Thank you for all the continuing support for this random little story, you guys are the best x

Chapter Eight

One hour later

"I really don't think this is a good idea."

Elizabeth sighed. "I know."

She was more than aware of what Henry thought because he had been telling her for the past hour that she should stay in the hospital until Doctor Gerber was happier for her to go. Elizabeth had countered that the doctor had informed her after another examination that she was 'probably' fine to leave, and while she might prefer a few hours' more observation for her patient just to be safe, she had signed off on the release on the grounds that Elizabeth return immediately if her symptoms worsened, that she attend a follow-up appointment the next afternoon and, once she got home from the hospital, did nothing strenuous until then. Terms that Elizabeth had been happy to accept under the circumstances.

She thought that the doctor understood the powder keg that was the Secretary of State's hospital room and the ball of simmering stress that was her husband, and figured her patient would feel better elsewhere. Good call.

Despite his concern for the current plan, Henry took off his jacket and held it up for Elizabeth to put on in replacement of the one that had blood all over the sleeve. She turned and slid her arms into the sleeves, liking the way the fabric engulfed her and the warmth that passed from Henry's body to hers through the material. "Thanks," she said, hoping Henry knew she meant for more than just the jacket.

He said nothing but wrapped his arms around her from behind and gently pulled her against him, his lips finding the top of her head.

She just enjoyed the sensation for a moment, the feeling of security that washed over her at being held by her husband. Wrapped in the circle of his arms, she thought that maybe they had a chance of beating this thing. But she couldn't ignore reality for long, and she was very keen to leave the confines of the hospital room. "Matt and Frank are waiting in the corridor," she reminded him quietly. "Let's go."

Henry's grip tightened for a moment and she could feel him hesitating behind her, as though he was about to make another play to get her to stay in the hospital a little while longer. Then he relaxed slightly and said, "Okay."

Just as well – if he had protested again she was going to remind him of what a terrible and reluctant patient he was when he was in the hospital, how eager he had been to get home, and that was an extra splash of trouble she didn't really want to add to their current woes. Elizabeth squeezed Henry's hands with hers before she stepped away from his embrace towards the door. She took a couple of seconds before she opened the door to centre herself, all too aware that anyone she saw on the other side of the door would see her as the Secretary of State, and she needed to make sure she had her game face on. She sucked in a slightly shaky breath. "Okay."

She opened the door.

Henry had seen the change in Elizabeth as soon as she opened the door, and he had to admit that his wife was damn good.

She had flicked off the distress like it was controlled by a switch – or she had at least tamped it down far enough that it was almost impossible to read on her face and no one who didn't know her well would be able to tell it was there at all. The Secretary of State was still at work, and she had things to do.

If only that was enough to quell the feeling of unease that lay heavy like a greasy stone in the base of Henry's gut. He walked at Elizabeth's side as they made their way through the hospital corridors, DS surrounding them like a shroud, his hand holding onto her elbow to keep that connection, as though holding on to her was the only way he could guarantee he could keep her with him.

They were leaving the hospital a different way to how Henry had arrived, and he supposed the aim was to avoid the press that were gathered outside, to let Elizabeth slip away unseen. The route took them along a corridor and then down a flight of stairs before they came out into another corridor and passed what looked to be recovery wards.

Multiple faces looked up in interest with each window they passed, and Henry found himself crowding into his wife even though he knew the threat was not located within those rooms.

Elizabeth glanced up at him. "Henry," she murmured, and her tone said back up.

He knew he was starting to grate on her nerves but – sorry, babe - that couldn't be helped. Maybe once the author of next time the bullets won't miss was in custody, he'd be able to back up a little bit.

Then again, maybe not.

"You sure you won't stay here a while longer?" He hadn't even planned to ask the question, it just slipped out, and he winced in anticipation of Elizabeth's retaliation. God knew she was due to snap at any time.

She didn't. Instead she stared into a small ward as they passed another window. Several patients in hospital gowns stared back at the large, smothering security detail surrounding the Secretary of State. "We have to leave," she said, "because if I stay here everyone in this building is a sitting target."

Oh. Okay. He got it now. He should have realised it sooner, really. Of course she wanted to leave because she didn't want to be responsible for anyone else getting hurt. Of course her instinct would be to isolate herself, even though it arguably made her more of a target. Of course she would be working to the rule of first keep the civilians safe. "Elizabeth, there's no way a shooter could get in here," he said.

"I don't think that's going to make all these people feel better," she replied, gesturing towards the ward they had just passed and the worried faces they had left behind.

Never mind that being admitted to hospital was in itself a very good cause of worry and the anxious faces may have had nothing at all to do with her. But Henry had to concede the point. And the note promising next time the bullets won't miss had managed to find its way inside these secure walls; he reminded himself that secure and safe weren't quite the same thing. He took his hand from Elizabeth's elbow and instead slid his arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head and holding her just a little closer as they walked.

If Elizabeth still wanted him to back off, the way she leaned into him told him that wasn't all that she wanted.

They passed through a door and into a spacious vestibule where the air was noticeably cooler and clearer, smelling less strongly of disinfectant than the corridors they had just traversed, and that told Henry that they must have reached the exit. They paused for a moment in the space.

A phone rang and was answered by Frank, who listened in silence for more than a minute without saying anything before, finally, he said, "Understood. Thank you, sir."

He turned to Elizabeth, and Henry could have sworn he was avoiding looking at him.

Understandable, he supposed, given his earlier behaviour. But, damn it, this affected him too and the only reason he held his tongue was the look on the man's face suggested that this was something urgent and important – and, he reminded himself, Frank's duty was to Elizabeth, not him. It wouldn't do to further piss off the man whose job it was to defend Henry's wife from bullets.

"What is it, Frank?" Elizabeth asked.

"The FBI has done some background on our shooter, Justin Wallowski. Turns out he lives with his older brother, Aiden."

Henry may not have spent two decades working for the CIA like Elizabeth, but he had spent enough time working in intelligence circles to be able to see ahead to where this was going. He didn't need to hear the punchline to know what it was, but that didn't stop the ice from creeping through his veins and sliding up his spine as Frank continued his explanation.

"Some local cops went round to their apartment to check it out, but – "

"Aiden wasn't home," Elizabeth said with certainty – no doubt her quick brain had flashed immediately to the story's end point as soon as Frank had said the word brother.

Frank nodded. "Right. But the FBI also spoke to the guy who was hired to courier the note to the hospital. The courier is legitimate, he works as a messenger. But –"

"The courier's description of the guy who paid him to bring the message matches the brother." Elizabeth laughed but there was no humour in it.

"Right," Frank said again.

Henry figured there were two ways to see the situation. One: the Wallowski brothers were obviously amateurs. They hadn't taken precautions to anonymise themselves, were sloppy and at least one of them was a poor shot. The way they had acted had given DS and the FBI plenty of leads, and spoke well of a successful resolution to the nightmare sooner rather than later.

Two: the Wallowski brothers were obviously amateurs. They didn't care who knew who they were, had managed to evade what was allegedly top notch security to take aim at the Secretary of State, and one of them might be good with a gun. The way they had acted meant that DS and the FBI were scrambling, had been scrambling ever since Justin fired that first shot, and they obviously felt they had nothing to lose. It certainly spoke to something happening sooner rather than later, but a successful resolution?

Henry wasn't prepared to bet on it.

He couldn't shake the feeling that every move they made was a gamble with Elizabeth's life.

"Aiden Wallowski can't have gone far," Frank said. "He hasn't had time, and he hasn't even tried to hide his paper trail. The FBI is tracking him as we speak, working from where he was last seen at the courier place in the District."

There was a burst of radio static and the DS agents surrounding them started to move in formation once again, this time towards the door that led outside to where Elizabeth's motorcade could already be heard idling. The door opened to a wall of flashing blue lights, and it was obvious that a high volume of District Police had also turned out to lend some drama to the occasion.

At Henry's side, Elizabeth paused for a moment at the threshold, and sucked in a shaky breath.

Then together they stepped outside.

Show time.