, pushing Rowan’s hair back.
Rowan didn’t flinch.
Jack noticed that too.
“You let him get close,” Jack said.
“I had him controlled.”
“He split your head open.”
“It’s superficial.”
“It’s bleeding.”
“So are half your patients—what’s your point?”
Jack stared at her.
Same stubbornness.
Same refusal to back down.
It was like arguing with a mirror that had chosen a badge instead of a stethoscope.
“You don’t get points for taking hits,” he said flatly.
“And you don’t get points for being an ass, but here we are.”
Dana snorted under her breath.
Jack ignored it.
“You’re supposed to call it before it escalates.”
“I did.”
“Clearly.”
“He was already gone, dad.”
The word slipped out.
Accidental.
Automatic.
The room went just a little quieter.
Dana didn’t react—but her eyebrows definitely did.
Jack didn’t miss it.
Neither did Rowan.
Too late to take it back.
Jack sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Great. Fantastic. Subtle.”
“Your fault,” Rowan muttered. “You started lecturing.”
“I’m always lecturing you.”
“Exactly.”
Dana finally stepped back. “Two stitches. You’ll live.”
“Disappointing,” Jack said.
Rowan smirked. “To you, maybe.”
Dana pointed between them. “You two? Done. Take it outside or I’m assigning you both to psych evals.”
Jack held Rowan’s gaze for a second longer.
Checking.
Always checking.
“You dizzy?” he asked, quieter now.
“No.”
“Nausea?”
“No.”
“Vision?”
“Perfect. Unfortunately, I can still see you.”
Jack nodded once.
Satisfied.
Annoyed.
Relieved.
All at once.
“Alright,” he said, stepping back. “Try not to get assaulted again tonight.”
Rowan hopped off the bed. “No promises.”
She paused as she passed him.
Just for a second.
Low enough that no one else could hear—
“You should see the other guy.”
Jack snorted.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I did.”
After a bit
-
Jack just hooks a finger in the fabric of her sleeve, quiet but deliberate.
“You’re not still seeing that partner of yours, are you?”
Rowan stops walking. Doesn’t turn.
“…Excuse me?”
He remains close, expression neutral, voice softer than she expects.
“In my defense,” he says, slower, controlled, “last week I saw a notification—Daniel—on your phone. And that’s, uh… that’s his name.”
Rowan finally turns—just enough that he can see it in her eyes.
“Just like it’s the name of your other kid, old man.”
She shrugs off his finger from her sleeve and starts back down the hall again.
Jack doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t follow her step‑for‑step. He tilts his head fractionally, like he’s processing a patient’s late lab results.
“Watch out,” he says—matter‑of‑fact, devoid of flourish—“I know where you sleep.”
She pauses mid‑stride.
Jack doesn’t move a muscle.
“…And I know where you keep your metal leg,” she says, voice flat.
Jack’s eyelids don’t flicker, but his jaw subtly tightens for a beat—just that. No grin. No retaliation.
