The Tomorrow Trilogy Fanfiction -- Stomach Pains, Chapter 1
So apparently, I have issues. This started out as a piece for writerverse's "Sticky Situations." The situation I got? Imagine your character is sick with something, and the doctors don't know what the hell it is.
I mean, how could I not write a Tomorrow Trilogy/House, MD crossover with that kind of prompt? How? Savin, naturally, is the patient in question. So, while House hasn't made his entry yet, that's coming. Soon. Muahahaha
Mari glances at me, her eyes narrowing somewhat as we walk down the hospital hallway. I have a chart in my hand, one I just finished updating, and I focus my attention on that instead of her. My shoulders tense as her gaze never breaks away, her eyes boring into me.
“When was the last time you ate?”
“This morning,” I murmur, avoiding her eyes as I continue to make my way to the nearest nurses’ station.
“Savin....” The warning tone reminds me a bit of my mother. I snort, shaking my head as I drop the chart and look at her. “Seriously, when did you last eat? You have that look about you.”
“I’m not about to pass out, Mari,” I tell her, keeping my voice firm. I totally don’t feel like I’m going to, anyway. “It’s been how long since that last happened? Medical school?”
“First year of residency,” Mari said with a scoff. She shakes her head and continues to study me for a moment before sighing, leaning against the counter of the nurse’s station and resting her weight on her arms. “And I’m sure there have been other close calls much more recently than that.”
I roll my eyes, frowning slightly to myself. “If you don’t believe I ate this morning, ask Jazz,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. “I made him breakfast.”
“That doesn’t mean you ate any of it,” Mari says, a slight smile forming on her lips. “You used to make me breakfast all the time, remember? And you never ate a bit of it, back then, either.” She looks around the halls real quick before placing a hand on my arm, tugging me back down towards the hallway. “C’mon, let’s get you something to eat before you have to go into your next surgery.”
“I’m not hungry,” I protest, but I let her drag me down the hallway, anyway. There’s no use in stopping her, so I pull my arm free of her and shove my hands in my pockets. My face feels warm, and my glasses are sliding off my nose, reminding me that I forgot to put in my contacts that morning. “Seriously, Mari, I ate this morning, you don’t need to worry about me --”
“I’m not worried about you,” she snorts, shaking her head at me. “I’m protecting your next surgical patient. Who wants their surgeon to faint in the middle of surgery?”
“I’m not going to faint,” I insist, noticing the odd looks the nurses are starting to give the two of us now. The last thing I need is for them to start another round of rumors about me and Mari dating. Especially not when I’m engaged to Jazz. “I can usually feel when a spell’s going to come on, now -- and I don’t --”
I cut myself off as my stomach leaps into my throat and the world goes fuzzy, if only for a moment. I put my hand on the wall of the hallway and stop in my tracks. Breathe, I remind myself. Keep breathing.
“And you don’t feel one coming on, huh?” Mari asks, hands on her hips as she walks over to me. “We can slow down if you need to.”
I lift my head, and my face burns, but I manage to look her in the eye. “This -- this is different,” I grumble, raking my fingers through my hair and pushing it back. “Feels different.” My stomach continues to tie itself in knots, twisting over and over as my vision swims and fades, all over again. I pull my glasses off my face and close my eyes. I am not about to throw up, right here, in the middle of the goddamn hospital hallway. I’m not.
Thankfully, Mari slides her shoulder under my arm, and guides me towards the closest oncall room. “I’ll go get you something to eat,” she says once she helps me settle down onto the bed. “I’ll let your father know you might not be able to perform your next surgery.”
“I’ll be fine,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “Just -- go get me something to eat. Maybe it has been too long.” It almost hurts, admitting that outloud. I’m a doctor, for fuck’s sake, I should be able to take care of my own physical needs. Except I wasn’t lying, either, when I said that this felt different than any of my episodes in the past. Or about breakfast.
Mari doesn’t argue; she just gets up and walks back out of the on-call room, her own labcoat blowing behind her, almost like a cape. Don’t know what I’d do without her, at times. I take a moment to force my stomach to settle and to keep my vision steady before lying down on my back. I put a hand to my forehead. It’s slick with a thin sheen of a sweat, which is unusual for my spells, too.
It can’t be because I didn’t eat recently enough. It’s not because I’m in pain, either, because I didn’t feel like anything was wrong until my stomach decided that it wanted to try and make a break for it. No, even my vision feels different, and while I’d normally say it’s a migraine, based on my symptoms, I don’t have the actual headache that goes with one of those, either...
I hardly notice when Mari comes back into the room, food tray in hand. My vision swims as I sit back up, my stomach clenching at the mere sight of the food. Mari offers the tray and I take it, anyway, avoiding her eyes as my head begins to pound.
“Not a fainting spell,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. “Migraine.”
“That’s what you thought all your other fainting spells were, Savin,” Mari says, but her voice is gentle now as she settles on the small bed beside me. “Just take a few bites, okay, and give yourself a few minutes to actually digest before walking out of here.”
“You talk to my dad?” I ask, changing the subject. Might as well do as she says -- if I don’t, I’ll just end up wasting even more of my time here, doing absolutely nothing but staring blankly at some of the “best” food our hospital has to offer. I wrap my fingers around the apple sitting idly on the tray, the bright red skin reflecting light off it -- light that seems to be too much for my eyes to handle.
“He says he’ll cover the surgery if you’re still feeling faint,” Mari answers. Her eyes are on me, and her own frown deepens. “You really don’t feel up to eating, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” I say with a sigh. I put the apple back down, unable to lift it to my lips and take a bite. As much as I like apples, my stomach’s churning too hard at the very idea. I put my head in my hands, brushing my hair back and out of my face. My head pounds, and my stomach rolls again at the movement. “I just wanna go home.”
The admission is barely past my lips when my stomach climbs into my throat again, my mouth watering far more than it ever should. Mari has a trash can in her hand seconds before I can even register what’s happening. Once I’ve finished puking up what little I’ve had in my system, she pulls the trash can away and makes a face. “Guess you’re getting your wish,” she murmurs, giving me a slight smile in return. She pats my shoulder and rubs my back.
When she looks back in the can, again, her disgust gives away to something else. “Savin? You didn’t take a bite of the apple, right?”
“No,” I answer, feeling shaky as I collapse back into the bed, putting a hand to my forehead and wiping off my mouth with the back of my hand.
Even with my eyes half-closed, I can tell that the streak left behind on my hand shouldn’t be that dark -- nor should it be that red.
“How much pain are you in, exactly?” Mari asks. Her professionalism breaks through, her voice suddenly calm and very collected compared to a moment ago.
“Dunno,” I answer, putting my hands on my stomach. “A six?” My stomach twists again, my vision still swimming. “Could be worse.”
Mari nods, putting the trash can down beside the bed. She doesn’t look at me as she then stands up. “You just vomited blood,” she says, a slight frown forming on her face as she brushes a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. “I’m going to admit you to the hospital, so we can do some tests. Want me to call Jazz for you?”
I nod my head and turn my eyes towards the ceiling of the on-call room. “That means I have to get up again, doesn’t it?” I groan. The pain everywhere seems to intensify all at once, my vision swirling away at the edges again.
It fades to black before she can answer.
***
The world around me comes back in bright patches of light, the sounds of medical equipment unmistakably loud in my ears. Everything’s blurry, but then someone -- Jazz, I realize, as he comes into focus -- slides my glasses back over my eyes. “I got here as soon as I could,” he whispers, blue eyes wavering just like his voice. He squeezes my hand as he sucks on his bottom lip. “How’re you feeling?”
“I feel fine,” I mutter, pushing myself up into a sitting position. As I move, I realize I’m hooked up to an IV, with it feeding into the top of my hand. I snort, shaking my head. It still pounds, but not as bad as it was before. “How long have I been unconscious?” I ask, furrowing my brow.
“About an hour,” Mari answers. I blink, jumping slightly as she suddenly appears at my side, chart in hand. “We did an upper GI endoscopy while you were out.”
“Any ulcers?” I ask, swallowing thickly. Everything feels sore, now that I think about it My stomach. My throat. My head. I cradle my head in my hands again, trying to hide any signs of pain from Jazz.
“One.”
“Obviously it wasn’t perforated, otherwise I would be in surgery, right now,” I mutter, frowning to myself. Jazz looks back and forth between the two of us, worry and something else clouding his beautiful eyes. “How bad was the bleed?”
“I think we caught it just as it started,” Mari answers, frowning to herself. She approaches the bed, standing on the opposite side of it as she pulls up my chart. “Look, Savin, I know you’re going to hate me for doing this, but I’m going to have to ask you some questions.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes. “I’m fine now, Mari,” I murmur, glancing towards Jazz for help. Though with the level of worry written all over his face, I kinda doubt that he will. “Doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“One doesn’t just get an ulcer like that overnight,” Mari murmurs, exasperation creeping into her voice. “Especially not without any sort of history of pain or discomfort, beforehand. So. We’ll start with family history...”
I sigh, curling my fingers so that they wrap around Jazz’s tightly. “My parents are both in good health,” I start. I try to keep the boredom out of my voice as I rattle off the details “My father’s blood pressure’s a little high, but no other signs of heart disease or cholesterol issues. My mother’s a cancer survivor -- which you already knew, since we were together when she was diagnosed.”
Jazz’s eyes widen, his expression changing somewhat. “I didn’t know that --”
“It’s not relevant anymore, that’s why,” I grumble, pushing myself up to sit up straighter on the hospital bed. I give him a soft smile, squeezing his fingers in the process. “She went into remission years ago.”
Jazz nods, and Mari clears her throat. “Alright, personal history -- I can see that your blood pressure’s recovered just fine, since we put you on an IV. Your cholesterol is probably still impeccable. Do you smoke?”
Mari taps her pen against the chart and looks at me. Her hair partially covers her eyes, but I can see the sideways glance she gives Jazz, as well, who’s turned his eyes towards me. My face burns and a fiddle with the sheets of the hospital bed as I drop my eyes away from them both. “A few a day, yes,” I answer.
“You smoke?” Jazz gasps, his eyes narrowing at me. “I thought you said you quit?”
“I did!” I chew on my own lip, still avoiding his eyes. “It’s just -- between trying to learn the ins and outs of the Empire and still working at the hospital, I’ve been under a lot of stress, lately.”
“Drink?” Mari asks, saving me from the next round of questions I can see brewing behind Jazz’s eyes.
“Of course -- one or two nights a week.” It’s not inaccurate -- though I can tell Jazz is fighting back another barrage of questions. I give Mari a look. “Do you really need to ask me these questions? It’s not like you don’t already know the answers to most of them, Mari.”
“You vomited blood, Savin,” she mutters, putting her pen down again. “We found one bleeding ulcer.”
“Yeah, and the treatment for that is easy -- keep my stomach acid levels low while it heals,” I tell her, rolling my eyes. “It’s not that serious, okay?”
Mari and Jazz exchange a glance. “It’s your call,” she says to him after a while. “He’s your fiance.”
Jazz nods and turns his head towards me. That worry is back again, and he squeezes my fingers. “Maybe you should stay here overnight, just incase,” he suggests. He sounds so unsure of himself, and he glances back over at Mari for support. “Just one night, Savin.”
“It was an ulcer,” I repeat, clenching my jaw.
“That doesn’t explain the headache you had prior to vomiting,” Mari says, holding her chart to her chest. “You’ve also experienced other instances of severe pain and discomfort before this, haven’t you?”
“Obviously I have, if I have an ulcer,” I respond, crossing my arms over my chest and resting my back against my pillows. My stomach flips and my fingers itch for a cigarette, but I’m not about to ask for a smoke-break now. “And I didn’t say anything about a headache.”
“It was pretty obvious with the way you were holding your head,” Mari says with a snort. She frowns, clicking her pen and looking over the chart again. “I want to keep you overnight for observation, just in case you vomit again.”
“I’m not going to if the ulcer’s not bleeding anymore,” I say, shaking my head. There’s no use in arguing any further, though, not with the look Jazz is now giving me. “But alright. I’ll stay overnight.”
Mari nods, stuffing her pen in her pocket and turning on her heel. “I’ll go ahead and update Hajime on everything,” she says, and like that, Jazz and I are alone in the room.
Jazz watches her leave before rounding on me, folding his hands together in his lap. “Can you stop being so stubborn for a few minutes?” he asks. “She’s just worried about you.”
“It’s just an ulcer,” I tell him, relaxing my jaw. I put a hand to my forehead, brushing my hair out of my face before readjusting my glasses. “It’s not like I haven’t had them before.”
Jazz’s brow furrows. “How many of them have you had?” he asks, scooting his chair closer to my bed.
“Dunno -- used to get them a lot in medical school. This one might even be an old one that’s just flared up again,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders. I reach for his hand and squeeze it all while giving him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. They caught the bleed early.”
Jazz nods, reaching up to push his own hair out of his eyes. He sighs, frowning to himself. “So when did you start smoking again?”
I wince, looking away from him. I don’t let go of his hand, though. “A few weeks ago,” I answer, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, but -- it just hasn’t come up.”
Jazz nods again, a faraway look overtaking his features. His frown then deepens as he looks over at me again. “Is it alright if I call one of my father’s doctors onto your case?”
“Which one?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve met all of them, haven’t I?”
Jazz shakes his head. “Dad keeps this one doc on standby, in case the others can’t figure out whatever’s wrong with him --”
“Jazz, we know what’s wrong with me. Ulcers are pretty simple to diagnose and treat,” I mutter, pulling my hand away again.
“Yeah, but you’ve said this isn’t the first time you’ve had one -- Savin, what if they’re getting worse? What if there’s something that’s causing them that you don’t know about?” Jazz presses, chewing on his bottom lip. “Look, just -- please? It’ll give me some peace of mind to know that we’ve covered all our bases --”
I open my mouth to flat out tell him no, and Jazz shuts his in response, cutting himself off. For a moment, I think he might start crying, the way his bottom lip quivers just a little bit. My words die in my throat and I sigh, shaking my head in exasperation. “Fine,” I tell him, ignoring the way guilt has made my cheeks warm all over again. “Call the guy. But he doesn’t have to come look at me in person, okay? Tell Mari she’s allowed to release my records to him.”
Jazz’s expression relaxes, somewhat, and he smiles. He then leans over the edge of the hospital bed and kisses me. “Get some rest, okay?” he says as he pulls away. “I have to go back and do a couple of things for the Empire -- and I’ll call Dr. House and get him here on your case as soon as I can.”
My stomach drops as Jazz gets up from his seat and begins to make his way out of my hospital room. “Dr. House?” I ask, my mouth falling open. “As in Gregory House?” I continue, the words almost sticking in my throat.
Jazz turns on his heel and raises an eyebrow at me. “You know him?” he asks, confusing overtaking his expression.
“He’s not going to take my case,” I say with a snort, crossing my arms over my chest. “My case is too straight-forward.”
“He’ll take the case, Savin,” Jazz murmurs, frowning to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”
I want to tell him it doesn’t matter who I am or how bad my ulcer is, my case isn’t nearly exciting enough for the Gregory House to take it.
He’ll find out soon enough, I guess.
I mean, how could I not write a Tomorrow Trilogy/House, MD crossover with that kind of prompt? How? Savin, naturally, is the patient in question. So, while House hasn't made his entry yet, that's coming. Soon. Muahahaha
Mari glances at me, her eyes narrowing somewhat as we walk down the hospital hallway. I have a chart in my hand, one I just finished updating, and I focus my attention on that instead of her. My shoulders tense as her gaze never breaks away, her eyes boring into me.
“When was the last time you ate?”
“This morning,” I murmur, avoiding her eyes as I continue to make my way to the nearest nurses’ station.
“Savin....” The warning tone reminds me a bit of my mother. I snort, shaking my head as I drop the chart and look at her. “Seriously, when did you last eat? You have that look about you.”
“I’m not about to pass out, Mari,” I tell her, keeping my voice firm. I totally don’t feel like I’m going to, anyway. “It’s been how long since that last happened? Medical school?”
“First year of residency,” Mari said with a scoff. She shakes her head and continues to study me for a moment before sighing, leaning against the counter of the nurse’s station and resting her weight on her arms. “And I’m sure there have been other close calls much more recently than that.”
I roll my eyes, frowning slightly to myself. “If you don’t believe I ate this morning, ask Jazz,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. “I made him breakfast.”
“That doesn’t mean you ate any of it,” Mari says, a slight smile forming on her lips. “You used to make me breakfast all the time, remember? And you never ate a bit of it, back then, either.” She looks around the halls real quick before placing a hand on my arm, tugging me back down towards the hallway. “C’mon, let’s get you something to eat before you have to go into your next surgery.”
“I’m not hungry,” I protest, but I let her drag me down the hallway, anyway. There’s no use in stopping her, so I pull my arm free of her and shove my hands in my pockets. My face feels warm, and my glasses are sliding off my nose, reminding me that I forgot to put in my contacts that morning. “Seriously, Mari, I ate this morning, you don’t need to worry about me --”
“I’m not worried about you,” she snorts, shaking her head at me. “I’m protecting your next surgical patient. Who wants their surgeon to faint in the middle of surgery?”
“I’m not going to faint,” I insist, noticing the odd looks the nurses are starting to give the two of us now. The last thing I need is for them to start another round of rumors about me and Mari dating. Especially not when I’m engaged to Jazz. “I can usually feel when a spell’s going to come on, now -- and I don’t --”
I cut myself off as my stomach leaps into my throat and the world goes fuzzy, if only for a moment. I put my hand on the wall of the hallway and stop in my tracks. Breathe, I remind myself. Keep breathing.
“And you don’t feel one coming on, huh?” Mari asks, hands on her hips as she walks over to me. “We can slow down if you need to.”
I lift my head, and my face burns, but I manage to look her in the eye. “This -- this is different,” I grumble, raking my fingers through my hair and pushing it back. “Feels different.” My stomach continues to tie itself in knots, twisting over and over as my vision swims and fades, all over again. I pull my glasses off my face and close my eyes. I am not about to throw up, right here, in the middle of the goddamn hospital hallway. I’m not.
Thankfully, Mari slides her shoulder under my arm, and guides me towards the closest oncall room. “I’ll go get you something to eat,” she says once she helps me settle down onto the bed. “I’ll let your father know you might not be able to perform your next surgery.”
“I’ll be fine,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “Just -- go get me something to eat. Maybe it has been too long.” It almost hurts, admitting that outloud. I’m a doctor, for fuck’s sake, I should be able to take care of my own physical needs. Except I wasn’t lying, either, when I said that this felt different than any of my episodes in the past. Or about breakfast.
Mari doesn’t argue; she just gets up and walks back out of the on-call room, her own labcoat blowing behind her, almost like a cape. Don’t know what I’d do without her, at times. I take a moment to force my stomach to settle and to keep my vision steady before lying down on my back. I put a hand to my forehead. It’s slick with a thin sheen of a sweat, which is unusual for my spells, too.
It can’t be because I didn’t eat recently enough. It’s not because I’m in pain, either, because I didn’t feel like anything was wrong until my stomach decided that it wanted to try and make a break for it. No, even my vision feels different, and while I’d normally say it’s a migraine, based on my symptoms, I don’t have the actual headache that goes with one of those, either...
I hardly notice when Mari comes back into the room, food tray in hand. My vision swims as I sit back up, my stomach clenching at the mere sight of the food. Mari offers the tray and I take it, anyway, avoiding her eyes as my head begins to pound.
“Not a fainting spell,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. “Migraine.”
“That’s what you thought all your other fainting spells were, Savin,” Mari says, but her voice is gentle now as she settles on the small bed beside me. “Just take a few bites, okay, and give yourself a few minutes to actually digest before walking out of here.”
“You talk to my dad?” I ask, changing the subject. Might as well do as she says -- if I don’t, I’ll just end up wasting even more of my time here, doing absolutely nothing but staring blankly at some of the “best” food our hospital has to offer. I wrap my fingers around the apple sitting idly on the tray, the bright red skin reflecting light off it -- light that seems to be too much for my eyes to handle.
“He says he’ll cover the surgery if you’re still feeling faint,” Mari answers. Her eyes are on me, and her own frown deepens. “You really don’t feel up to eating, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” I say with a sigh. I put the apple back down, unable to lift it to my lips and take a bite. As much as I like apples, my stomach’s churning too hard at the very idea. I put my head in my hands, brushing my hair back and out of my face. My head pounds, and my stomach rolls again at the movement. “I just wanna go home.”
The admission is barely past my lips when my stomach climbs into my throat again, my mouth watering far more than it ever should. Mari has a trash can in her hand seconds before I can even register what’s happening. Once I’ve finished puking up what little I’ve had in my system, she pulls the trash can away and makes a face. “Guess you’re getting your wish,” she murmurs, giving me a slight smile in return. She pats my shoulder and rubs my back.
When she looks back in the can, again, her disgust gives away to something else. “Savin? You didn’t take a bite of the apple, right?”
“No,” I answer, feeling shaky as I collapse back into the bed, putting a hand to my forehead and wiping off my mouth with the back of my hand.
Even with my eyes half-closed, I can tell that the streak left behind on my hand shouldn’t be that dark -- nor should it be that red.
“How much pain are you in, exactly?” Mari asks. Her professionalism breaks through, her voice suddenly calm and very collected compared to a moment ago.
“Dunno,” I answer, putting my hands on my stomach. “A six?” My stomach twists again, my vision still swimming. “Could be worse.”
Mari nods, putting the trash can down beside the bed. She doesn’t look at me as she then stands up. “You just vomited blood,” she says, a slight frown forming on her face as she brushes a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. “I’m going to admit you to the hospital, so we can do some tests. Want me to call Jazz for you?”
I nod my head and turn my eyes towards the ceiling of the on-call room. “That means I have to get up again, doesn’t it?” I groan. The pain everywhere seems to intensify all at once, my vision swirling away at the edges again.
It fades to black before she can answer.
***
The world around me comes back in bright patches of light, the sounds of medical equipment unmistakably loud in my ears. Everything’s blurry, but then someone -- Jazz, I realize, as he comes into focus -- slides my glasses back over my eyes. “I got here as soon as I could,” he whispers, blue eyes wavering just like his voice. He squeezes my hand as he sucks on his bottom lip. “How’re you feeling?”
“I feel fine,” I mutter, pushing myself up into a sitting position. As I move, I realize I’m hooked up to an IV, with it feeding into the top of my hand. I snort, shaking my head. It still pounds, but not as bad as it was before. “How long have I been unconscious?” I ask, furrowing my brow.
“About an hour,” Mari answers. I blink, jumping slightly as she suddenly appears at my side, chart in hand. “We did an upper GI endoscopy while you were out.”
“Any ulcers?” I ask, swallowing thickly. Everything feels sore, now that I think about it My stomach. My throat. My head. I cradle my head in my hands again, trying to hide any signs of pain from Jazz.
“One.”
“Obviously it wasn’t perforated, otherwise I would be in surgery, right now,” I mutter, frowning to myself. Jazz looks back and forth between the two of us, worry and something else clouding his beautiful eyes. “How bad was the bleed?”
“I think we caught it just as it started,” Mari answers, frowning to herself. She approaches the bed, standing on the opposite side of it as she pulls up my chart. “Look, Savin, I know you’re going to hate me for doing this, but I’m going to have to ask you some questions.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes. “I’m fine now, Mari,” I murmur, glancing towards Jazz for help. Though with the level of worry written all over his face, I kinda doubt that he will. “Doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“One doesn’t just get an ulcer like that overnight,” Mari murmurs, exasperation creeping into her voice. “Especially not without any sort of history of pain or discomfort, beforehand. So. We’ll start with family history...”
I sigh, curling my fingers so that they wrap around Jazz’s tightly. “My parents are both in good health,” I start. I try to keep the boredom out of my voice as I rattle off the details “My father’s blood pressure’s a little high, but no other signs of heart disease or cholesterol issues. My mother’s a cancer survivor -- which you already knew, since we were together when she was diagnosed.”
Jazz’s eyes widen, his expression changing somewhat. “I didn’t know that --”
“It’s not relevant anymore, that’s why,” I grumble, pushing myself up to sit up straighter on the hospital bed. I give him a soft smile, squeezing his fingers in the process. “She went into remission years ago.”
Jazz nods, and Mari clears her throat. “Alright, personal history -- I can see that your blood pressure’s recovered just fine, since we put you on an IV. Your cholesterol is probably still impeccable. Do you smoke?”
Mari taps her pen against the chart and looks at me. Her hair partially covers her eyes, but I can see the sideways glance she gives Jazz, as well, who’s turned his eyes towards me. My face burns and a fiddle with the sheets of the hospital bed as I drop my eyes away from them both. “A few a day, yes,” I answer.
“You smoke?” Jazz gasps, his eyes narrowing at me. “I thought you said you quit?”
“I did!” I chew on my own lip, still avoiding his eyes. “It’s just -- between trying to learn the ins and outs of the Empire and still working at the hospital, I’ve been under a lot of stress, lately.”
“Drink?” Mari asks, saving me from the next round of questions I can see brewing behind Jazz’s eyes.
“Of course -- one or two nights a week.” It’s not inaccurate -- though I can tell Jazz is fighting back another barrage of questions. I give Mari a look. “Do you really need to ask me these questions? It’s not like you don’t already know the answers to most of them, Mari.”
“You vomited blood, Savin,” she mutters, putting her pen down again. “We found one bleeding ulcer.”
“Yeah, and the treatment for that is easy -- keep my stomach acid levels low while it heals,” I tell her, rolling my eyes. “It’s not that serious, okay?”
Mari and Jazz exchange a glance. “It’s your call,” she says to him after a while. “He’s your fiance.”
Jazz nods and turns his head towards me. That worry is back again, and he squeezes my fingers. “Maybe you should stay here overnight, just incase,” he suggests. He sounds so unsure of himself, and he glances back over at Mari for support. “Just one night, Savin.”
“It was an ulcer,” I repeat, clenching my jaw.
“That doesn’t explain the headache you had prior to vomiting,” Mari says, holding her chart to her chest. “You’ve also experienced other instances of severe pain and discomfort before this, haven’t you?”
“Obviously I have, if I have an ulcer,” I respond, crossing my arms over my chest and resting my back against my pillows. My stomach flips and my fingers itch for a cigarette, but I’m not about to ask for a smoke-break now. “And I didn’t say anything about a headache.”
“It was pretty obvious with the way you were holding your head,” Mari says with a snort. She frowns, clicking her pen and looking over the chart again. “I want to keep you overnight for observation, just in case you vomit again.”
“I’m not going to if the ulcer’s not bleeding anymore,” I say, shaking my head. There’s no use in arguing any further, though, not with the look Jazz is now giving me. “But alright. I’ll stay overnight.”
Mari nods, stuffing her pen in her pocket and turning on her heel. “I’ll go ahead and update Hajime on everything,” she says, and like that, Jazz and I are alone in the room.
Jazz watches her leave before rounding on me, folding his hands together in his lap. “Can you stop being so stubborn for a few minutes?” he asks. “She’s just worried about you.”
“It’s just an ulcer,” I tell him, relaxing my jaw. I put a hand to my forehead, brushing my hair out of my face before readjusting my glasses. “It’s not like I haven’t had them before.”
Jazz’s brow furrows. “How many of them have you had?” he asks, scooting his chair closer to my bed.
“Dunno -- used to get them a lot in medical school. This one might even be an old one that’s just flared up again,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders. I reach for his hand and squeeze it all while giving him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. They caught the bleed early.”
Jazz nods, reaching up to push his own hair out of his eyes. He sighs, frowning to himself. “So when did you start smoking again?”
I wince, looking away from him. I don’t let go of his hand, though. “A few weeks ago,” I answer, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, but -- it just hasn’t come up.”
Jazz nods again, a faraway look overtaking his features. His frown then deepens as he looks over at me again. “Is it alright if I call one of my father’s doctors onto your case?”
“Which one?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve met all of them, haven’t I?”
Jazz shakes his head. “Dad keeps this one doc on standby, in case the others can’t figure out whatever’s wrong with him --”
“Jazz, we know what’s wrong with me. Ulcers are pretty simple to diagnose and treat,” I mutter, pulling my hand away again.
“Yeah, but you’ve said this isn’t the first time you’ve had one -- Savin, what if they’re getting worse? What if there’s something that’s causing them that you don’t know about?” Jazz presses, chewing on his bottom lip. “Look, just -- please? It’ll give me some peace of mind to know that we’ve covered all our bases --”
I open my mouth to flat out tell him no, and Jazz shuts his in response, cutting himself off. For a moment, I think he might start crying, the way his bottom lip quivers just a little bit. My words die in my throat and I sigh, shaking my head in exasperation. “Fine,” I tell him, ignoring the way guilt has made my cheeks warm all over again. “Call the guy. But he doesn’t have to come look at me in person, okay? Tell Mari she’s allowed to release my records to him.”
Jazz’s expression relaxes, somewhat, and he smiles. He then leans over the edge of the hospital bed and kisses me. “Get some rest, okay?” he says as he pulls away. “I have to go back and do a couple of things for the Empire -- and I’ll call Dr. House and get him here on your case as soon as I can.”
My stomach drops as Jazz gets up from his seat and begins to make his way out of my hospital room. “Dr. House?” I ask, my mouth falling open. “As in Gregory House?” I continue, the words almost sticking in my throat.
Jazz turns on his heel and raises an eyebrow at me. “You know him?” he asks, confusing overtaking his expression.
“He’s not going to take my case,” I say with a snort, crossing my arms over my chest. “My case is too straight-forward.”
“He’ll take the case, Savin,” Jazz murmurs, frowning to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”
I want to tell him it doesn’t matter who I am or how bad my ulcer is, my case isn’t nearly exciting enough for the Gregory House to take it.
He’ll find out soon enough, I guess.