The Tomorrow Trilogy - Gray Morning: Chapter ?
This originally started out as a "What if Jazz didn't act on impulse and push Savin out of the way of Mitchel's bullet?" idea. It erm... then sparked this whole other idea with a different decision being made earlier on in the book than this -- and now it might be canon. Thoughts more than welcome.
Jazz glanced around the empty execution room, his grip tightening on Savin’s arm. “Savin,” he began, his voice shaking, “where is everyone?”
“Don’t know,” Savin answered, glancing at Jazz out of the corner of his eye. There was a firm edge to his voice, one that struck a chord deep within Jazz’s mind. He pulled himself free of Jazz’s grip and instead wrapped an arm around Jazz’s waist, holding him close. “They should be here, though.”
“They won’t be coming.” Jazz tensed, a chill crawling up his spine and settling at the back of his neck. “And neither will Mr. Diehl, Emperors.”
Savin turned on his heel first, his arm falling away from Jazz’s waist in an instant. “Mitchel,” he spat, narrowing his eyes at the older man in front of them. “I should have fucking known.”
Jazz’s heart skipped a beat as he turned to face Mitchel. Mitchel held his arms loosely crossed over his chest. His greying hair was disheveled, looking nothing like it usually did. Mitchel’s eyes met Jazz’s for a moment, his lips pressing together into tight line. “What -- What did you do to Ravi?” Jazz managed.
Mitchel’s expression changed, a twisted smirk forming on his features. He uncrossed his arms, the action slow and deliberate. His eyes never left Jazz’s -- and for a second, Jazz thought he saw a flash of remorse. “I took care of him,” he said, throwing his shoulders back.
Jazz’s eyes widened. “You --” He cut himself off, his stomach threatening to escape through his mouth. He glanced at Savin, who raised an eyebrow at him. Jazz shook his head, clutching a hand to his chest. “Why?” he demanded..
“I already told you, Callahan,” Mitchel muttered, one hand slipping under the edge of his jacket and into his pocket. His eyes narrowed, that smirk never leaving his face. “He was a liability. He stood in the way of my plans.”
Jazz frowned, his breath catching in his throat. Tears filled his eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak. Except Savin pushed past him, fists balled at his sides, shoulders bunched together. Jazz watched as Mitchel’s expression changed -- watched as his hand withdrew from his pocket, fingers wrapped around something.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t shout a warning. Couldn’t do anything as Mitchel raised his hand to chest level, the light glinting off the shiny metal in his hand.
Everything stopped when Mitchel pulled the trigger.
Savin staggered, a cry escaping his lips. Mitchel grinned, his lips peeling apart slowly and revealing perfect teeth one at a time. Jazz’s limbs felt heavy, his heart tumbling to the floor as the world spun around him. His knees hit the floor just as Savin collapsed, hand clutched to his chest as he coughed and sputtered, blood coloring his lips.
“Savin!” Jazz’d body moved on autopilot, hands clawing and pulling him forward, even though his legs didn’t want to work. He pulled Savin into his lap, tears streaming down his face.
“Fuck,” Savin gasped. Jazz watched as Savin’s eyes screwed up in pain. Could feel the gasping, shuddering breaths he took. Savin clawed at Jazz’s arms, fingers digging into the fabric of Jazz’s suit. “J-Jazz, I need you -- to do as I -- as I say,” he managed, each word ragged and difficult to hear. “Need you to -- to staunch the -- the --”
Jazz blinked his tears away, willing his heart to stop its ridiculous pounding in his chest. He could barely hear Savin’s words over it. Despite that, he found himself shedding his jacket and pressing it against Savin’s bleeding chest. He bit his lip as the color continued to drain from Savin’s face. “Mitchel, please,” he pleaded, turning his eyes upwards.
His breath caught in his throat again, his pleas dying on his lips as Mitchel stood over them both, the gun squarely pointed at Jazz’s head. Jazz’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t --”
“I would,” Mitchel murmured, never once lowering the gun. His eyes hardened, a slight scowl forming on his face. Jazz heard the unmistakable click of the safety. “Tell me, Callahan, did you really think I would spare you?”
“J-Jazz, what is he --” Savin choked on the rest of his words, coughing up more blood, “-- he talking about?”
Jazz shook his head, swallowing sobs as he pressed his jacket further into Savin’s chest. “N-Nothing, Savin -- he’s not talking about anything.” He glared at Mitchel, his eyes filling with tears. “If you’re going to shoot me, Mitchel, do it now.”
Mitchel scoffed, the scowl transforming into a smirk. His finger remained away from the trigger of the gun. “I’ll wait until Bates dies, first,” he said, his voice taking on its usual smug, teasing tone. “After all, you still have plenty you need to explain to your husband, don’t you, Jasper?”
“No!” Jazz wrapped his arms around Savin, his lips capturing Savin’s own. When he pulled away, he looked Savin in the eye, cupping Savin’s face with his hands. “S-Savin, whatever he -- whatever Mitchel says -- it’s not -- it’s not fucking true, okay?” he managed between sobs.
Savin gave a jerky nod of his head, his lips twitching into something vaguely resembling a smile. “‘Course it’s -- it’s not,” he coughed. He reached up, one of his hands placing itself on top of Jazz’s. He gave it a weak squeeze. “He’s a liar.”
Mitchel snorted. “There’s no use in denying it. I am a liar. However, so is your precious husband, Bates,” he began. Jazz bit his lip, returning his hands to Savin’s chest and putting more pressure on the wound. “Would you like to know the real reason why he returned to the Empire?”
“Stop it,” Jazz hissed, wiping his tears away with one hand. His stomach rolled as he caught the scent of blood. “He’s fucking dying, Mitchel -- just -- stop it.”
Savin’s brow furrowed, a pained frown forming on his lips. His eyes moved from Jazz to Mitchel, his breathing growing shallower by the minute. “Why?” he croaked out.
“I’m glad you asked, Emperor,” Mitchel purred, stepping even closer. The gun never wavered, not once as he pressed it against Jazz’s temple. “You see, I always knew where your precious husband was when he left. I helped him leave you, after all. Placed him in Mr. Diehl’s care, myself.” Contempt sneaked into Mitchel’s voice as a vicious scowl took over his features. “I convinced him to come back -- as long as I made sure that you, Bates, would no longer be a threat to his safety.”
Jazz’s tears stopped, guilt twisting and pulling at his stomach. Savin’s eyes widened behind his glasses, which had been knocked askew. Perfect green eyes filled with tears, his blood-stained teeth gritting together as he looked away from Jazz. “I don’t -- I believe you,” he groaned. Except Jazz heard the slightest bit of hesitation to Savin’s voice. The note of uncertainty. “Jazz wouldn’t --”
“Ah, but he did, Emperor. He betrayed you. Slept with two other men while he was gone, and came back with no intention of returning to you. He’s still terrified of you --”
“That’s not -- that’s not true!” His voice started strong, then dwindled to barely louder than a whisper. He let one hand move away from Savin’s wound again, touching Savin’s chin and directing him to look towards him. “I’m not,” he gasped, shaking his head. “I’m not afraid of you anymore. I’m not, I’m not.” He felt Savin’s jaw tense under his fingers. Felt him swallow as green eyes turned to him, every bit as accusatory as they were the night Jazz left.
It felt as though someone had robbed him of his lungs and his heart. He couldn’t breathe. His heart stopped. Instead of turning away from Savin’s angry gaze, he squared his shoulders, kept his hands where they were. “Savin, I --” his voice caught in his throat, his tears threatening to start anew. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mitchel’s finger finally move onto the trigger. “I still lo--”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence.
Jazz glanced around the empty execution room, his grip tightening on Savin’s arm. “Savin,” he began, his voice shaking, “where is everyone?”
“Don’t know,” Savin answered, glancing at Jazz out of the corner of his eye. There was a firm edge to his voice, one that struck a chord deep within Jazz’s mind. He pulled himself free of Jazz’s grip and instead wrapped an arm around Jazz’s waist, holding him close. “They should be here, though.”
“They won’t be coming.” Jazz tensed, a chill crawling up his spine and settling at the back of his neck. “And neither will Mr. Diehl, Emperors.”
Savin turned on his heel first, his arm falling away from Jazz’s waist in an instant. “Mitchel,” he spat, narrowing his eyes at the older man in front of them. “I should have fucking known.”
Jazz’s heart skipped a beat as he turned to face Mitchel. Mitchel held his arms loosely crossed over his chest. His greying hair was disheveled, looking nothing like it usually did. Mitchel’s eyes met Jazz’s for a moment, his lips pressing together into tight line. “What -- What did you do to Ravi?” Jazz managed.
Mitchel’s expression changed, a twisted smirk forming on his features. He uncrossed his arms, the action slow and deliberate. His eyes never left Jazz’s -- and for a second, Jazz thought he saw a flash of remorse. “I took care of him,” he said, throwing his shoulders back.
Jazz’s eyes widened. “You --” He cut himself off, his stomach threatening to escape through his mouth. He glanced at Savin, who raised an eyebrow at him. Jazz shook his head, clutching a hand to his chest. “Why?” he demanded..
“I already told you, Callahan,” Mitchel muttered, one hand slipping under the edge of his jacket and into his pocket. His eyes narrowed, that smirk never leaving his face. “He was a liability. He stood in the way of my plans.”
Jazz frowned, his breath catching in his throat. Tears filled his eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak. Except Savin pushed past him, fists balled at his sides, shoulders bunched together. Jazz watched as Mitchel’s expression changed -- watched as his hand withdrew from his pocket, fingers wrapped around something.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t shout a warning. Couldn’t do anything as Mitchel raised his hand to chest level, the light glinting off the shiny metal in his hand.
Everything stopped when Mitchel pulled the trigger.
Savin staggered, a cry escaping his lips. Mitchel grinned, his lips peeling apart slowly and revealing perfect teeth one at a time. Jazz’s limbs felt heavy, his heart tumbling to the floor as the world spun around him. His knees hit the floor just as Savin collapsed, hand clutched to his chest as he coughed and sputtered, blood coloring his lips.
“Savin!” Jazz’d body moved on autopilot, hands clawing and pulling him forward, even though his legs didn’t want to work. He pulled Savin into his lap, tears streaming down his face.
“Fuck,” Savin gasped. Jazz watched as Savin’s eyes screwed up in pain. Could feel the gasping, shuddering breaths he took. Savin clawed at Jazz’s arms, fingers digging into the fabric of Jazz’s suit. “J-Jazz, I need you -- to do as I -- as I say,” he managed, each word ragged and difficult to hear. “Need you to -- to staunch the -- the --”
Jazz blinked his tears away, willing his heart to stop its ridiculous pounding in his chest. He could barely hear Savin’s words over it. Despite that, he found himself shedding his jacket and pressing it against Savin’s bleeding chest. He bit his lip as the color continued to drain from Savin’s face. “Mitchel, please,” he pleaded, turning his eyes upwards.
His breath caught in his throat again, his pleas dying on his lips as Mitchel stood over them both, the gun squarely pointed at Jazz’s head. Jazz’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t --”
“I would,” Mitchel murmured, never once lowering the gun. His eyes hardened, a slight scowl forming on his face. Jazz heard the unmistakable click of the safety. “Tell me, Callahan, did you really think I would spare you?”
“J-Jazz, what is he --” Savin choked on the rest of his words, coughing up more blood, “-- he talking about?”
Jazz shook his head, swallowing sobs as he pressed his jacket further into Savin’s chest. “N-Nothing, Savin -- he’s not talking about anything.” He glared at Mitchel, his eyes filling with tears. “If you’re going to shoot me, Mitchel, do it now.”
Mitchel scoffed, the scowl transforming into a smirk. His finger remained away from the trigger of the gun. “I’ll wait until Bates dies, first,” he said, his voice taking on its usual smug, teasing tone. “After all, you still have plenty you need to explain to your husband, don’t you, Jasper?”
“No!” Jazz wrapped his arms around Savin, his lips capturing Savin’s own. When he pulled away, he looked Savin in the eye, cupping Savin’s face with his hands. “S-Savin, whatever he -- whatever Mitchel says -- it’s not -- it’s not fucking true, okay?” he managed between sobs.
Savin gave a jerky nod of his head, his lips twitching into something vaguely resembling a smile. “‘Course it’s -- it’s not,” he coughed. He reached up, one of his hands placing itself on top of Jazz’s. He gave it a weak squeeze. “He’s a liar.”
Mitchel snorted. “There’s no use in denying it. I am a liar. However, so is your precious husband, Bates,” he began. Jazz bit his lip, returning his hands to Savin’s chest and putting more pressure on the wound. “Would you like to know the real reason why he returned to the Empire?”
“Stop it,” Jazz hissed, wiping his tears away with one hand. His stomach rolled as he caught the scent of blood. “He’s fucking dying, Mitchel -- just -- stop it.”
Savin’s brow furrowed, a pained frown forming on his lips. His eyes moved from Jazz to Mitchel, his breathing growing shallower by the minute. “Why?” he croaked out.
“I’m glad you asked, Emperor,” Mitchel purred, stepping even closer. The gun never wavered, not once as he pressed it against Jazz’s temple. “You see, I always knew where your precious husband was when he left. I helped him leave you, after all. Placed him in Mr. Diehl’s care, myself.” Contempt sneaked into Mitchel’s voice as a vicious scowl took over his features. “I convinced him to come back -- as long as I made sure that you, Bates, would no longer be a threat to his safety.”
Jazz’s tears stopped, guilt twisting and pulling at his stomach. Savin’s eyes widened behind his glasses, which had been knocked askew. Perfect green eyes filled with tears, his blood-stained teeth gritting together as he looked away from Jazz. “I don’t -- I believe you,” he groaned. Except Jazz heard the slightest bit of hesitation to Savin’s voice. The note of uncertainty. “Jazz wouldn’t --”
“Ah, but he did, Emperor. He betrayed you. Slept with two other men while he was gone, and came back with no intention of returning to you. He’s still terrified of you --”
“That’s not -- that’s not true!” His voice started strong, then dwindled to barely louder than a whisper. He let one hand move away from Savin’s wound again, touching Savin’s chin and directing him to look towards him. “I’m not,” he gasped, shaking his head. “I’m not afraid of you anymore. I’m not, I’m not.” He felt Savin’s jaw tense under his fingers. Felt him swallow as green eyes turned to him, every bit as accusatory as they were the night Jazz left.
It felt as though someone had robbed him of his lungs and his heart. He couldn’t breathe. His heart stopped. Instead of turning away from Savin’s angry gaze, he squared his shoulders, kept his hands where they were. “Savin, I --” his voice caught in his throat, his tears threatening to start anew. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mitchel’s finger finally move onto the trigger. “I still lo--”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence.