Writerverse - Table of Doom, Prompt: Everybody Lies
So I'm starting part of my rewrite for Gray Morning. These aren't official chapters, as I won't really be writing GM for a while, but I have every intention of salvaging as much of them as I can when I get to the real rewrite of GM. I'll be writing from Savin's quick descent towards his rock bottom, through his rock bottom, Jazz leaving, and maybe through to when Jazz comes back.
Flowers and Excuses come before this.
Jazz rubbed at his eyes, trying to get the words on the pages before him to stop blurring. It had been a week since Savin had grabbed him; almost a week since they had their inconclusive conversation about where they stood with one another.
They hadn't spoken since.
Sure, they debated during the Council meetings. Kept up brave faces in front of the Council, even managed to be affectionate in front of them. With the strange looks Mitchel kept passing them, though, it wouldn’t be long before the older man tried to determine what, exactly, was going on between them.
Jazz shook his head, as if trying to banish that thought away. He didn’t need to think about Mitchel, not now. Not when he should be trying to determine how much longer he could live like this, hardly sleeping and eating whenever Savin was anywhere near him. He barely slept in his own bed, now, opting to sleep on the couch whenever he and Savin were home at the same time.
Thankfully, Savin had picked up an extra shift or two at the hospital. Kept himself busy. Just as Jazz had been, trying to determine how to best handle the Hooban War, and the growing threat of the Resistance. Sighing, Jazz picked up his bottle of beer and tipped it back before sinking further into the booth.
Savin would no doubt come looking for him soon. And while Jazz hadn’t made it a habit to do his work at the Palace Bar, he knew Savin would think to check there. After all, he and Ryin used to hang out there all the time. Used to talk about anything over a beer or three.
He wished he could talk to Ryin now. Hear his voice, hear him disparage “Doc” and how he did Mari wrong. Listen to Ryin as he pointed out men to him, asking for Jazz’s opinion on them. Jazz would do the same, pointing out women in order to hear Ryin’s thoughts on them. Everything was always relaxed with Ryin. Safe. Secure.
But his best friend had gone missing years ago. They still hadn’t found his shuttle -- space was vast, after all. Again, Jazz gave himself a little shake and bit his lip. He didn’t want to think about that, either. Not when he could use his best friend the most. Not when he missed him so damn much. He needed Ryin’s company now, more than ever.
“Emperor Callahan?”
Jazz jumped, feeling his blood thicken in his veins as Mitchel’s voice broke through his thoughts. He tightened his grip on his pen and grit his teeth together. “Counselor Foraker,” he said, turning to glance at Mitchel over his shoulder. Jazz sat up straighter, all in vain hopes that Mitchel, just this once, would have a heart and leave him alone.
When Mitchel slid into the seat on the other side of the booth, face creased with faked concern, Jazz felt his stomach sink to the floor. “Shouldn’t you be at home with your fellow Emperor, Callahan?” Mitchel asked, lifting his eyebrows in feigned surprise.
Jazz focused his attention back on the paperwork in front of him, this time the words blurring for entirely different reasons. Still, he managed to keep himself composed. Managed to keep his voice from shaking as he spoke. “Shouldn’t you be at home?” he countered, his eyes not once leaving the reports.
“I, too, like to indulge in adult beverages every once in a while,” Mitchel murmured. There was a pause as a glass gently clinked onto the table between them. “You, on the other hand, haven’t so much as stepped foot into this bar since Emperor King’s untimely disappearance.”
“Becoming Emperor has made it a little bit more difficult to want to relax with a beer or two,” Jazz muttered, flicking his eyes towards Mitchel’s, if just for a moment. He frowned to himself. “And you’re not exactly company I would like to keep right now, Foraker.”
“Nor is your husband, if your behavior is any indication, Callahan,” Mitchel pointed out. He lifted his glass again, his hand pausing with the glass just before his lips. “You haven’t been fixing Bates’s tie before each meeting. Are the two of you having more marital problems?”
“You’d love to know, wouldn’t you?” Jazz snapped, glaring at him. He tossed his pen down onto the table and rubbed his face with his hands. “Just -- leave me alone, Mitchel.”
Mitchel leaned back against the booth, his eyes focusing on some point beyond Jazz as he sipped his drink -- scotch, probably, if Jazz remembered correctly. “I’m just concerned, Callahan --”
Jazz laughed, nearly choking on his own beer. “You? Concerned for anyone but yourself? Just -- fuck off, okay?” His voice cracked, his sarcastic laughter subsiding as tears threatened to take its place. “You don’t actually care, so stop pretending to.”
“Jasper, I have always cared,” Mitchel whispered, reaching out for Jazz’s hand. Jazz pulled his hand away, sliding it under the table as he glared at Mitchel.
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. He shivered as he remembered Savin saying his full name, the hatred and anger that had seeped around it. “And don’t fucking touch me, either. I know what you’re doing, Mitchel -- I’m not playing this fucking game with you.”
“This isn’t a game to me, Callahan,” Mitchel insisted, frowning himself. He tossed back the rest of his scotch and set the empty glass aside. “You and Bates are our Emperors. If there’s trouble in paradise --”
“There’s no trouble, Mitchel,” Jazz said, pushing his own bottle aside as he began to gather the papers in front of him. He shoved his pen in his pocket before scooping up his folder and sliding out of the booth. He needed to leave. Now. Before Mitchel pushed any harder.
Jazz turned on his heel and stormed out of the bar before Mitchel could say anything else in protest. He needed to get home. Needed to just sit and relax and not have anyone talk to him, just for a little bit, before inevitably crawling into bed with Savin and wishing with all his strength that things could just go back to the way they used to be.
Tears were in his eyes before he could stop them, causing Jazz to hug his folder even closer to his heart. Mitchel wouldn’t follow him, right? Mitchel would just leave him alone and get the hint, wouldn’t he? It wasn’t like he actually cared -- wasn’t like he actually wanted to help or bring Jazz any comfort. He just wanted Jazz for himself, still, after all these years.
Right?
“Callahan, wait!”
Jazz stopped, his heart no longer beating in his chest as he held his breath. “What do you want, Mitchel?” he cried, turning on his heel to glare at the older man.
“I want to know why you’re upset,” Mitchel answered, shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly. He raked his fingers through his hair -- hair that was now more gray than dark brown. He cleared his throat, his eyes never once leaving Jazz’s. They weren’t guarded like they usually were. They actually look concerned, maybe even in pain.
“It’s -- it’s none of your business,” Jazz said, shaking his head. The tears kept coming and he could feel his shoulders shake as he held back sobs. As he held back his words. Part of him wanted to tell Mitchel. Wanted to tell him how Savin had grabbed him, the things Savin had said.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t, not out here in the hallway, not where people could hear him and see him. He was the Emperor, for fuck’s sake, he shouldn’t be having an emotional breakdown at all -- especially not where anyone could see.
“Then you have no need to tell me,” Mitchel said after a moment, moving even closer to Jazz. He seemed to consider his words carefully, just like he always did. “But I’m here, if you want someone to talk to about it,” he continued, placing a light hand on Jazz’s shoulder. One that felt comforting -- safe.
Jazz opened his mouth to speak, but a wordless whine escaped him instead as he buried his head on Mitchel’s shoulder, letting his tears flow freely -- if just for a moment. He couldn’t talk, but he could cry, and Mitchel would likely use this against him and Savin later, but right now -- right now, he didn’t care.
Arms wrapped around him hesitantly as Mitchel stiffened under his weight, but those arms soothed him, all the same. Jazz didn’t know how long they stood like that as the sobs wracked his body even harder, causing Mitchel to tighten his arms reflexively.
When the air around them went cold, Jazz tensed. Mitchel did, as well. “Bates,” Mitchel said, contempt lacing his voice. His arms fell away from Jazz, just as Jazz snapped his head up and nearly flung himself out of Mitchel’s arms.
“Foraker,” Savin said, nodding his head curtly. Jazz’s heart began pounding in his chest as Savin reached for his hand, his grip tight around his fingers. Their eyes met, the same shadowed look from a week ago masking any emotion Savin might have felt. If he felt any, at all. “Thank you for finding my husband for me. If you’ll excuse us, I need to speak with him.”
“Of course, Emperor Bates,” Mitchel murmured. He glanced at Jazz briefly, his eyes betraying his worry. “I’ll see the two of you tomorrow during the meeting.”
Mitchel then turned on his heel, each step measured as he walked away from them both. Jazz almost called out to him, almost begged him not to leave him alone with Savin, not when Savin’s nails dug into the back of his hand, into his wrist. “C’mon, Jazz,” Savin snapped, tugging Jazz down the hallway. “We have a lot we need to fucking talk about.”
“S-Savin, please -- don’t do this,” he begged, his voice hardly above a whisper.
He could only hope Savin would listen.
A Doorway to Hell is next
Flowers and Excuses come before this.
Jazz rubbed at his eyes, trying to get the words on the pages before him to stop blurring. It had been a week since Savin had grabbed him; almost a week since they had their inconclusive conversation about where they stood with one another.
They hadn't spoken since.
Sure, they debated during the Council meetings. Kept up brave faces in front of the Council, even managed to be affectionate in front of them. With the strange looks Mitchel kept passing them, though, it wouldn’t be long before the older man tried to determine what, exactly, was going on between them.
Jazz shook his head, as if trying to banish that thought away. He didn’t need to think about Mitchel, not now. Not when he should be trying to determine how much longer he could live like this, hardly sleeping and eating whenever Savin was anywhere near him. He barely slept in his own bed, now, opting to sleep on the couch whenever he and Savin were home at the same time.
Thankfully, Savin had picked up an extra shift or two at the hospital. Kept himself busy. Just as Jazz had been, trying to determine how to best handle the Hooban War, and the growing threat of the Resistance. Sighing, Jazz picked up his bottle of beer and tipped it back before sinking further into the booth.
Savin would no doubt come looking for him soon. And while Jazz hadn’t made it a habit to do his work at the Palace Bar, he knew Savin would think to check there. After all, he and Ryin used to hang out there all the time. Used to talk about anything over a beer or three.
He wished he could talk to Ryin now. Hear his voice, hear him disparage “Doc” and how he did Mari wrong. Listen to Ryin as he pointed out men to him, asking for Jazz’s opinion on them. Jazz would do the same, pointing out women in order to hear Ryin’s thoughts on them. Everything was always relaxed with Ryin. Safe. Secure.
But his best friend had gone missing years ago. They still hadn’t found his shuttle -- space was vast, after all. Again, Jazz gave himself a little shake and bit his lip. He didn’t want to think about that, either. Not when he could use his best friend the most. Not when he missed him so damn much. He needed Ryin’s company now, more than ever.
“Emperor Callahan?”
Jazz jumped, feeling his blood thicken in his veins as Mitchel’s voice broke through his thoughts. He tightened his grip on his pen and grit his teeth together. “Counselor Foraker,” he said, turning to glance at Mitchel over his shoulder. Jazz sat up straighter, all in vain hopes that Mitchel, just this once, would have a heart and leave him alone.
When Mitchel slid into the seat on the other side of the booth, face creased with faked concern, Jazz felt his stomach sink to the floor. “Shouldn’t you be at home with your fellow Emperor, Callahan?” Mitchel asked, lifting his eyebrows in feigned surprise.
Jazz focused his attention back on the paperwork in front of him, this time the words blurring for entirely different reasons. Still, he managed to keep himself composed. Managed to keep his voice from shaking as he spoke. “Shouldn’t you be at home?” he countered, his eyes not once leaving the reports.
“I, too, like to indulge in adult beverages every once in a while,” Mitchel murmured. There was a pause as a glass gently clinked onto the table between them. “You, on the other hand, haven’t so much as stepped foot into this bar since Emperor King’s untimely disappearance.”
“Becoming Emperor has made it a little bit more difficult to want to relax with a beer or two,” Jazz muttered, flicking his eyes towards Mitchel’s, if just for a moment. He frowned to himself. “And you’re not exactly company I would like to keep right now, Foraker.”
“Nor is your husband, if your behavior is any indication, Callahan,” Mitchel pointed out. He lifted his glass again, his hand pausing with the glass just before his lips. “You haven’t been fixing Bates’s tie before each meeting. Are the two of you having more marital problems?”
“You’d love to know, wouldn’t you?” Jazz snapped, glaring at him. He tossed his pen down onto the table and rubbed his face with his hands. “Just -- leave me alone, Mitchel.”
Mitchel leaned back against the booth, his eyes focusing on some point beyond Jazz as he sipped his drink -- scotch, probably, if Jazz remembered correctly. “I’m just concerned, Callahan --”
Jazz laughed, nearly choking on his own beer. “You? Concerned for anyone but yourself? Just -- fuck off, okay?” His voice cracked, his sarcastic laughter subsiding as tears threatened to take its place. “You don’t actually care, so stop pretending to.”
“Jasper, I have always cared,” Mitchel whispered, reaching out for Jazz’s hand. Jazz pulled his hand away, sliding it under the table as he glared at Mitchel.
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. He shivered as he remembered Savin saying his full name, the hatred and anger that had seeped around it. “And don’t fucking touch me, either. I know what you’re doing, Mitchel -- I’m not playing this fucking game with you.”
“This isn’t a game to me, Callahan,” Mitchel insisted, frowning himself. He tossed back the rest of his scotch and set the empty glass aside. “You and Bates are our Emperors. If there’s trouble in paradise --”
“There’s no trouble, Mitchel,” Jazz said, pushing his own bottle aside as he began to gather the papers in front of him. He shoved his pen in his pocket before scooping up his folder and sliding out of the booth. He needed to leave. Now. Before Mitchel pushed any harder.
Jazz turned on his heel and stormed out of the bar before Mitchel could say anything else in protest. He needed to get home. Needed to just sit and relax and not have anyone talk to him, just for a little bit, before inevitably crawling into bed with Savin and wishing with all his strength that things could just go back to the way they used to be.
Tears were in his eyes before he could stop them, causing Jazz to hug his folder even closer to his heart. Mitchel wouldn’t follow him, right? Mitchel would just leave him alone and get the hint, wouldn’t he? It wasn’t like he actually cared -- wasn’t like he actually wanted to help or bring Jazz any comfort. He just wanted Jazz for himself, still, after all these years.
Right?
“Callahan, wait!”
Jazz stopped, his heart no longer beating in his chest as he held his breath. “What do you want, Mitchel?” he cried, turning on his heel to glare at the older man.
“I want to know why you’re upset,” Mitchel answered, shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly. He raked his fingers through his hair -- hair that was now more gray than dark brown. He cleared his throat, his eyes never once leaving Jazz’s. They weren’t guarded like they usually were. They actually look concerned, maybe even in pain.
“It’s -- it’s none of your business,” Jazz said, shaking his head. The tears kept coming and he could feel his shoulders shake as he held back sobs. As he held back his words. Part of him wanted to tell Mitchel. Wanted to tell him how Savin had grabbed him, the things Savin had said.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t, not out here in the hallway, not where people could hear him and see him. He was the Emperor, for fuck’s sake, he shouldn’t be having an emotional breakdown at all -- especially not where anyone could see.
“Then you have no need to tell me,” Mitchel said after a moment, moving even closer to Jazz. He seemed to consider his words carefully, just like he always did. “But I’m here, if you want someone to talk to about it,” he continued, placing a light hand on Jazz’s shoulder. One that felt comforting -- safe.
Jazz opened his mouth to speak, but a wordless whine escaped him instead as he buried his head on Mitchel’s shoulder, letting his tears flow freely -- if just for a moment. He couldn’t talk, but he could cry, and Mitchel would likely use this against him and Savin later, but right now -- right now, he didn’t care.
Arms wrapped around him hesitantly as Mitchel stiffened under his weight, but those arms soothed him, all the same. Jazz didn’t know how long they stood like that as the sobs wracked his body even harder, causing Mitchel to tighten his arms reflexively.
When the air around them went cold, Jazz tensed. Mitchel did, as well. “Bates,” Mitchel said, contempt lacing his voice. His arms fell away from Jazz, just as Jazz snapped his head up and nearly flung himself out of Mitchel’s arms.
“Foraker,” Savin said, nodding his head curtly. Jazz’s heart began pounding in his chest as Savin reached for his hand, his grip tight around his fingers. Their eyes met, the same shadowed look from a week ago masking any emotion Savin might have felt. If he felt any, at all. “Thank you for finding my husband for me. If you’ll excuse us, I need to speak with him.”
“Of course, Emperor Bates,” Mitchel murmured. He glanced at Jazz briefly, his eyes betraying his worry. “I’ll see the two of you tomorrow during the meeting.”
Mitchel then turned on his heel, each step measured as he walked away from them both. Jazz almost called out to him, almost begged him not to leave him alone with Savin, not when Savin’s nails dug into the back of his hand, into his wrist. “C’mon, Jazz,” Savin snapped, tugging Jazz down the hallway. “We have a lot we need to fucking talk about.”
“S-Savin, please -- don’t do this,” he begged, his voice hardly above a whisper.
He could only hope Savin would listen.
A Doorway to Hell is next