Seize the Day - NaNoWriMo Attempt - Chapter 5
Okay, I don't know what's possessed me today, but I've written about 4k, have finished this chapter below, am about to finish a second, and will likely start on a third chapter before I go to bed and then later go to work. I'm ahead now on the NaNoWriMo goals, but I'm sure the next few days (I work the next 3 at least, in a row) are going to have low word counts. Wish me luck?
Previous Chapters:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Jazz sighed, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest. Instead, he folded his hands in his lap, forcing himself to sit upright and to his full height -- which wasn't very tall, at all. As much as he wanted to look around the designated speech area, which was filled to the brim with news reporters and other media agents, he didn't. All of the faces looked the same, anyway. All studying him. All waiting anxiously for his father to step forward.
Normally, they did this address on the front steps of the Palace. Today, they had moved things elsewhere, off to a little secluded area. Why they had done that, Jazz hadn’t the faintest clue. Except something about his father’s demeanor unsettled him as he walked to the podium, Casio’s hands folded neatly in front of him. His shoulders were slumped in defeat, which caused Jazz to furrow his brow.
Silently, he scolded himself for not paying more attention during the Council meeting that afternoon. Instead, he had intently avoided any interaction with the Council, including Alexandra, who he often had no issues with. Mitchel had acted as if everything were completely normal -- as if he hadn’t at all confessed his feelings for Jazz, just an hour before the meeting had gone underway.
Jazz’s stomach twisted, the desperation in Mitchel’s eyes all but apparent to him now, now that he no longer felt the urge to run away from the older man. Maybe he should apologize. Maybe he should say that he had been lying about sleeping with Savin -- not that he thought Mitchel would believe him. But it wasn’t like Jazz could pursue anyone who he didn’t already work with, and if Mitchel really did love him....
He shook his head, pushing that thought aside. He shouldn’t even be considering that. Shouldn’t be willing to give up looking for someone who’d treat him right -- and Mitchel had always wanted to keep their relationship a secret, even if it wasn’t much of one to anyone with a brain. Jazz’s affection for the older man had always been fairly obvious to anyone who bothered to look.
Except now his stomach leaped into his throat whenever he thought of Mitchel. Jazz realized he had his bottom lip caught underneath his teeth and corrected himself, adjusting his posture as his father continued to speak, the words hardly registering in Jazz’s mind. A message to the general public, warning them about the dangers of democracy, the dangers of the Resistance; how the Empire was absolute, how it would never simply give in to the demands of anyone, not even its own people.
Jazz clenched his jaw at that, willing the bubbling anger to remain inside his chest. He didn’t agree with that stance. He never once thought that his people had to simply roll over and take whatever rules and laws the Empire could throw at them. But it wasn’t like his father to listen to him -- it wasn’t like any of the Council to listen to him, not when it was often apparent he had no real interest in taking part in the political aspects of the Empire.
But that lack of interest in it didn’t mean he didn’t have ideas about how things should be run. Even when he attempted to speak his mind, he was often dismissed. So why bother? Slowly, Jazz relaxed his jaw and forced himself to breathe out through his nose. As he closed his eyes and relaxed a bit into his seat, something made the hair on the back of his arms stand on end and prickled at the back of his neck.
His father stood before them, both hands gripping the edges of the podium, back hunched as he spoke feverishly into a microphone. Jazz could see Casio’s fingers tighten on the podium, knuckles turning white only for a few moments. Then his father stumbled back, one hand clutched to his chest. The collective gasp of the crowd ricocheted off Jazz’s ears.
Blood poured out of his father’s chest, seeping through his grasping fingers. Jazz scrambled to his feet, poise and elegance forgotten. He was at his father’s side in seconds, his phone free from his pocket even faster, the emergency number dialed and his and his father’s body shielded by the Emperor’s Guard just as quickly.
Everything moved in a blur. Jazz watched as they loaded his father into an ambulance. Him following closely behind said ambulance in a separate vehicle as they sped off towards the nearest hospital. In the hospital waiting room, he sat with the Guard, every single one of them silent. Alexandra sat in the seat beside him, her hand on lightly resting on Jazz’s arm.
“I told him that address was a bad idea,” Alexandra murmured under her breath, frowning to herself. “The Resistance’s been threatening to launch an attack on him for months -- you’d think he would have thought a public announcement through.”
Jazz made a quiet noise in response, not knowing what to say. Instead, he wrung his hands and chewed on his bottom lip -- anything to distract himself from the agonizing wait they now had to endure. He pulled out his phone, wishing he hadn’t typed Savin’s number in wrong. It wasn’t like he could rely on Mitchel for emotional support -- and Alexandra hardly counted, with the way tears were streaming down her own face.
The hours slipped by. Just as Jazz’s battery had reduced itself to almost nothing, he slowly slipped it in his pocket and rested his head on Alexandra’s shoulder.
“I hope we get news, soon,” he whispered, his voice quiet in the otherwise busy waiting room.
Alexandra wrapped her arms around Jazz’s shoulders, giving him a light squeeze. “I hope we do, too, Jazz,” she whispered back.
***
“You want me to what?” Savin cried into the phone. He stood inside his bedroom, a towel draped over his shoulders. He rubbed at his head with the towel, attempting to dry his hair a little faster.
“We need you to get to the hospital now,” the nurse on the other line said. “The Emperor’s been shot, and your father’s caught up in another complicated surgery -- same with everyone else.”
Savin’s hand went slack around the phone, his eyes widening. “You can’t be serious,” he breathed. He swallowed thickly, fingers tightening around the phone again. “I’ll be there in five. When’s the Emperor supposed to get there?”
“He’s already here, we have him prepped for surgery, we just need a surgeon.”
“Alright. Bye.” Savin hung up his phone, flinging it onto the bed as he scrambled into his scrubs. If he had gotten into the shower five minutes later... or if he had taken just a little bit longer....
He didn’t want to think about that. Savin shook his head, snatching his phone and shoving it in the pocket of his scrubs before making his way out of his room, slipping his sneakers onto his feet at the front door. Keys were in his hands just as the second shoe slipped on, and he was out the door, not even bothering to lock it behind him as he headed towards his car.
The Emperor. The Emperor had just been shot. Jazz’s father had just been shot. Savin’s stomach twisted at the thought, and he frowned. He needed to keep distance. Needed to think of this man as any other patient. That he wasn’t related to the guy Savin had taken home, just last night.
When he arrived at the hospital, he nearly couldn’t get inside the building, the entranceways thick with the Emperor’s bodyguards. Once he made it through, he ran to the surgical ward. He knew every second counted in a gunshot victim. A strange calm overcame him as he began scrubbing his hands and arms. As he gowned up, he took in a deep breath.
The surgery shouldn’t take long. There shouldn’t be many complications. Gunshot to the right side of the chest. Bullet embedded in the back ribs. Punctured lung. No major arteries or veins severed. Easy. Piece of cake for a trauma surgeon like him, one who specialized in this sort of thing. It didn’t matter that it was the Emperor that lay on the table; it was just another routine gunshot wound.
These thoughts repeated themselves in his mind as he went through the motions, his fingers moving deftly to retrieve the bullet and repair the damage already done to the Emperor’s body. Savin frowned in concentration behind his mask, taking his time on some tasks and hurrying himself through others, knowing that only so much blood loss could be tolerated. He barked orders, harboring a confidence that he felt odd to have, considering the circumstances.
Once he finished and stitched the Emperor back up, the operating room had gone completely silent, each holding their breaths. “Well,” Savin began as he moved away from the surgical table, putting the needle and surgical thread back down. “He’s ready for recovery. Do we have a room set up for him, already?”
One of the nurses nodded. “Recovery room three’s been prepared for him. We’ll go ahead and alert the Emperor’s Guard that we’re moving him to there.”
“Please do,” Savin with a slight nod. He took a step towards the door. “I assume family is waiting for news? He does have a son, doesn’t he?” he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
The same nurse nodded again. “They’re in the smaller waiting room, the one away from the emergency room. You gonna go talk to the family?”
“Yeah,” Savin answered, tugging his gloves off his fingers, but leaving the gloves still over his hand. He headed out the surgical theater and tossed the bloodied gloves in the trash. “I know the Prince,” he called over his shoulder, not bothering to look back at the reactions from his staff.
The walk to the waiting room took forever, each step loud in Savin’s ears. He tugged off the surgical gown and tossed it, too, in a biohazard trash receptacle. As he neared the room, he slipped the surgical mask down from covering his face and pursed his lips together in thought. He stood just outside the waiting room doors, hands on the release, as he steeled himself from what he was about to walk into.
The Emperor’s Guard lined the walls as he stepped inside the room. Two people sat in the seats facing the door, a young man with his head on an older woman’s shoulder. Family of the Emperor. Normal people, just like everyone else.
One of which Savin slept with.
Savin cleared his throat, alerting them both to his presence. He approached them slowly, resisting the urge to slip his hands into his pockets. “Good evening. I’m Dr. Bates, the surgeon on Emperor Callahan’s case,” he said, avoiding Jazz’s widening eyes as he spoke. He offered his hand to the older woman, and then to Jazz, giving them both a firm handshake. He tried not to think about how sweaty Jazz’s hand had been as he cleared his throat and spoke:
“Surgery went well; there were no complications. No major arteries or veins severed. He’s lost a lot of blood, though, and punctured a lung -- the bullet also fractured one of his ribs.” He said each word slowly, each word as clearly as possible, despite the late hour of the night. He made eye contact with them both, throwing back his shoulders. “Emperor Callahan should recover just fine. He’ll have to take it easy for at least a month, perhaps longer.”
Jazz nodded his head, tears streaking his cheeks as he looked away from Savin. “Thank you,” he whispered, putting his face in his hands. His shoulders shook as he collapsed back into his seat, quiet whimpers escaping him. Savin resisted the urge to reach out and place a hand on Jazz’s shoulder -- anything to let the younger man know he was there for him.
“When can we see him?” the woman asked, her voice wavering somewhat. She rubbed Jazz’s shoulder with a familiarity that suggested he might have been his mother, except Savin was certain the Emperor’s wife had passed many years ago.
“You can see him now, if you like,” Savin answered, placing one hand in his pocket. “He’s in recovery room three. He’ll be asleep for quite some time, though, so if the two of you want to head back to the Palace and get some rest, that’s perfectly alright, too.”
“Alex -- you can go ahead and see him,” Jazz whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke. “I should head back to the Palace -- let everyone know what’s going on. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Prince Jasper --”
“Dad’ll understand,” Jazz said, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I’ll take some of the Guard with me, I promise,” he continued, offering Alex a shaky smile as he pushed himself back onto his feet. “He’d want me to make sure the Empire hadn’t fallen apart while he’s here, y’know?”
Alex blinked in surprise, her mouth hanging open for a moment before she closed it, nodding her head. “Alright. You know he has a meeting with western colonies tomorrow evening, yes?”
“I do,” Jazz said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ll try to have them reschedule, or I’ll go myself, if they’ll accept seeing me instead of him. I’m familiar with the issues going on out there, after all.” He offered Alex another smile, this one a little more confident than the last. “Go see Dad. He’d be happier seeing you there when he wakes up than he would me, anyway.”
Alex nodded, a slight frown on her face. She then glanced at Savin. “Which way to recovery room three?” she asked. Some of the Emperor’s Guard moved in closer, ready to move whenever Alex left the room.
Savin gave her the directions, keeping his eyes off Jazz the whole time as he spoke. Once she and her half of the Guard had left, he turned to Jazz. “Prince Jasper, huh?” he asked, keeping his voice low. It didn’t matter that they were surrounded by the rest of the Emperor’s Guard. Not right now.
“Y-Yeah...” Jazz said, rubbing the back of his neck. He gave Savin a nervous smile. “I’m sorry, but I really need to get back to the Palace as soon as possible.”
Savin nodded, frowning a bit to himself. “Just one question, then, before you leave,” he said, feeling bold. He squared his shoulders again and took a step towards Jazz. As much as he wanted to lean in close and whisper in the other man’s ear, he didn’t. Not with the Guard surrounding them. “If I wanted to see you again -- outside of the hospital, I mean -- could I?”
Jazz’s eyes widened, and he bit his bottom lip. “I don’t -- Savin, I don’t know,” he said, his shoulders slumping somewhat. Savin ignored the stabbing pain he felt in his chest. “I’m the Prince -- it’s not like I can really have a social life outside of the Palace, and --” He stopped himself, shaking his head with a sigh. “Things are going to be insane around the Palace right now. I can give you my number, but -- don’t expect anything, okay?” ***
Savin nodded again, this time managing a slight smile. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I won’t expect much,” he said quietly, fingers poised over the new contact button. “Would you be okay with it if I put in ‘Jazz’ instead of Jasper?” he asked, looking up over his phone.
Jazz smiled back, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he pulled his own phone out of his pocket. “Yes, please,” he said, his smile fading somewhat. “That’s the name I prefer -- it gives me a bit of anonymity, going by that name.”
“I understand,” Savin responded. “What’s your number, then?” he asked, ignoring the heavy stares he received from each remaining member of the Guard. Jazz plucked the phone from his hands and typed it in, his ears turning a shade of pink as he handed the phone back to Savin. Without warning, Savin clicked on the call button, feeling relief as Jazz’s phone began to ring in Jazz’s hand. “And now you have mine,” Savin said with a cheeky grin.
Jazz’s face flushed, his ears even turning pink as he looked away from Savin. “Y-Yeah, now I guess I do,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway, Dr. Bates, I really need to get going. The Empire can’t run itself, you know?”
“Of course. I’m sorry to have kept you here for so long,” Savin said, holding his phone at his side. He gave Jazz a slight, customary bow. “Hopefully the Emperor will have a smooth recovery. Please, don’t be afraid to call if you have any questions, medical or otherwise.”
“I won’t,” Jazz murmured, returning the bow. “Have a good night, Dr. Bates.”
“You, too, Prince Jasper.”
As Jazz and his entourage of guards walked out of the waiting room, Savin found himself glancing at his phone, Jazz’s number staring back at him. His hand tightened around his phone as his lips peeled apart in a slight smile.
“Mari is not going to believe this,” he chuckled quietly under his breath, shaking his head.
After all, he could hardly believe it all, himself.
Next Chapter
Previous Chapters:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Jazz sighed, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest. Instead, he folded his hands in his lap, forcing himself to sit upright and to his full height -- which wasn't very tall, at all. As much as he wanted to look around the designated speech area, which was filled to the brim with news reporters and other media agents, he didn't. All of the faces looked the same, anyway. All studying him. All waiting anxiously for his father to step forward.
Normally, they did this address on the front steps of the Palace. Today, they had moved things elsewhere, off to a little secluded area. Why they had done that, Jazz hadn’t the faintest clue. Except something about his father’s demeanor unsettled him as he walked to the podium, Casio’s hands folded neatly in front of him. His shoulders were slumped in defeat, which caused Jazz to furrow his brow.
Silently, he scolded himself for not paying more attention during the Council meeting that afternoon. Instead, he had intently avoided any interaction with the Council, including Alexandra, who he often had no issues with. Mitchel had acted as if everything were completely normal -- as if he hadn’t at all confessed his feelings for Jazz, just an hour before the meeting had gone underway.
Jazz’s stomach twisted, the desperation in Mitchel’s eyes all but apparent to him now, now that he no longer felt the urge to run away from the older man. Maybe he should apologize. Maybe he should say that he had been lying about sleeping with Savin -- not that he thought Mitchel would believe him. But it wasn’t like Jazz could pursue anyone who he didn’t already work with, and if Mitchel really did love him....
He shook his head, pushing that thought aside. He shouldn’t even be considering that. Shouldn’t be willing to give up looking for someone who’d treat him right -- and Mitchel had always wanted to keep their relationship a secret, even if it wasn’t much of one to anyone with a brain. Jazz’s affection for the older man had always been fairly obvious to anyone who bothered to look.
Except now his stomach leaped into his throat whenever he thought of Mitchel. Jazz realized he had his bottom lip caught underneath his teeth and corrected himself, adjusting his posture as his father continued to speak, the words hardly registering in Jazz’s mind. A message to the general public, warning them about the dangers of democracy, the dangers of the Resistance; how the Empire was absolute, how it would never simply give in to the demands of anyone, not even its own people.
Jazz clenched his jaw at that, willing the bubbling anger to remain inside his chest. He didn’t agree with that stance. He never once thought that his people had to simply roll over and take whatever rules and laws the Empire could throw at them. But it wasn’t like his father to listen to him -- it wasn’t like any of the Council to listen to him, not when it was often apparent he had no real interest in taking part in the political aspects of the Empire.
But that lack of interest in it didn’t mean he didn’t have ideas about how things should be run. Even when he attempted to speak his mind, he was often dismissed. So why bother? Slowly, Jazz relaxed his jaw and forced himself to breathe out through his nose. As he closed his eyes and relaxed a bit into his seat, something made the hair on the back of his arms stand on end and prickled at the back of his neck.
His father stood before them, both hands gripping the edges of the podium, back hunched as he spoke feverishly into a microphone. Jazz could see Casio’s fingers tighten on the podium, knuckles turning white only for a few moments. Then his father stumbled back, one hand clutched to his chest. The collective gasp of the crowd ricocheted off Jazz’s ears.
Blood poured out of his father’s chest, seeping through his grasping fingers. Jazz scrambled to his feet, poise and elegance forgotten. He was at his father’s side in seconds, his phone free from his pocket even faster, the emergency number dialed and his and his father’s body shielded by the Emperor’s Guard just as quickly.
Everything moved in a blur. Jazz watched as they loaded his father into an ambulance. Him following closely behind said ambulance in a separate vehicle as they sped off towards the nearest hospital. In the hospital waiting room, he sat with the Guard, every single one of them silent. Alexandra sat in the seat beside him, her hand on lightly resting on Jazz’s arm.
“I told him that address was a bad idea,” Alexandra murmured under her breath, frowning to herself. “The Resistance’s been threatening to launch an attack on him for months -- you’d think he would have thought a public announcement through.”
Jazz made a quiet noise in response, not knowing what to say. Instead, he wrung his hands and chewed on his bottom lip -- anything to distract himself from the agonizing wait they now had to endure. He pulled out his phone, wishing he hadn’t typed Savin’s number in wrong. It wasn’t like he could rely on Mitchel for emotional support -- and Alexandra hardly counted, with the way tears were streaming down her own face.
The hours slipped by. Just as Jazz’s battery had reduced itself to almost nothing, he slowly slipped it in his pocket and rested his head on Alexandra’s shoulder.
“I hope we get news, soon,” he whispered, his voice quiet in the otherwise busy waiting room.
Alexandra wrapped her arms around Jazz’s shoulders, giving him a light squeeze. “I hope we do, too, Jazz,” she whispered back.
***
“You want me to what?” Savin cried into the phone. He stood inside his bedroom, a towel draped over his shoulders. He rubbed at his head with the towel, attempting to dry his hair a little faster.
“We need you to get to the hospital now,” the nurse on the other line said. “The Emperor’s been shot, and your father’s caught up in another complicated surgery -- same with everyone else.”
Savin’s hand went slack around the phone, his eyes widening. “You can’t be serious,” he breathed. He swallowed thickly, fingers tightening around the phone again. “I’ll be there in five. When’s the Emperor supposed to get there?”
“He’s already here, we have him prepped for surgery, we just need a surgeon.”
“Alright. Bye.” Savin hung up his phone, flinging it onto the bed as he scrambled into his scrubs. If he had gotten into the shower five minutes later... or if he had taken just a little bit longer....
He didn’t want to think about that. Savin shook his head, snatching his phone and shoving it in the pocket of his scrubs before making his way out of his room, slipping his sneakers onto his feet at the front door. Keys were in his hands just as the second shoe slipped on, and he was out the door, not even bothering to lock it behind him as he headed towards his car.
The Emperor. The Emperor had just been shot. Jazz’s father had just been shot. Savin’s stomach twisted at the thought, and he frowned. He needed to keep distance. Needed to think of this man as any other patient. That he wasn’t related to the guy Savin had taken home, just last night.
When he arrived at the hospital, he nearly couldn’t get inside the building, the entranceways thick with the Emperor’s bodyguards. Once he made it through, he ran to the surgical ward. He knew every second counted in a gunshot victim. A strange calm overcame him as he began scrubbing his hands and arms. As he gowned up, he took in a deep breath.
The surgery shouldn’t take long. There shouldn’t be many complications. Gunshot to the right side of the chest. Bullet embedded in the back ribs. Punctured lung. No major arteries or veins severed. Easy. Piece of cake for a trauma surgeon like him, one who specialized in this sort of thing. It didn’t matter that it was the Emperor that lay on the table; it was just another routine gunshot wound.
These thoughts repeated themselves in his mind as he went through the motions, his fingers moving deftly to retrieve the bullet and repair the damage already done to the Emperor’s body. Savin frowned in concentration behind his mask, taking his time on some tasks and hurrying himself through others, knowing that only so much blood loss could be tolerated. He barked orders, harboring a confidence that he felt odd to have, considering the circumstances.
Once he finished and stitched the Emperor back up, the operating room had gone completely silent, each holding their breaths. “Well,” Savin began as he moved away from the surgical table, putting the needle and surgical thread back down. “He’s ready for recovery. Do we have a room set up for him, already?”
One of the nurses nodded. “Recovery room three’s been prepared for him. We’ll go ahead and alert the Emperor’s Guard that we’re moving him to there.”
“Please do,” Savin with a slight nod. He took a step towards the door. “I assume family is waiting for news? He does have a son, doesn’t he?” he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
The same nurse nodded again. “They’re in the smaller waiting room, the one away from the emergency room. You gonna go talk to the family?”
“Yeah,” Savin answered, tugging his gloves off his fingers, but leaving the gloves still over his hand. He headed out the surgical theater and tossed the bloodied gloves in the trash. “I know the Prince,” he called over his shoulder, not bothering to look back at the reactions from his staff.
The walk to the waiting room took forever, each step loud in Savin’s ears. He tugged off the surgical gown and tossed it, too, in a biohazard trash receptacle. As he neared the room, he slipped the surgical mask down from covering his face and pursed his lips together in thought. He stood just outside the waiting room doors, hands on the release, as he steeled himself from what he was about to walk into.
The Emperor’s Guard lined the walls as he stepped inside the room. Two people sat in the seats facing the door, a young man with his head on an older woman’s shoulder. Family of the Emperor. Normal people, just like everyone else.
One of which Savin slept with.
Savin cleared his throat, alerting them both to his presence. He approached them slowly, resisting the urge to slip his hands into his pockets. “Good evening. I’m Dr. Bates, the surgeon on Emperor Callahan’s case,” he said, avoiding Jazz’s widening eyes as he spoke. He offered his hand to the older woman, and then to Jazz, giving them both a firm handshake. He tried not to think about how sweaty Jazz’s hand had been as he cleared his throat and spoke:
“Surgery went well; there were no complications. No major arteries or veins severed. He’s lost a lot of blood, though, and punctured a lung -- the bullet also fractured one of his ribs.” He said each word slowly, each word as clearly as possible, despite the late hour of the night. He made eye contact with them both, throwing back his shoulders. “Emperor Callahan should recover just fine. He’ll have to take it easy for at least a month, perhaps longer.”
Jazz nodded his head, tears streaking his cheeks as he looked away from Savin. “Thank you,” he whispered, putting his face in his hands. His shoulders shook as he collapsed back into his seat, quiet whimpers escaping him. Savin resisted the urge to reach out and place a hand on Jazz’s shoulder -- anything to let the younger man know he was there for him.
“When can we see him?” the woman asked, her voice wavering somewhat. She rubbed Jazz’s shoulder with a familiarity that suggested he might have been his mother, except Savin was certain the Emperor’s wife had passed many years ago.
“You can see him now, if you like,” Savin answered, placing one hand in his pocket. “He’s in recovery room three. He’ll be asleep for quite some time, though, so if the two of you want to head back to the Palace and get some rest, that’s perfectly alright, too.”
“Alex -- you can go ahead and see him,” Jazz whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke. “I should head back to the Palace -- let everyone know what’s going on. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Prince Jasper --”
“Dad’ll understand,” Jazz said, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I’ll take some of the Guard with me, I promise,” he continued, offering Alex a shaky smile as he pushed himself back onto his feet. “He’d want me to make sure the Empire hadn’t fallen apart while he’s here, y’know?”
Alex blinked in surprise, her mouth hanging open for a moment before she closed it, nodding her head. “Alright. You know he has a meeting with western colonies tomorrow evening, yes?”
“I do,” Jazz said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ll try to have them reschedule, or I’ll go myself, if they’ll accept seeing me instead of him. I’m familiar with the issues going on out there, after all.” He offered Alex another smile, this one a little more confident than the last. “Go see Dad. He’d be happier seeing you there when he wakes up than he would me, anyway.”
Alex nodded, a slight frown on her face. She then glanced at Savin. “Which way to recovery room three?” she asked. Some of the Emperor’s Guard moved in closer, ready to move whenever Alex left the room.
Savin gave her the directions, keeping his eyes off Jazz the whole time as he spoke. Once she and her half of the Guard had left, he turned to Jazz. “Prince Jasper, huh?” he asked, keeping his voice low. It didn’t matter that they were surrounded by the rest of the Emperor’s Guard. Not right now.
“Y-Yeah...” Jazz said, rubbing the back of his neck. He gave Savin a nervous smile. “I’m sorry, but I really need to get back to the Palace as soon as possible.”
Savin nodded, frowning a bit to himself. “Just one question, then, before you leave,” he said, feeling bold. He squared his shoulders again and took a step towards Jazz. As much as he wanted to lean in close and whisper in the other man’s ear, he didn’t. Not with the Guard surrounding them. “If I wanted to see you again -- outside of the hospital, I mean -- could I?”
Jazz’s eyes widened, and he bit his bottom lip. “I don’t -- Savin, I don’t know,” he said, his shoulders slumping somewhat. Savin ignored the stabbing pain he felt in his chest. “I’m the Prince -- it’s not like I can really have a social life outside of the Palace, and --” He stopped himself, shaking his head with a sigh. “Things are going to be insane around the Palace right now. I can give you my number, but -- don’t expect anything, okay?” ***
Savin nodded again, this time managing a slight smile. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I won’t expect much,” he said quietly, fingers poised over the new contact button. “Would you be okay with it if I put in ‘Jazz’ instead of Jasper?” he asked, looking up over his phone.
Jazz smiled back, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he pulled his own phone out of his pocket. “Yes, please,” he said, his smile fading somewhat. “That’s the name I prefer -- it gives me a bit of anonymity, going by that name.”
“I understand,” Savin responded. “What’s your number, then?” he asked, ignoring the heavy stares he received from each remaining member of the Guard. Jazz plucked the phone from his hands and typed it in, his ears turning a shade of pink as he handed the phone back to Savin. Without warning, Savin clicked on the call button, feeling relief as Jazz’s phone began to ring in Jazz’s hand. “And now you have mine,” Savin said with a cheeky grin.
Jazz’s face flushed, his ears even turning pink as he looked away from Savin. “Y-Yeah, now I guess I do,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway, Dr. Bates, I really need to get going. The Empire can’t run itself, you know?”
“Of course. I’m sorry to have kept you here for so long,” Savin said, holding his phone at his side. He gave Jazz a slight, customary bow. “Hopefully the Emperor will have a smooth recovery. Please, don’t be afraid to call if you have any questions, medical or otherwise.”
“I won’t,” Jazz murmured, returning the bow. “Have a good night, Dr. Bates.”
“You, too, Prince Jasper.”
As Jazz and his entourage of guards walked out of the waiting room, Savin found himself glancing at his phone, Jazz’s number staring back at him. His hand tightened around his phone as his lips peeled apart in a slight smile.
“Mari is not going to believe this,” he chuckled quietly under his breath, shaking his head.
After all, he could hardly believe it all, himself.
Next Chapter