𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 ℂ𝕒𝕟'𝕥 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝔸𝕨𝕒𝕪 •𝕁𝔽𝕂•

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 29 - ᴍᴏʀᴀᴛᴏʀɪᴜᴍ

I walked down the stuffy hospital corridor, using my palm to act as a barrier between my nose and the disinfectant scent that made me nauseated. There were a few patients on this side of the hospital,only the emergency cases but most of them had been moved to the other side, keeping in mind our security. All along the corridor where Jack had been shifted to a special ICU ward, the Secret Service stood guard outside, watching like a hawk any entry and exit that took place on the floor.

With trembling hands, I reached the door of the room Jack was in and pushed it open, immediately greeted by the beeping of his heart monitor. He looked almost two shades paler, his hair messy and his lips dry, an intubation tube sticking to his throat. Multiple tubes had been hooked on to him as he was being pumped with the glucose and other supplements required to keep him alive.

Dr. Burkley turned his head towards me and nodded, his coffee mug in his hand.

"Any improvement? Anything?" I said, my voice pleading with him. All I wanted to hear was a good news.

Dr. Burkley's shoulders dropped and he looked away from me, shaking his head faintly. "There is no improvement, Mrs. Kennedy, his body is struggling to fight the infections but.."

"But?" I reached him until I was staring into his eyes, for answers, for comfort, for anything.

"By the speed with which the infection is taking over his body internally, his organs might start failing. Mrs. Kennedy, I think -" he looked down and his voice trembled, " - I think we should administer the last rites to him." I started shaking my head violently, in denial and abruptly turned to face him, "No, Dr. Burkley you are mistaken, Jack is going to get up. You'll see. He is going to get up and he.. he needs to meet his baby. He cannot leave me without saying goodbye.. not like this." I fell to my knees, weeping into my palms quietly as Dr. Burkley knelt down in front of me in an attempt to comfort me but ensured to maintain a distance.

Once I had cried for a good minute, I sniffled and wiped my tears with my sleeve. Dr. Burkley helped me to stand up and I slowly walked to where Jack was laying, sliding myself on the stool next to him. I reached for his palm and slid my palm in his, lacing our fingers together. I arched my body forward so that my face was close to his face, my mouth next to his ears.

"Jesus Jack, I'm done playing games. This isn't funny anymore. I know you can hear me and I know you are mocking me. I can't take it anymore." My lips trembled as I spoke and I heard a weak exhale escape Dr. Burkley's lips, who had moved to a farther end of the corner to give me some space. "Please Jack, please wake up, you said nothing is going to happen to you. You're a fucking liar, you know that? You said nothing will happen to you. Now look at you, you're reduced to a breathing corpse." I let my forehead drop to the side of his bed, against the surface of the mattress, using my fisted palm to suppress myself from breaking into sobs.

After what felt like ages, when I heard the door creak open and Bobby Kennedy walk in, I finally pushed myself up to my feet, oblivious to how disheveled I looked. My hair were a mess and my eyes were puffy.

"I want to move him back to the White House, Bobby." I said, crossing my arms over my chest and his gaze went from me to Jack and then back to me.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Bobby I - I have no idea how long Jack would be able to fight this. But when he gives up, I want to be there with him. I want to be able to tell him goodbye and I want to be able to be with him when he breathes his last." I whispered, my voice reeking of sincerity. He reached out and took my palm in his, curling his fingers tightly around mine and pulled me closer to him, in a hug. I found myself in Bobby Kennedy's brotherly embrace and my eyes started leaking water again.