Gray Morning Rewrite -- Chapters ?-???

[theun4givables]

Welp, I'm writing bits of GM out of order again, and well -- I wrote this for writerverse, for their Big Bang challenge. It's really a collection of three chapters, right before Savin and Jazz split. Sarah said it was really good (???), so I figured I'd share it here. =p Since, y'know, it's been a while, anyway.

Savin glanced around the small apartment and rolled his shoulders in an effort to ease the tension coursing throughout his body. Jazz’s harsh words still stung in his ears, repeating themselves and opening new, smaller wounds each time they echoed. Just one night, he told himself. He would stay here one night, give Jazz and himself a chance to cool down, and he’d return to the Palace tomorrow, after he completed his shift at the hospital.

Tears stung at his eyes, but he ignored them as he wandered his way over to the small couch. It had been a while since he had truly stepped foot inside this apartment -- he had purchased it years ago, back when he had managed to make it through his last year of residency. He had scraped pennies together, saved everything at he could just so that he could have a space to call his own.

The memory caused his lips to twitch into something vaguely reminiscent of a smile before the weight of everything that had just occurred settled squarely on his chest. Savin put his face in his hands and willed himself to breathe in and out, to keep himself from sobbing.

They hadn’t had a fight like that in a long time.

They hadn’t had a fight like that, ever, now that he thought about it. Jazz had a tendency for passive-aggression, sure, but he had never outright said anything so incredibly hurtful, before. And Savin had never screamed like that, before. His throat ached, still sore from the onslaught he had unleashed on Jazz only an hour ago.

Savin sucked in a shaky breath, raking his hair out of his eyes with his fingers, and blinked the tears away. He needed to apologize. It didn’t matter that Jazz had hit a huge sore spot -- Jazz didn’t deserve any of that, and he knew it.

Except he couldn’t call to apologize. Not now. Not when he had left for the night -- not when he had returned to his old apartment, the one he used to call home long before he and Jazz had ever met. Savin snorted, remembering with an uneasy stomach that he and Jazz had spent their first night in bed, here. That he had undressed the younger man, not knowing just how high up the political food chain Jazz already was at the age of twenty-three compared to Savin’s more worldly-sounding thirty.

Nearly five years ago, now. Married for three.

And still, Savin couldn’t shake comparing himself to Mitchel. Couldn’t shake the sense of ill-ease that had filled him ever since he had met Mitchel -- ever since he had seen the way Mitchel would look at Jazz. Hunger and ownership and something else, all just underneath the surface of that carefully controlled veneer of painstakingly chosen words and smiles.

“I hate him,” Savin grumbled to himself, shaking his head. The tears had finally started to abate, and he sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Hands that had curled into fists that night. Fists that had wanted to connect with something, anything, as long as it wasn’t Jazz -- as long as it got his point across that he was angry. Pissed like he had never been pissed, before.

But not at Jazz, no. He wasn’t actually mad at Jazz. Himself, maybe, for letting Mitchel get to him. At Mitchel, definitely, for sneaking into Jazz’s mind and warping his view of Savin. But not at Jazz. Jazz was innocent, a bystander, the scapegoat.

Just like Mitchel had planned it, Savin thought bitterly to himself. Savin drew in another breath, this one steadier than the last deep breath he took, and let the air out slowly through his teeth. He needed to read something. Needed to keep his hands -- and his mind -- busy. He glanced around the small living room, not at all surprised to find a small pile of medical texts that he had collected throughout his years in medical school.

The only thing missing, he noted, was his treasured armchair. That, he knew, would remain at the Palace -- it was the only piece of furniture he couldn’t bare to leave behind in the now dusty and disused apartment. Slowly, Savin reached for a couple of textbooks and began flipping through them, studying the diagrams of anatomy he now knew better than his own body, the number of times he had pieced a human body back together.

His mind couldn’t focus on the words lining the pages, however, and soon his vision swam with more tears. His fingers itched for something round to hold -- though he wouldn’t be in the surgical suite tomorrow at all. He had patients to follow up on, patients to discharge and patients to go over their surgical options to aid in their recovery from trauma.

A cigarette, his mind whispered, his fingers twitching at the thought. Jazz wouldn’t know. The convenience store just down the road was still open this time of night, right? He could go there, buy a pack, smoke a few, and toss it all before returning to the Palace, tomorrow evening.

Savin sucked on his teeth in thought, his fingers curling in on themselves. He could almost feel the smoke in his lungs -- the oh so satisfying burn as the smoke cascaded down his throat. He snapped the textbook shut and pushed himself off the couch, throwing the book down on the small coffee table in front of him.

“One pack,” he muttered to himself as he slipped his shoes back on his feet. He fingered his back pocket, shoulders relaxing somewhat as he realized that yes, he did take his wallet with him when he stormed out of the Palace without so much as saying another word to Jazz.

Without wasting another second, Savin opened the apartment door with one hand and locked it with another -- his keys, he knew, were in his pocket, as he had a tendency to carry them with him until the moment he went to bed at night.

He could always go back to the Palace, he thought to himself as he walked down the crumbly steps that lead to his apartment door. He didn’t have to spend the night here. Maybe Jazz had calmed down enough for them to both speak rationally about things -- maybe they could resolve the issue, and maybe things would go back to normal.

That thought almost caused Savin to laugh out loud. Normal? He was the Emperor’s husband. Public enemy number two, if Amelia’s concerns about the Resistance and its growing power meant anything. His life had never been normal -- not since Jazz walked into it and swept Savin off his feet.

The walk to the convenience store took less than five minutes, just as Savin had remembered. He entered the building quietly and made his way to the counter. One pack, he repeated internally. He rattled off his preferred brand of cigarettes -- menthol, smooths, one-hundreds -- oh, and a lighter. The cashier looked up at him, eyeing him for a moment, then --

“Can I see ID, please?”

Savin blinked, then chuckled quietly to himself as he pulled out his ID from his wallet. “I haven’t heard that in a while,” he murmured, handing the thin piece of plastic over to the girl behind the counter.

She smiled at him, her fingers wrapping around the ID as she studied it for a moment. Her eyes widened as they skirted over the text, and she looked up at Savin again before she scanned the ID and then the pack of cigarettes.

“Are you the --”

“Yes,” Savin answered, pocketing the ID and the cigarettes without another word as he swiped his credit card.

“Does the Emperor know you --”

“No, he doesn’t,” Savin said, glancing around the store. Thankfully, it was mostly deserted, several other customers hanging out amongst the aisles, likely sneaking candy bars into their pockets. Savin leaned in close, offering the girl a slight smile even though he definitely didn’t feel like smiling. “Let’s keep this our little secret, okay?” he asked. “I don’t need the paparazzi on my back over fucking cigarettes.”

“O-Oh, okay, I won’t,” she said, flashing him a smile of her own. “Have a good day,” she continued, her eyes studying every inch of Savin’s face -- as if she couldn’t believe he were real.

Savin snorted and gave the girl a wry smile. “It’s a little too late for that,” he muttered under his breath. He made his way towards the doors quickly, itching to escape before anyone else dared to recognize him.

Once out the doors, Savin pulled the pack of cigarettes out from his pocket and began to bang the unopened pack against his wrist. The action was so familiar, so soothing, Savin found himself truly relaxing for the first time that night. He pulled a lone cigarette free and held it between his lips. He then fumbled with his lighter as he rounded the corner, but once he got the cigarette lit, he had to pause and close his eyes, savoring the burn.

Arms wrapped around him, one hand under his chin and pressing against his throat. Savin choked, the cigarette dropping from his lips as someone dragged him down an alley and pressed something cool against his temple.

“Don’t struggle,” a voice growled from behind him, a threat hanging at the end of his words. “Come with me.”

Savin nodded, unable to speak as the man’s hand continued to tighten around his throat, cutting off more of his airway. The hand then moved away, and Savin gulped in the stale city air. The gun -- it had to be a gun, he realized with trepidation -- remained pressed against his temple.

“Where are we going?” Savin managed, not daring to turn to look at the man. He knew better than to try, though his heart pounded in his chest and his legs tightened, ready to run.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” the man grunted from behind him, moving the gun from Savin’s temple to his ribs. “You don’t got any of those Guard members with you today, do you, Consort?” the man continued, this time sounding more amused than anything else. “All too easy to tail you and get you cornered...”

Savin winced as the gun jabbed against him, directing him to wherever the man wanted him to go. The Guard should have been tailing him -- they always were, these days -- unless...

Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, but Savin ignored them as he continued to force himself to keep breathing and walking, one step after the other. The man was uncomfortably close, one hand still on Savin’s shoulder and his breath in Savin’s ear.

Savin tried to focus on anything other than the gun. Tried to remember all of the kidnapping and survival training the Guard had pushed him to do, back when he and Jazz first got married. He found that none of the training came back to him, not when his mind raced with the possibilities.

He couldn’t even pick out landmarks, as the man kept them to alleyways that Savin had never bothered to explore before. They had to be getting close to wherever they were, though, because the man’s pace seemed to slow down.

Then the man whirled Savin around, one arm wrapping around him possessively from behind, and the other digging into Savin’s neck. Savin groaned, blinking out into the darkness that surrounded them both. The gun moved from behind his back to against his forehead again. “I know you’re there,” the man called out to the bricks. “I’ll shoot him -- and then your precious Emperor will lose the only thing he actually cares about.”

The man’s arm tightened around him, cutting off more of his air. Savin squeezed his eyes shut, resisting the urge to pull the man’s arm away from his throat. The man was met with silence, the air hanging heavy in the alleyway. Savin tried to breathe, moving his arm. He could elbow the guy in the gut -- what was next? In-step? If he could move quickly enough --

“Don’t even think about it, Consort,” the man grunted, and Savin heard a click. His eyes widened, what little air he could get catching in his throat. “I’m more than aware you’ve been trained in self-defense.”

Savin grit his teeth and resisted the urge to nod. He lowered his arm and closed his eyes, wishing for some sort of miracle. If the Guard really was following them...

A moment passed. Then another. The man kept the gun pressed to Savin’s temple, his breath still on Savin’s neck. He couldn’t tell if the man was shorter or taller than him -- but the man was definitely stronger, if the size of the man’s arm were any indication.

Savin’s vision began to swim. He reached up for the man’s arm, clawing at it while trying to pull it away from his neck. Air. He needed air, and now, or he’d --

A single shot rang out in Savin’s ears.

Chapter Break

Savin cried out, pain flaring up the side of his neck. The man’s arm went slack around him, and Savin bent forward, sucking in air for the second time that night. He scrambled away from the man, hand flying to his neck where the skin burned and prickled.

His fingers came away slick, and his stomach rolled in his throat as he glanced at the lifeless body lying on the dirty ground.

“You alright, Dr. Bates?”

Savin ignored the question, trying to control his breathing as he approached the man slowly. The bullet had clearly caught the man in the face, blood everywhere. Savin knelt beside the body, his fingers moving to a wrist. “He still has a pulse,” he murmured, looking up at the Guard member that had approached him. “If we get him to the hospital, we might still be able to --”

“He just hasn’t bled out yet, Dr. Bates, and you know that,” the Guard member said. The voice sounded familiar -- but Savin didn’t focus on that, not as he began to search his pockets.

“I need to trach him,” Savin said, pulling his keys out of his pockets. “If I trach him, he might --”

“Dr. Bates,” the Guard member snapped. Female. “We need to get you to the hospital. Make sure you don’t go into shock.”

“I’m fine -- not even hurt -- but this man is dying, and I took an oath --”

“Savin!” Savin looked up from the dying man in front of him, his eyes growing wide as he finally registered Amelia’s presence. “This man just tried to kidnap you -- he is an enemy of the Empire, and he was on the receiving end of a clean headshot. He isn’t going to make it.”

“If you just let me do my job --”

“Your job is to come with me, Dr. Bates. Even if your actions were to save his life, what kind of life would he lead? You know as well as I do that brain damage is never pretty -- and if you want to argue that maybe he will be more useful alive than dead, we’re already past that point. He made to kill you.”

Savin stared at Amelia, his lips pressing together into a thin line. “Fine,” he muttered, pushing himself off the ground and away from the man -- but not before checking for a pulse, once again. A pulse, this time, could not be found, and his stomach rolled once again. “I don’t need to go to the hospital,” he reiterated, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He could see his hand shake as he did so.

“We need to at least look you over and to make sure you are exhibiting no symptoms of shock,” Amelia said, her tone softer than Savin had ever heard it. “Please, there’s a vehicle waiting at the end of the alley, Dr. Bates.”

Savin nodded, feeling his whole body tremor with adrenaline and fear. Amelia turned on her heel, leading the way as other Guard members swept in through the alley, speaking in hushed whispers as they surrounded the body. He found himself following her despite every inch of him wanting to help the Guard with their assessment.

Slowly, they approached a low key black van, one parked innocently at the side of the road. The convenience store could be seen in the distance, and Savin’s stomach lurched into his throat. He found himself placing a hand on the van for support, doubling over as he vomited into the street.

He could have been killed.

A man died because of him.

“Dr. Bates, please -- step inside the van,” Amelia murmured, ushering him towards the now open door. She side-stepped the vomit, putting a light hand on his back. “We need to get you cleaned up before returning you to the Palace.”

Savin nodded, attempting to catch his breath as he stumbled over the threshold and into the van. A mousy man stared back at him, eyes wide behind his glasses and his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“How are you feeling, Dr. Bates?” the man asked, wrapping a blanket over Savin’s shoulders and gesturing for him to sit down on the gurney present.

Savin shook his head, unable to speak as he tried to will his stomach to settle. “I need a cigarette,” he muttered, patting down his pockets for the pack he had just bought. Relief flooded through him when he realized the pack was still in his pocket.

“Sounds about right,” the man said with a quiet chuckle. He studied Savin, eyes focusing on his neck. As he leaned in close, he picked up a dry cloth and brushed it against Savin’s skin. “Looks like the bullet grazed you,” he murmured, frowning as he pulled away. “Have any blood-borne illnesses, Dr. Bates?”

“No,” Savin answered, shaking his head. He sucked in a breath as the other man -- no doubt a doctor, Savin realized, though one he hadn’t met before -- began to clean out the wound.

“Good. I don’t need to tell you that you should get yourself checked again, just in case, do I?” the man asked as he bandaged the side of Savin’s neck. “And as a surgeon, I’m sure you know how to change your dressing.”

Savin nodded, shaky fingers reaching to touch the piece of gauze. He swallowed thickly, clearing his throat. The van lurched, and Savin found himself gripping the gurney in an effort to keep his balance. His vision swam for a moment and he closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. “Where are we going?” he asked, turning to lie down on the gurney. He wrapped the blanket around himself, nails digging into the rough fabric.

“Back to the Palace, Dr. Bates, as per Ms. Samson’s orders,” the man responded, settling into a seat of his own.

Savin shook his head. “I don’t want to go back to the Palace,” he said. “I have an apartment just down the road -- drop me off there.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to do that,” the man said with a sigh. “We’ll be at the Palace in ten minutes. You might as try to relax.”

Savin didn’t say anything in response and kept his eyes closed. Each turn of the van made his stomach churn worse, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. He tried not to think about the warmth his would-be captor’s breath on his neck, or the weight of the man’s arm against the base of his throat.

Ten minutes ticked by, taking longer than an eternity. When the van shuddered to a stop, Savin’s fellow doctor cleared his throat, and the side door of the van opened without a word passing the man’s lips. Slowly, Savin pushed himself up to sitting, feeling a shiver roll down his spine as he saw Amelia stand in front of the opened door.

“Come with me, Consort,” she murmured, placing both of her hands behind her back and lifting her chin.

Savin nodded, keeping the blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he stepped out of the van, this time a little steadier on his feet. The lights of the Palace were bright, and Amelia lead him through an entrance he was certain he had never been through, before.

“Emperor Callahan should be here in just a moment, Dr. Bates,” Amelia said, glancing up at him. She remained expressionless, her hands still clasped behind her back. “He has been informed of the abduction attempt. If you would prefer I give the two of you a moment of privacy, let me know.”

“I --” Savin’s words caught in his throat as he saw Jazz out of the corner of his eye.

He didn’t have a moment to react as Jazz came at him full force, wrapping his arms around Savin in a tight hug. “Thank god you’re okay,” he breathed into the crook of Savin’s neck. “Thank god, thank god, thank god.”

Savin blinked, the wind temporarily knocked out of him as Jazz squeezed him even harder, the younger man’s shoulders shaking as he began to sob quietly into Savin’s shirt. Savin’s eyes burned with tears, and slowly, he wrapped his arms around Jazz in return and rested his head against Jazz’s.

“I love you,” Jazz whispered, the words barely loud enough for Savin to hear. “I’m so, so sorry, I -- I shouldn’t have said that, I shouldn’t have -- I’m sorry.”

“I love you, too,” Savin said, clearing his throat and letting his own tears fall. He glanced at Amelia, who seemed to understand his unspoken message and began to walk away from the two of them.

Savin didn’t know how long he and Jazz stood in the short hallway, locked in their embrace. But he could tell that the adrenaline in his blood was beginning to fade, the ache returning in his bones and the exhaustion sweeping over him. He took in a deep breath and whispered, “Let’s go back to our apartment, okay?”

“Okay,” Jazz said, pulling away from him and looking up at Savin with tearful blue eyes. He wiped his tears away, scrubbing his face with the heel of his hand. Before Jazz could pull away entirely, though, his eyes fell on Savin’s neck and widened. “You -- they didn’t mention that you got hurt,” he breathed, reaching out to touch the bandage on the side of Savin’s neck.

Savin winced, moving away from Jazz’s fingers. “We’ll talk about it at home,” he said, wishing his stomach would remove itself from his throat. He swallowed, and wrapped his fingers around Jazz’s own before giving them a soft squeeze.

Jazz nodded, letting Savin lead the way as the two of them wandered down the winding hallways of the Palace. Savin almost broke out into a run, as he could feel everyone’s eyes on them -- on him, as they made their way back to their own living quarters. Even as they slipped past their door, Savin couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

And that, Savin knew, would be a problem.

Chapter Break

It wasn’t long before the nightmares began.

Savin tossed and turned in their bed, eyes clamped tightly shut before snapping open, glancing around the darkened room wildly. He patted Jazz’s side of the bed and exhaled, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding until his hands landed softly on top of Jazz’s bare skin.

Swallowing, Savin ignored the way his stomach churned and jumped into his throat, instead moving closer to Jazz and wrapping his arms around the younger man, burying his face in the crook of Jazz’s neck. In his dream, it had been Jazz who’d been held near-hostage by Savin’s abductor. It was Jazz who had narrowly missed getting shot. Again.

Savin breathed in deeply and pressed a soft kiss to the base of Jazz’s neck, ignoring the tears that stung at his eyes as he recalled his would-be abductor’s lifeless body. The damage done to the man’s face via the entrance wound. The blood. He was a surgeon, for Christ’s sake, it shouldn’t have bothered him.

But it made his stomach twist and clench all the same. Made it difficult for him to eat, nearly two weeks later. He and Jazz had barely spoken a word about it, not since Jazz had apologized for their argument.

They hadn’t discussed that, either. Both of them were too grateful that Savin came back to the Palace alive and mostly unharmed. But between the previous assassination attempt on Jazz, and now this attempted abduction of Savin...

Savin didn’t even want to leave the Palace to go to the hospital. And when he did go to his shifts, he kept seeing his attacker’s lifeless body -- kept seeing the entrance wound, kept feeling the faint but still there pulse. Acute traumatic stress, Amelia and the other Imperial Guards kept insisting. In a few weeks, he would adjust, and he would be okay.

Still, it affected the way his hands moved. And he needed his hands to be steady, to not flinch and for his vision to remain clear instead of shadowed with the past. He knew he needed to work his way through this -- knew that there would be a way around the fear, the distraction. But how? How, when he knew that things were only going to continue to get worse? Jazz was already shot once, after all.

What if Jazz was shot again? What if someone tried to kill Savin again? They were constantly in the spotlight, their relationship constantly under surveillance by the paparazzi. Though Savin had to admit, he was relieved that the convenience store clerk never did mention that he had bought a pack of cigarettes from her. The pack he had bought lasted him only a couple of days -- though how he managed to smoke through it without Jazz noticing, he didn’t know.

Savin shook his head and tightened his arm around Jazz’s waist, trying to will the thoughts away. He needed to go back to sleep. He needed the rest, and circling this thought process again wasn’t going to get him anywhere. It never did.

If only there was a way to protect them both -- if only there was a way to get the Resistance to just go away. But without knowing what their endgame was -- without knowing their demands, Savin didn’t know how to help Jazz resolve the issue. It wasn’t like Jazz spoke to him about it at all, anymore.

Actually, Jazz had been speaking to him less and less about the Empire over the past few months. While Jazz did have his policy of keeping work and home separate, Jazz would at least fill Savin in on any major events within the Empire. And Jazz hadn’t gone to the Colonies in ages -- not since he had been shot, now that Savin thought about it.

They needed to talk about all of this, Savin knew.

But he’ll be damned if he was going to be the one to bring it all up, first.

***

Savin came home from work the next day, exhaustion seeping into his very bones as he opened and closed the door to their living quarters. Jazz sat at his desk in the corner, hunched over various piles of paperwork and his fingers buried in his hair, nails no doubt digging into his scalp.

“This is -- there’s no fucking way...” Jazz murmured to himself.

“There’s no way, what?” Savin asked, clearing his throat.

Jazz jumped and swiveled in his chair, his eyes growing wide as they landed on Savin. “S-Savin, you’re home! Isn’t it a little early for you to --”

“It’s nearly nine, Jazz,” Savin said, glancing at his phone and furrowing his brow.

“No it’s not, I just sat down maybe an...” Jazz trailed off, his gaze shifting to his own cell phone. “Shit,” he muttered, scrubbing at his face with the palm of his hand. “What the fuck -- I could have sworn it’s only been an hour...”

Savin snorted, a slight smile playing on his lips. He pulled his jacket off from around his shoulders and hung it up on the coatrack by the door. “What’re you working on?” he asked quietly, approaching Jazz.

Jazz bit his lip and turned back around and picked up the several stacks of notes and papers, organizing them into neat little piles. “Nothing,” he said, clearing his throat. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Jazz --”

“It’s nothing, Savin,” Jazz repeated, frowning at Savin over his shoulder. He pushed himself up from his seat and stretched, raking his fingers through his hair. “How was work?” he asked, giving Savin a shakey smile. He glanced at Savin’s scrubs, his nose wrinkling in slight disgust. “It looks like you uh, had an interesting day.”

Savin snickered, moving to take off his shirt. “Yeah, it was,” he said, the amusement fading from his voice as he studied Jazz once again. He frowned to himself, rolling the soiled shirt into a tight ball. “Jazz, what’s going on?” he asked, his voice quiet, but unyielding. “You look anxious about something.”

“Nothing,” Jazz replied, a nervous squeak to his voice. He plucked the balled up shirt from Savin’s fingers and turned on his heel, heading towards their bedroom. “It’s -- I hope it’s nothing,” he said under his breath -- just loud enough for Savin to hear.

“You hope what is nothing?” Savin demanded, following Jazz towards their room. Jazz’s shoulders tensed, but the younger man didn’t say anything as he stepped into their bedroom and tossed Savin’s top in the dirty clothes’ hamper. “Jazz, please, you need to start talking to me about this --”

“We don’t discuss work at home, remember?” Jazz asked, turning his eyes towards Savin. Savin jumped at the intensity in Jazz’s eyes and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“I think that stopped being a rule when your ‘work’ nearly got both of us killed,” Savin murmured quietly, slipping out of the rest of his soiled scrubs and crossing his arms over his bare chest. “What is going on, Jazz?”

Jazz winced, his hand flying to his left shoulder. “Mitchel thinks --”

“Of course,” Savin snorted, shaking his head. “What’s Mitchel think, this time? That you guys need to conduct more ‘private meetings’?”

Jazz chewed on his bottom lip and gave Savin a pleading look. “Please, Savin, just drop it --”

“Drop what?” Savin snapped. “You just said Mitchel thinks something, I’m just trying to figure out what.”

“If you had let me finish my sentence --” Jazz cut himself with a disgruntled sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry,” he said after taking in a deep breath. “I know you aren’t fond of him, and I know that I’ve been spending a lot of time with him, lately, so -- let me start over, okay?”

“Okay,” Savin said with a curt nod of his head. He headed towards his dresser and pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms, turning his back to Jazz. He tried not to think back to their previous fight and breathed in deeply himself. As he slipped a shirt on over his shoulders, he faced Jazz again and leaned back against his dresser, crossing his arms over his chest once again. “It’s obviously Empire related, so -- let’s start there.”

“Let’s,” Jazz said with a nod of his own. He sighed and sat down on the edge of their bed, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Mitchel thinks we might have to go to war with the Resistance.”

“You don’t agree with him,” Savin stated simply, pushing himself away from the dresser. “Right?” he prompted once Jazz didn’t say anything in response.

“I --” Jazz winced, twisting his wedding ring with his fingers. He glanced at Savin, an apprehensive look on his face. “With the assassination attempts and -- and the pockets of unauthorized military activity...”

“‘Attempts’?” Savin asked, raising an eyebrow. “You mean the one on me and the one on you, right? Not --”

“There’s been more than one on me,” Jazz whispered, avoiding Savin’s eyes. “It’s just -- none of them had gotten as close as the first one, so...”

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me?” Savin asked, confusion lacing his voice. “Jazz, that’s --”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Jazz said, wincing. He continued to twist his wedding ring between his fingers. “You’ve got enough on your plate -- what with losing your mother, me getting shot, and now your -- your own assassination attempt, it’s -- a lot.”

“It is,” Savin agreed with a stout nod. He studied Jazz for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. “So you think this whole Resistance thing is going to lead to a war, then?”

“I don’t -- I don’t know, yet,” Jazz said, putting his head in his hands. He scrubbed at his face again. “I’m trying to do all that I can to avoid it, but -- well, Mitchel has half the fucking Council on his side, and they keep pushing for war, so...” Jazz’s hands fell from his face and dangled between his knees. Every bit the look of a defeated man.

Savin’s stomach turned, and he looked away from Jazz. “I’m going to order something from the kitchens -- you want anything?” he asked as he headed towards the bedroom door. He pulled his phone out of his pajama pocket, his thumb resting over the autodial.

“Savin...”

There was a pleading note to Jazz’s voice -- one that stopped Savin in his tracks. “What is it, Jazz?” he asked.

“Are you -- are you okay?” Jazz asked, and Savin heard the bed shift under Jazz’s weight. Savin turned to face him, his eyebrows furrowing together as Jazz gave him a concerned look. “You haven’t -- we haven’t -- y’know...”

Savin blinked, and tried to give Jazz a soft, reassuring smile. Except he found his frown deepened further, and his stomach clenched and twisted again. “I just haven’t -- been in the mood for that, that’s all,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

Jazz nodded, approaching Savin slowly. He wrapped his arms around Savin and gave him a brief hug. “I love you,” he whispered into Savin’s shoulder. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? We’ve been through some really awful things, this year -- if you need to talk...”

“I know,” Savin said, wrapping his arms around Jazz in return. “I love you, too.” He drew in a breath, steadying himself as he thought about what he was going to say, next. “But -- I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Jazz.”

Jazz tensed in his arms, then backed away from Savin slowly, his eyes wide with hurt and disbelief.

Savin just turned on his heel and put his phone to his ear.