Writerverse - Table of Doom, Prompt: Pierced Through the Heart
So apparently, I'm in "write out of order" mode. For whatever reason, this began speaking to me last night, and I figured it'd be in my best interest to listen. Takes place towards the end of Gray Morning, after Savin's abuse and after Jazz has to come back from staying with Ravi. Enjoy.
Jazz leaned against the couch, wishing his whole body didn’t ache and burn with each breath. As he closed his eyes, he heard footsteps approaching him slowly. Savin’s footsteps. He tensed and the pain flared, causing him to suck in a sharp breath.
“Your ribs might be broken,” Savin murmured, his voice subdued and hardly heard over the hum of the nearby electronics in the room.
“Don’t -- don’t think they are,” Jazz groaned, snapping his eyes open. He put a hand to his chest before letting it slide over the worst of the pain, wincing at the slightest movement. “Don’t wanna go to the hospital, either. Don’t want the publicity.”
“I can make sure that the media doesn’t know about it at all,” Savin said, sitting beside Jazz on the couch. He kept his distance, his hands underneath his legs as he leaned forward a bit. His eyes didn’t quite meet Jazz’s own. “I am the Emperor, after all. If we can transport you discreetly --”
“You’re --” Jazz closed his eyes and wished talking wouldn’t hurt so damn much. “You’re a doctor, Savin. Can’t you...?”
“Not without x-rays,” Savin answered, cutting Jazz off before he could finish his question. Sighing, Savin ran his fingers through his hair. “They should make sure there isn’t any internal bleeding, too -- I mean, if you broke a rib and then punctured a lung --”
“I think we’d -- we’d know if I did that by now.” Still, with how much pain he was in, he wouldn’t be surprised. He couldn’t fathom just how much more it would hurt if he had broken a rib. “Not like there’s -- any real way to stablize -- a broken rib, right?”
A slight smile made its way across Savin’s face as he shook his head. “Not really, no,” he answered. “If they’re just cracked, anyway. If they’re splintered, though...”
Surgery, Jazz realized. He could need surgery. Again. “Can we go in -- in the morning?” Jazz asked, avoiding Savin’s eyes.
“If you’ll let me look at your ribs, yeah,” Savin said, his voice dropping to just above a whisper.
Jazz’s blood felt frigid in his veins. Savin looking at his ribs meant Savin seeing him shirtless. It meant Savin touching him. Shivering, Jazz bit his lip and looked away from him. “Could you make it quick?”
Jazz heard another sigh escape Savin’s lips and felt the couch shift as Savin got up and stood in front of him. Jazz tilted his head back, staring up at his ex-husband. It struck him that the last time he saw the man standing in front of him, Jazz had been pinned against a wall, pleading for Savin to let him go.
Jazz had left because of that. Jazz hadn’t wanted to come back, because of that. And now, now Savin was offering to let him rest for the evening -- if only Jazz let him look. If Jazz let him feel.
“Are you sure you’re okay with me doing the preliminary exam?” Savin asked, kneeling on the floor. “I can get someone else. Or we can go to the hospital now, and let the ER docs look you over. You don’t have to let me touch you if you don’t want me to.”
Savin’s eyes locked with his, wide behind his glasses. Fearful. Hesitant. Savin’s long fingers kept to themselves, hiding inside his pockets as Savin waited for Jazz to answer. Was he okay with this? Months ago, Jazz would have said no. Would have believed that Savin would take advantage of this situation and force him against his will.
But now Savin was asking his permission. Savin wanted his consent for something as simple as a rough exam done in what used to be their living room. Tears welled up in Jazz’s eyes, but he blinked them away as he lifted his shirt.
“Y-Yeah, I’m -- I’m okay with this,” he managed, his voice cracking as the pain increased with his movements.
Once he had tossed his shirt aside, Savin frowned. “Christ, Jazz,” he breathed. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked as he moved closer to Jazz. Jazz bit his lip, sucking in another painful breath as Savin’s hands began to slide over his chest, fingers probing along his ribs.
Savin had asked him this before. Had nearly shrieked it, when he found Jazz sitting on the corner, broken and bloody. Jazz hadn’t answered him, and right now, he didn’t know if he could. Breathing hurt too much, talking hurt worse, and he wanted to sleep.
He knew he couldn’t. Not yet. Not while Savin still had him on his couch. He needed to get back to his own place for the night. He needed to see a doctor, and not the one he used to be in love with -- not the one who sexually assaulted him, six months ago.
Except Savin’s touches now were tender. Light. Purposeful. His fingers never lingered, almost as if he were being careful with how much he touched Jazz. When Savin’s hands moved upwards, towards his face, he flinched. A whimper escaped him as Savin’s fingers pressed along his nose -- as Savin’s brow furrowed even further in worry.
“Your nose is broken,” Savin stated simply, his hands falling away from Jazz’s face. “And I think it needs to be reset. Are you feeling tired? Nauseated?”
Jazz blinked at the questions, watching as Savin turned on his heel and headed towards the kitchen. He returned with a small flashlight in his hands, his expression grave. “A -- a little?” Jazz answered finally, this time bracing for Savin’s touch as he swept the light across Jazz’s eyes.
“You have a concussion, too,” Savin murmured, his frown deepening. “You need a CAT scan. We should make sure there isn’t a brain bleed -- your ribs don’t feel cracked, though. But just in case...” He trailed off with a sigh, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to move if you don’t have to. I’ll call in a favor from the hospital -- see if we can get you out of here on a stretcher and have it be discreet.”
“S-Savin, you don’t have to --”
“I don’t want you to make your injuries any worse,” Savin insisted, pulling out his phone. He dialed a number without another word and put the phone to his ear. He spoke in hushed tones, one hand on his hip as he gave quiet orders.
Jazz’s eyes stung, a sob building within his chest. This -- this was the man he married. This was the man he had fallen in love with. The one that took care of him, that cared about him, that wanted him safe.
Why the hell did he take so long to come back?
Jazz leaned against the couch, wishing his whole body didn’t ache and burn with each breath. As he closed his eyes, he heard footsteps approaching him slowly. Savin’s footsteps. He tensed and the pain flared, causing him to suck in a sharp breath.
“Your ribs might be broken,” Savin murmured, his voice subdued and hardly heard over the hum of the nearby electronics in the room.
“Don’t -- don’t think they are,” Jazz groaned, snapping his eyes open. He put a hand to his chest before letting it slide over the worst of the pain, wincing at the slightest movement. “Don’t wanna go to the hospital, either. Don’t want the publicity.”
“I can make sure that the media doesn’t know about it at all,” Savin said, sitting beside Jazz on the couch. He kept his distance, his hands underneath his legs as he leaned forward a bit. His eyes didn’t quite meet Jazz’s own. “I am the Emperor, after all. If we can transport you discreetly --”
“You’re --” Jazz closed his eyes and wished talking wouldn’t hurt so damn much. “You’re a doctor, Savin. Can’t you...?”
“Not without x-rays,” Savin answered, cutting Jazz off before he could finish his question. Sighing, Savin ran his fingers through his hair. “They should make sure there isn’t any internal bleeding, too -- I mean, if you broke a rib and then punctured a lung --”
“I think we’d -- we’d know if I did that by now.” Still, with how much pain he was in, he wouldn’t be surprised. He couldn’t fathom just how much more it would hurt if he had broken a rib. “Not like there’s -- any real way to stablize -- a broken rib, right?”
A slight smile made its way across Savin’s face as he shook his head. “Not really, no,” he answered. “If they’re just cracked, anyway. If they’re splintered, though...”
Surgery, Jazz realized. He could need surgery. Again. “Can we go in -- in the morning?” Jazz asked, avoiding Savin’s eyes.
“If you’ll let me look at your ribs, yeah,” Savin said, his voice dropping to just above a whisper.
Jazz’s blood felt frigid in his veins. Savin looking at his ribs meant Savin seeing him shirtless. It meant Savin touching him. Shivering, Jazz bit his lip and looked away from him. “Could you make it quick?”
Jazz heard another sigh escape Savin’s lips and felt the couch shift as Savin got up and stood in front of him. Jazz tilted his head back, staring up at his ex-husband. It struck him that the last time he saw the man standing in front of him, Jazz had been pinned against a wall, pleading for Savin to let him go.
Jazz had left because of that. Jazz hadn’t wanted to come back, because of that. And now, now Savin was offering to let him rest for the evening -- if only Jazz let him look. If Jazz let him feel.
“Are you sure you’re okay with me doing the preliminary exam?” Savin asked, kneeling on the floor. “I can get someone else. Or we can go to the hospital now, and let the ER docs look you over. You don’t have to let me touch you if you don’t want me to.”
Savin’s eyes locked with his, wide behind his glasses. Fearful. Hesitant. Savin’s long fingers kept to themselves, hiding inside his pockets as Savin waited for Jazz to answer. Was he okay with this? Months ago, Jazz would have said no. Would have believed that Savin would take advantage of this situation and force him against his will.
But now Savin was asking his permission. Savin wanted his consent for something as simple as a rough exam done in what used to be their living room. Tears welled up in Jazz’s eyes, but he blinked them away as he lifted his shirt.
“Y-Yeah, I’m -- I’m okay with this,” he managed, his voice cracking as the pain increased with his movements.
Once he had tossed his shirt aside, Savin frowned. “Christ, Jazz,” he breathed. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked as he moved closer to Jazz. Jazz bit his lip, sucking in another painful breath as Savin’s hands began to slide over his chest, fingers probing along his ribs.
Savin had asked him this before. Had nearly shrieked it, when he found Jazz sitting on the corner, broken and bloody. Jazz hadn’t answered him, and right now, he didn’t know if he could. Breathing hurt too much, talking hurt worse, and he wanted to sleep.
He knew he couldn’t. Not yet. Not while Savin still had him on his couch. He needed to get back to his own place for the night. He needed to see a doctor, and not the one he used to be in love with -- not the one who sexually assaulted him, six months ago.
Except Savin’s touches now were tender. Light. Purposeful. His fingers never lingered, almost as if he were being careful with how much he touched Jazz. When Savin’s hands moved upwards, towards his face, he flinched. A whimper escaped him as Savin’s fingers pressed along his nose -- as Savin’s brow furrowed even further in worry.
“Your nose is broken,” Savin stated simply, his hands falling away from Jazz’s face. “And I think it needs to be reset. Are you feeling tired? Nauseated?”
Jazz blinked at the questions, watching as Savin turned on his heel and headed towards the kitchen. He returned with a small flashlight in his hands, his expression grave. “A -- a little?” Jazz answered finally, this time bracing for Savin’s touch as he swept the light across Jazz’s eyes.
“You have a concussion, too,” Savin murmured, his frown deepening. “You need a CAT scan. We should make sure there isn’t a brain bleed -- your ribs don’t feel cracked, though. But just in case...” He trailed off with a sigh, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to move if you don’t have to. I’ll call in a favor from the hospital -- see if we can get you out of here on a stretcher and have it be discreet.”
“S-Savin, you don’t have to --”
“I don’t want you to make your injuries any worse,” Savin insisted, pulling out his phone. He dialed a number without another word and put the phone to his ear. He spoke in hushed tones, one hand on his hip as he gave quiet orders.
Jazz’s eyes stung, a sob building within his chest. This -- this was the man he married. This was the man he had fallen in love with. The one that took care of him, that cared about him, that wanted him safe.
Why the hell did he take so long to come back?