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Jack recognises the sound of the pop pop pop filling the air almost immediately. He was in the military, he served overseas, of course he knows what a gun going off sounds like. His first instinct after all this time is to reach for a weapon that he doesn't have.
People start screaming.
The gunfire continues, sharp and loud.
Moments later, he finds himself surrounded by agents who practically carry him to the limo a few feet away and forcibly throw him into the back seat. It takes seconds for them to put all their training into practice and get him to safety.
There's no chance to think or feel. His heart races in his chest. He hears the sirens of the motorcade, driving him at top speed through the streets of DC.
The first thing he's aware of is Henderson by his side, talking fast as his hands slide over Jack's body without invitation, checking him over.
"Ow, fuck!"
Jack hisses as Henderson's hand slides over something painful. The adrenaline, bitter on his tongue, somehow stopped him from noticing he was hurt. The car is dark, but as he holds up his arm, the flashing lights illuminate red on his arm.
"You're hit!" Henderson grabs at him.
Jack's confused at first, but he pulls at the tear in his sleeve and relaxes.
"It's just a graze," Jack insists, "I'm fine."
Henderson starts speaking into his radio, telling whoever is on the other end to make sure there's a doctor standing by when they reach the White House for a minor wound.
"Is everyone safe?"
He cares about everyone's safety, but it's Robby he's thinking about as he says it.
"It's chaos back there, we're getting a headcount."
"What about Robby?"
"We're looking for him," Henderson tries to reassure him.
It has the opposite effect.
"Looking for him?" He repeats incredulously. "Where the fuck is my Chief of Staff?"
Henderson sighs, "We don't know, but my priority right now is getting you into the White House as soon as possible."
As much as he wants to, there's no point in ordering Henderson to turn the limo around; when it comes to his safety, Jack has zero say in the matter.
As soon as the limo pulls into the North Entrance, Jack is bundled into the building and into the Oval Office. There's already a doctor waiting for him, bag of supplies open on the coffee table, stethoscope around his neck.
"Someone get me some fucking answers," he growls as he yanks off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt. The doctor, a tall, grey-haired man with a 'Van Horn MD' badge on his chest, helps him out of his shirt and starts assessing the wound on his arm.
"Doesn't look too deep, won't even need stitches, just some dermabond," The doctor reassures him calmly. "I need to check you over while I'm here."
"Now?" Jack responds impatiently.
"Got somewhere to be?" The doctor asks, having no idea that the President's boyfriend is still MIA.
With a heavy sigh, Jack perches on the edge of his desk and lets the doctor listen to his heart and check his blood pressure. Once he's done and seems satisfied that Jack's racing heart is normal after being shot at and not a sign he needs to go to hospital, he seals up the graze on Jack's forearm and dresses it
While he's sitting there feeling like he's seconds from bursting out of his own skin, Ellis strides into the room, looking like she has news. He's seen that look before, many times. When a bombing has struck a city across the world, when a shooting has occurred one state over.
"I need the room," Ellis announces as soon as she steps into the Oval.
Van Horn looks up and nods. He tucks the bandage in to keep it from unwinding and then leaves without looking back.
"What's going on? Have you found Robby yet?"
Ellis sighs, "Sir…Robby was hit."
Jack stops breathing.
"Where?" He croaks out.
"In the chest."
His heart siezes. His mouth goes dry.
"Is he-?" He can't bring himself to finish the sentence.
"He's alive, he's at GW, they've already rushed him into surgery….he's in critical condition."
Jack pushes away from the desk, determined, "I'm going."
Ellis steps into his path, "Sir-"
"You are taking me to that damn hospital; that is a fucking order!"
"Sir," Ellis says again, firmer this time, "I know, okay? I know."
That stops Jack in his tracks.
Of course, Ellis knows. She's by his side more than anyone. She's there when Robby sneaks up to the residence at the end of a long day. She's there when Robby slips out of his bedroom a few hours later. She knows how to be discreet.
"I know what he means to you," she says softly. "And I know what you mean to him….he would want you to be safe right now, would want you to be smart."
"I have to see him," he's begging.
He's one of the most powerful men in the world, and all he can do is beg.
"As soon as we can assure your safety, I promise."
"I want someone posted outside that damn OR, I want updates every half hour."
"Done," Ellis nods. "What else do you need?"
"Answers…what the fuck happened out there?"
"We're working on that too."
He asks Ellis to leave, and she does, but she doesn't go far. Jack doesn't have to check to know she's standing right outside.
His heart feels like someone's reached in and yanked it out, like maybe he should be having heart surgery too.
It takes him far too long to get his breathing under control, to look like he's not completely devastated.
He does his best to carry on, because the world doesn't know that the man he loves is having emergency surgery and might not make it through. He has to carry on and run the fucking country after an assassination attempt.
He doesn't do a very good job.
He's short with his staff, snapping at things that are out of their control. He storms around the West Wing looking for trouble. Staff physically leap out of the way when he's barreling towards them. He couldn't care less.
Every half an hour, he gets his promised updates on Robby's condition.
He's stable, still on bypass.
His BP dropped, but they got it under control.
They've given him another pint of blood.
It does nothing to stop him from thinking the absolute worst. His imagination works on overdrive, picturing Robby all alone in an operating room. He imagines alarms blaring and oxygen forced into his lungs, and throughout it all, no one to hold his hand.
Robby doesn't really have any family. His mom abandoned him as a child, and he never knew his dad. The only one who loved him was his grandmother, who died before he graduated from Yale.
Jack is all Robby has.
At some point, he's directed down to the Situation Room for an update on the shooter, and as he's shown aerial footage and grainy CCTV, all he can think about is the last conversation he'd had with Robby.
Robby had been rambling all the way to the town hall meeting, all the things Jack had to remember to do once he was on stage.
"And remember to-"
"I know what I'm doing, you know, I've done this a few times already."
It had come out a little short, a little impatient. He hadn't meant it, and Robby knew it.
"So you're saying you don't need me?" Robby had arched an eyebrow at him.
"You said it, not me," Jack had laughed, and walked off towards the stage.
He'd laughed.
He had teased Robby about not being needed.
That was the last time he saw him before-
If he dies, Jack's not sure he'll get over it. He's not sure he could carry on in the job without Robby.
The call comes in just after midnight.
He's sat in his bedroom with a glass of whisky, wishing he could go stand on the roof to drink, like he and Robby used to do when they were still young idealists looking to make a name for themselves in DC.
The phone rings by his bedside just as a mouthful of alcohol burns down his throat. He exhales as he gets up, pads over and answers the call.
He listens to the person on the other end inform him that Robby is out of surgery and in the cardiac ICU, that the damage was repaired, but he wasn't quite out of the woods.
He thanks them and downs the rest of the glass. It's the only thing that will help him sleep.
An agonisingly long thirty-six hours pass before he gets confirmation that a visit has been organised. Unfortunately, Robby wasn't the only one injured in the shooting, so he's told that the plan is to visit everyone still admitted before heading up to the ICU to see Robby. He understands why, but it feels like more distance between him and Robby.
He ducks into the back of his limo in a smart suit, his bandage rubbing against the cotton shirt as he shifts his arm. The journey to the hospital doesn't take long when you're in the middle of a motorcade. After passing through the gauntlet of flashing cameras and journalists shouting questions, he steps into the hospital entrance. He is greeted by the Chief Medical Officer for GW, who opens her hand out towards him.
"Mr President, Doctor Gloria Underwood, sorry to be meeting under these circumstances."
"Thank you," he responds politely as he returns her strong handshake.
She guides him around the hospital, her eyes always catching the press pool, as if this is just a promotional opportunity for her. He grits his teeth and draws on the last of his patience as he is taken into the rooms of those caught up in the shooting. At least the photographers don't follow him in there.
There's a young woman who was trampled in the ensuing panic, a police officer with a bullet wound in his shoulder, and an older gentleman who was shot in the stomach. He's relieved to hear they will all make a full recovery. He can't help but feel guilty knowing they were shot because of him, and all he can do is smile, shake their hand, and ask politely how they are doing.
Finally, he's led upstairs to the ICU, where Robby is. He feels his pulse uptick as he walks towards the room.
Dr Underwood seems keen to follow him inside.
"I'm sure you have other things to be attending to," he says as politely as he can manage, "My Chief of Staff and I have confidential things to discuss."
"Oh," she gives him a tight smile. "Well, when you're ready to leave, I'm happy to walk you out."
In front of more cameras? Jack's sure she's more than happy for that.
"Of course," he replies, with no intention to let her know.
As soon as she turns her back on Jack to walk off, Jack turns back to the door. He stops with his hand hovering over the handle.
"Ellis?" He calls out, and the young agent steps up beside him smoothly.
"Sir?"
"No one comes in without my say so."
"Understood, sir."
She turns sharply, putting her back to the door, on guard.
Then, and only then, does he push open the door and step inside.
The room is bright and stark and apart from the regular beeps of a heart monitor, far too quiet.
As he turns the corner and takes in the sight of Robby unconscious in the bed, he also hates how still Robby looks. Robby's always been a workaholic, always moving, whether it's having meetings in the hall between other meetings or pacing in his office while he thinks.
This version of Robby is unnerving.
His smart shoes squeak loudly against the linoleum as he walks towards a chair against the wall. He drags it towards the bed and slips into it. He stares at Robby for a moment, unsure what to do next. Robby's hand is right there in front of him, but it feels risky to reach out and slip his hand inside.
He swallows hard, and he's suddenly aware of the tie around his neck. He's sat by Robby's bedside as his President, not his boyfriend.
Quickly, with fumbling fingers, he pulls at his suffocating tie until it loosens. He yanks at one end until it slides free, balls it up and shoves it into his pocket.
"There, that's better," he says softly.
He doesn't know how much time passes as he watches Robby's chest steadily rise and fall, but it's hypnotic enough that he doesn't notice Robby's eyes drift open.
"Heyyy."
Jack's heart jumps hearing Robby's voice for the first time since the shooting.
"Hi," he says back softly.
"You're really here?"
"Where else would I be?" Jack replies. "Came as soon as I could, didn't even stop for red lights."
Robby hums. He looks a little spaced out, and Jack guesses he's on some strong painkillers.
"I'm glad you're here."
"Yeah?"
"I have…something to tell you."
"Okay?" Jack frowns, unsure what Robby could want to talk to him about in this moment.
"I think you should run for president."
Jack blinks, "What?"
"Be my president," Robby grins at him dopily.
"You think I'd be good at it?" Jack finds himself asking.
"I think you'd be great at it."
"Well, okay then, I'll do it…but only if you do it with me."
"Me?" Robby somehow seems surprised.
It makes Jack's heart break.
"It's always you and me, remember?"
Robby's hand slips off the bed and reaches out in Jack's direction.
Jack can't reject the hand held out in front of him. He slots his fingers through Robby's and squeezes his hand tightly, leaning down to press a kiss to his knuckles.
The gentle press of Jack's lips against Robby's skin seems to jog Robby's memory.
"My Jack," he mumbles.
"Yours," Jack promises, barely holding back the flood of emotions that overwhelmed him the moment Robby reached out for him, "I'm so fucking glad you're alive."
He wishes he could sit there all day holding Robby's hand, but he's interrupted five minutes later by a knock on the door. It startles Jack, and he yanks his hand away from Robby's fast. Luckily, Robby is asleep again and doesn't seem to notice.
"Yes?" He calls out.
Ellis pops her head through the door with a regretful look. "Nurse needs to administer medication."
Jack nods, and Ellis steps away to let in a young nurse. Despite the Secret Service presence outside, she seems surprised to find the President sitting by the bed, and her eyes widen.
"Oh!"
"It's okay," Jack smiles at her, "You need to give him some medication?"
She nods, holding out the vial of medicine and the needle in her gloved hands. "For his IV."
"Don't let me stop you."
He watches as she steps up to the other side of the bed, glancing over at Jack cautiously as she carefully injects the medication into Robby's IV.
"All done," she reports and goes to leave.
She stops at the end of the bed and turns back to Jack.
"I'm glad he's okay…I know he's your friend."
"Best friend," Jack corrects her. "What's your name?"
"Emma…Emma Nolan."
"Well, Emma, I'm glad he has you as his nurse."
"I'm glad he has you as a best friend," she returns with a nod, before quietly ducking out of the room.
As soon as she's gone, Jack reaches for Robby's hand once more.
Robby is discharged from hospital just over seven days later. Jack had tried to convince Robby to recover in one of the spare rooms at the White House, but Robby, of sound mind once the drugs wore off, insisted that that would invite questions and suspicion, and it made more sense for him to recuperate at home with some home health care looking after him.
Jack hates it.
Mainly because he can't visit Robby at home without the press finding out and making a big deal out of it. Also, because he's aware that Robby won't be signed off to return to work for at least six weeks, and that's the longest he and Robby have gone without seeing each other since the first day they met. It's practically torture.
While they manage okay in the West Wing without Robby, Langdon doing a good job of stepping into his shoes temporarily, Jack feels off balance. He has to remind himself that Robby's not in the office right next door. He looks to his right in meetings, expecting to find Robby there with an opinion or an idea. His rare evenings in the residence are quiet and boring.
He misses Robby like crazy.
His saving grace is the regular phone calls with Robby.
"Did you take your meds this evening?"
Robby groans, "Yes."
"How much sleep did you get last night?"
"Enough," Robby grunts. "When exactly did you become my doctor?"
"I could have gone into medicine," Jack argues. "I don't puke at the sight of blood like some people."
"That's perfectly normal, and you promised you wouldn't judge me for it."
Jack doesn't respond to that, "Are you getting fresh air? Going for walks?"
"You make me sound like a pet dog."
"Well, I hope Nurse Ratched has you on a tight leash."
"Nurse Vivi is a delight, thank you very much. I'm teaching her how to play chess."
At the beginning, Jack calls from the residence at the end of the day to see how Robby's day had been, but as Robby's health improves, Robby starts to call him during the day, attempting to work from his bed.
"What do the latest polling numbers say?"
"Robby-"
"If you tell me what they say, I'll shut up."
"Oh, if only polling numbers shut you up."
"Sir."
"You're sexy when you're desperate, you know that."
"Sir," Robby says again, more firmly, warning Jack.
"I'm not wearing a tie right now," Jack tries.
"You're lying through your teeth," Robby responds confidently, "But I appreciate the attempt."
"You do realise this building is full of some of the smartest political minds in the country, we can manage the polling numbers absolutely fine without you."
Robby sighs, "I'm going stiry crazy over here."
"Alright," Jack gives in, "If I promise to get Langdon to send you over the report, will you promise to take it easy this afternoon? Don't go getting yourself worked up over it all."
"Me? Worked up? Never."
Jack grins, "Can I call you later? I'll give you something proper to get worked up over."
Robby hangs up on him.
He really hopes the Secret Service isn't listening in on their calls.
It's hard not to worry about Robby, especially when he's trapped at the White House and can't nurse his own boyfriend back to health like he wants.
That doesn't stop him from sending various senior staffers over to Robby's under the guise of keeping him busy with work so they can report back on his condition.
"I'm not an idiot, you know," Robby tells him one evening.
He can hear Robby moving around his home, probably pacing if Jack had to guess.
"What are you talking about?"
"The visits from Langdon, Collins and McKay? Even Dana? You're sending in spies."
"The CIA works for me. If I were really sending in spies, I'm not sure you would know it."
"You know what I mean, Jack."
"Can't I worry about the man I love?"
Robby lets out a soft exhale as he stops walking, and there's a thud as he drops down onto a couch or a chair.
"Of course you can, but I'd rather we communicate like adults than you go behind my back and deploy your staff like secret agents. McKay folded like a pack of cards by the way."
"Fine, I'll stop sending people who care about you to make sure you're still alive," Jack says a little dramatically.
"Thank you."
"But if you don't look after yourself, I'm turning up there myself, full motorcade and police escort."
"You wouldn't."
"Fucking try me, Robinavitch."
Robby chuckles, "I love you too."
Robby's first day back at work after the shooting is a Wednesday. Jack watches from the doorway to the Oval Office, hands in his pockets, as the team greets Robby back with a sheet cake and a welcome back banner across the windows. He's happy to stand back and enjoy seeing Robby in person for the first time in weeks.
"Thank God you're back, I don't know how you do it," Langdon claps him on the shoulder, clearly happy to hand the reins back over.
Jack tries not to take the relief personally.
"As lovely as this all is, you all have jobs to be doing," Robby kicks them all out of his office, making them take the rest of the cake with them.
The minute Robby sits down behind his desk, something settles in Jack's chest. Robby is back where he belongs. If Robby didn't look a little thinner from the whole ordeal, he could almost pretend it hadn't happened. Just one big nightmare.
"It's good to see you." Jack grins.
"It's good to be seen," Robby agrees.
They can't have the conversation they want in Robby's office, and he's probably running late for his next meeting, but he can't stop looking at Robby.
"Dinner tonight?" He asks. It's all he can ask for out in the open, but he hopes Robby understands he's suggesting more than just dinner. He wants to fall asleep with his arms wrapped tightly around Robby's body, feel his strong pulse under his fingertips.
Chase the nightmares away.
"I would like that."
"Something stodgy, maybe, need to fatten you back up."
Robby rolls his eyes.
"Later?"
"Later," Robby agrees.
Jack turns to leave, but he's hit with a memory, and he turns back around. There's something he needs to say.
"You…you are very needed, Robby, more than you realise, and if I ever tell you otherwise again-" He swallows against a lump in his throat. "Well, I'll let you decide how to make me see the error of my ways."
Robby's cheeks flush.
Jack's not sure if Robby remembers the conversation they had just before the shooting, and if he does, it probably hasn't carried the same impact for him as it has for Jack. And yet, Robby seems to understand what Jack means.
Jack shakes off the feelings close to the edge and takes a deep breath. He clears his throat, "Back to work…that's an order," He says, sounding as Presidential as possible.
Robby grins, "Yes, sir."