Work Text:
Jack leans against the doorway for a while, watching Robby work, so focused on the document in front of him, he hasn't noticed he has company. The sun set a couple of hours ago, but instead of turning the main light on to offset the darkness, Robby has chosen a single warm-bulbed lamp on his desk. That and the white glow of his computer screen are the only things illuminating his face.
It's been a long few days. He should look tired. Somehow, Robby looks even more handsome.
Jack could stand quietly for hours just watching his best friend work, but that would ruin his plans for the evening. Finally, reluctantly, he clears his throat and announces his presence.
"I thought I'd still find you here."
Robby's head snaps up, and as soon as he sees who it is, he's scrambling to his feet.
Jack frowns. "Why do you do that?"
"You know why," Robby replies immediately, giving Jack a look over the top of his glasses.
"I know, I know, it comes with the job," Jack rolls his eyes.
Two years in and he's not sure he'll ever get used to all the deference and kowtowing that came with the role.
"Is there something you need?"
"Yes," Jack pushes away from the door. "I was supposed to be having dinner with Governor Shamsi, but she cancelled on me."
"She cancelled on you?" Robby's eyebrows shoot up. "I didn't know anyone was allowed to do that."
"Down with the flu, apparently. I let her off, I'm not a dictator."
Robby snorts.
"Hey now," Jack gives Robby a look. "I could have you demoted to the mail room, you know."
"You realise that using that threat once a week loses its power."
"Hmm, I'll have to get one of my speech writers to come up with something new."
"You do that," Robby shakes his head in amusement. "You still haven't told me what you're doing down here."
"I told you, Governor Shamsi cancelled on me."
"And what does that have to do with me?"
"I have food prepared for two and no one to eat it with."
Robby blinks, "I have three hundred more pages of this bill to read before I leave for the evening." Robby lifts the hefty tome off his desk and waves it around. It lands back on his desk with a thud.
"Robby, you have a deputy for a reason. I'm pulling rank."
"You always pull rank."
Jack grins, "This job has its perks."
"Oh, like the massive house, the private Boeing, the motorcade, the hundreds of agents sworn to jump in front of a bullet for you, and the nuclear codes?"
"Will you stop filibustering and come have dinner with me?"
"How could I possibly say no, Mr President?"
"You can't," Jack agrees, "C'mon, my private dining room."
He hears Robby sigh, but Jack has already turned around and left the office. Robby rushes to follow him, head down as he taps out a long message to his deputy, Frank Langdon. The only reason he doesn't collide with anyone is that Jack is in front, clearing the way. Everyone steps out of the way when the President of the United States is charging down the corridor. Out in front is Henderson in a simple black suit, an earpiece in one ear, a Glock on his hip. Following up in the rear is Ellis, his favourite agent. Ellis is calm and collected with a cutting humour that she only lets slip out on late-night flights on Air Force One.
The four of them work their way through the West Wing, stepping out onto the west colonnade, the only way to access the residence, his private apartments within the imposing structure of the White House.
It's not the first time Robby has followed Jack upstairs. As a widower, he's never enjoyed how quiet the residence is, just him knocking around the place with a hundred or so staff changing floral arrangements and winding antique clocks. A nightcap has always been a good excuse to corral Robby upstairs into the early hours, where they talk and try to fix the world. Upstairs is where he keeps the good scotch, a fancy bottle from Scotland, aged for 30 years. It was a gift from the King of England.
That's his life now, receiving gifts from fucking kings.
The four of them step into the elevator that leads up to the residence, his two bodyguards still on high alert even in the cramped space. He lets out a soft snort as he once again thinks about how ridiculous the situation is, but no one comments on it. Ellis and Henderson are too well-trained for that, and Robby is still typing away on his phone.
"You know I hear they've had some success with surgeries to remove cell phones glued to hands in Denmark."
"Hmm?" Robby doesn't look up.
"I'm commenting on that thing that's constantly in your palm, you do realise it is possible to put it away, right?"
Robby finally meets his gaze, "I'm delegating to my deputy, isn't that what you just asked me to do?"
"By the time you're done, I could have read that three-hundred-page bill."
"Yeah, but that's what you pay me for."
"Honest to God, some days I don't know what you get paid for."
"But you'd notice if I wasn't there to do it."
"Let's not test that theory, shall we?" He asks just as the elevator doors open up.
The president's private dining room is an intimate room with wood panelling older than most of the building. Presidents have entertained all sorts of world leaders in this room, and you feel the weight of those meetings the minute you step down into the room.
The table is already set for two with crisp white linen, shining silverware, a small floral arrangement and a candleabra with three white candles lit and flickering.
It looks… romantic.
Just like he'd requested.
As he stands behind his chair, he looks over at Robby, who is finally slipping his phone into his pocket to see if he's noticed. It was silly of him, really, to think that there was a chance Robby might not clock the candles; there's a reason he is Jack's chief of staff.
Robby's right eyebrow raises just a fraction, but he doesn't say anything. Robby's too strategic for that. He never reveals what he knows until it's to his advantage. He was made for political life in a way that Jack never really saw in himself. Not at first, at least. Robby was the one who formed and moulded him into a presidential candidate that people could vote for. Robby was the one who saw who Jack could be, what he could offer to the country. It's only because Robby believed in him that Jack began to believe it too.
Because he's well-trained, Robby doesn't take a seat until Jack does. It had been hard at first, getting used to the way Robby started to treat him the minute he placed his palm on a bible and repeated the Oath of Office in front of millions of people. There are still days, two years in, when it hurts to hear Robby, his best friend of fifteen years, call him Sir with a slightly distant expression.
Even during those evening nightcaps, Robby never truly dropped the reverence for the title. It's always there, under the surface, a clear barrier holding the two of them apart. While Jack does command respect amongst his staff and his military leaders, not having anyone to be himself around is hard. He misses how they used to be before all this.
It's about time Jack did something about it.
As soon as they're both seated, an attendant comes to fill their wine glasses, Jack's first. Not long after, he returns with their first course, perfectly cooked scallops with charred leeks and some kind of puree. Jack has barely swallowed his first mouthful before Robby is speaking.
"McKay thinks the VP's environment plan has some legs; she's going to go over it with her team, figure out the right angle."
"Seriously?"
Robby looks confused, "What? You're the one telling me to make sure my staff play nice with Al-Hashimi's."
"That's not the issue."
"Then what is?"
"I'd like just one dinner without any shop talk…if you wouldn't mind."
"What should we talk about then? Everything happening in the country right now is shop talk."
"How about our personal lives?" Jack suggests.
"We don't have personal lives, remember?"
Jack sighs. Robby is right, and while that's often the case, it's frustrating. How is he supposed to woo the man when they can't even put work aside for even a moment?
A thought occurs to him.
"How's Jake?" It's been a while since he heard about Robby's next-door neighbour, who idolised Robby as a child and did odd jobs around the office when Robby was still working for the Secretary of Labour. How old must he be now, seventeen, eighteen?
"Hasn't talked to me since I wrote a letter of recommendation for his girlfriend, and she got accepted to a college across the country."
"Oh…well, he'll get over it, I'm sure," Jack offers weakly, regretting the conversation. The last thing he wants to do is put Robby in a dour mood.
"Got any good gossip from the hallowed halls of the west wing?" He tries next.
"You think they tell me anything? You should ask Dana, she knows everything that's happening in this building."
"You think Dana tells me anything?" Jack huffs, placing his knife and fork across his now-empty plate.
"You're the President of the United States, and you can't get your personal secretary to reveal office gossip?"
"I don't have the right clearance, apparently."
Robby laughs.
Jack smiles back. He can't remember the last time Robby laughed so freely. They're gearing up for midterms, and that doesn't leave much room for fun. He makes a mental note to try to make Robby laugh as much as he can, just so he can witness the soft crinkle of his eyes again and again.
At some point, their empty plates are removed, and it's not long before new plates are put down in front of them, a tasty cut of venison with a red wine sauce, carrots, and green beans. He swears he's told them he doesn't like green beans, and yet they keep appearing on his plate.
"So uh, do you have dinner with Governor Shamsi often?" Robby asks.
The question feels like it comes out of nowhere. Robby's tone is light, enquiring, but the way he's stabbing at the venison is telling another story.
"I try to dine with all the governors if I can," Jack answers honestly.
His eyes narrow. Robby isn't listening.
"I like to get them plastered so they'll tell me useful secrets I can use to blackmail them with at a later date."
Robby's knife and fork freeze on the plate.
"Are you-"
"Fucking with you? Yes. Why are you asking about Governor Shamsi?"
"She's an…attractive woman," Robby struggles to utter the words. He looks kind of pathetic.
Oh…oh fuck. His excuse for getting Robby up to dinner, the flowers, the romantic candles.
"Did…did you think I'd planned a date with Shamsi?"
"You saying you didn't?"
"No!"
Robby doesn't look convinced by the denial.
"I uh, I didn't realise you were open to finding someone new. I realise it's probably hard to find someone when you're the President. You can't exactly join a dating app or go on any kind of regular dates, but you could do worse than Shamsi, and hey, if that doesn't work out, I could, you know, put together a list of suitable women we could invite to a White House event"
"Wait, hold on, I-"
Robby continues, "I'm not exactly sure how it would work exactly with a governor or a congresswoman; there might be issues when it comes to them overhearing classified information. Pillow talk would be completely out of the question in case they used what they'd learned to gain favour in the house."
"Stop, please," Jack raises his voice just enough to cut through Robby's horrendous train of thought. "I don't want a date, I don't want a woman and anyway, Shamsi's married."
"Okay," Robby nods, looking relieved, "Well, if you ever change your-"
Jack can't hold it in any longer.
"I want you."
Robby drops his cutlery with a clatter.
"You-"
"-Have feelings for you, yeah."
Robby doesn't say anything, but at least he doesn't look horrified by the confession.
"I'll give you a minute to uh, digest."
Jack doesn't expect Robby to push his chair back and get up from the table. He makes for the door, and Jack's heart drops, but then he stops and turns around. Jack can only watch as Robby paces back and forth along the length of the dining table.
"Robby."
Robby finally stops pacing, but Jack doesn't know if it's because he heard his President call his name or his best friend.
"Why?"
"Because," Jack shrugs, finally getting up from his chair and navigating around the table to face Robby. "We spend twelve, eighteen hours working side by side in this place. We should be sick of each other…and yet, when I walk up to the residence on my own, all I think about is being with you."
Robby's cheeks flush red, "You're crazy."
"A hundred percent," Jack agrees easily. "Crazy for you," He knows it's cheesy, but he doesn't particularly care.
"Sir-"
"Uh-uh," Jack makes sure Robby is watching as he reaches for his tie. He begins to loosen the Windsor knot slowly.
"What are you doing?"
"New rule," Jack pulls the knot loose and then pulls at the end of the tie until it snakes around the back of his neck and off. He undoes the top button too, and he notes the way Robby's Adam's apple bobs in response, "When I'm not wearing a tie, I'm not Mr President or Sir, I'm just…Jack."
He drops the tie on the floor at his feet.
"Why now?"
"If not now, then when?" Jack throws back with a shrug.
"I don't know, how about in six years time?"
"I've not been re-elected yet, maybe it'll be two."
"It'll be six," Robby returns quickly and confidently.
There's probably a re-election plan on Robby's computer somewhere he hasn't yet shown him.
"I'm not waiting that long to be happy. This job takes enough, I think we deserve to have something too, don't you think?"
Jack takes a step forward.
"How on earth is this supposed to work?"
"I don't know," Jack answers honestly. If the press found out, they'd have a field day. "But the only way to find out is to try."
"This is a really stupid idea."
Jack takes another step forward.
"The last time you said that, I ended up President of the United States."
"Why me?" Robby asks softly, like he can't quite understand what he has to offer. Like he can't understand why Jack wants him.
"Because you know me better than anyone, and you haven't gone running. Because you're insanely smart and funny, and that sharp voice you use when Langdon's done something stupid is hot. Because you never treat the assistants like they're below you, and you put your whole fucking heart and soul into this job. Because at the end of a long, hard day, you're the one I want to talk to about it."
Robby blinks away the moisture in his eyes.
"Robby, you saw something in me and helped me believe I could be good at this. So now I'd like to return the favour. I see something in you, in us, and I think we could be good."
Robby looks around the room.
Jack frowns, "What are you looking for?"
"Your speech writer, that was too good to have come from you."
"Oh fuck you, that was all me, baby."
"Yeah?" Robby grins.
Jack takes the final step forward. Jack might not be wearing a tie, but Robby's still wearing his, and Jack grabs hold of it and yanks Robby forward. Robby comes willingly, and their foreheads knock together roughly. Jack holds Robby firmly in place, one hand gripping the tie tightly, the other bravely sliding across Robby's hip.
"Robby."
Robby lets out a shaky exhale. "Jack," he says finally.
It's like music to Jack's ears. The sound of his own name on Robby's lips punches him in the chest and leaves his whole body tingling.
"Say it again."
Robby knows what he's asking for.
"Jack."
It's too much. Jack tilts his head, leans in, and suddenly there's nothing but white noise. There's no White House, no hefty title hanging over him, it's just him and Robby. Robby's lips are soft and yielding against his. There's a desperation there, too, like he's taking what he can get before it slips through his grasp.
In response, Jack snakes his hand around Robby's waist and reels him in until they're hip to hip. Robby chokes out a groan against Jack's lips and seems to finally realise it's real and relaxes against him. Jack smiles into the kiss that's been fifteen years in the making. He commits all of it to memory. The taste of Robby beneath their dinner, the delicious scratch of his beard against Jack's jaw, the soft puffs of air Robby lets out every time they stop long enough to breathe.
With a gentle push, Robby takes a step backwards. Jack doesn't let their lips separate as he follows. He does it again, guiding Robby back until he's pressed up against the wood panelling. If only their forefathers could see them now, the President and his Chief of Staff making out in the White House. The thought makes his smile morph into a silly grin. He's really giving James Buchanan a run for his money.
"What's so funny?" Robby murmurs against him. His hands are now on Jack's ass, a hand splayed out across a cheek each. It makes him shiver.
Jack hums, "I'll let you know later…got to save something for the pillow talk."
Robby's eyes darken at the suggestion of moving things to the bedroom. Technically, there's still dessert to come, but Jack hopes they can skip that part.
"If you don't take me to your room right now, I might just start a coup."
Jack fucking loves this man, "Sir, yes, sir."