Gray Morning Rewrite -- Chapter 5
If you're reading Gray Morning for the first time, previous chapters can be found here:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Savin frowned, tapping his fingers on his knees as he watched the surrounding cityscape pass them by. He had never been on this side of the planet, before, not even when he used to travel with Jazz all the time. It was unfamiliar, both modern and ancient all at once. The sun was only just now beginning to set, even though hours ago he had somehow managed to nap, uneasily, on the plane ride here.
Now, though, sleep completely eluded him. According to the head Guard, Amelia Samson, they would be at the hospital in roughly thirty minutes, maybe less. Jazz had apparently been out of surgery for the past hour; the bullet had lodged itself in his shoulder. Savin still had the reports sitting next to him, and he’d flip through them when his fingers itched to hold something.
But right now -- he wanted to roll something between them. A pen. A cigarette. Something. He slipped his glasses off his face, wiping the lenses off with the hem of his shirt. He turned to Amelia, the dark-skinned woman from before, and glanced at her hands. Nicotine stains on her fingers caught his attention, and he regarded the severe looking woman with a slight smile. “Hey -- can I bum one off you?”
Amelia raised a well-shaped eyebrow at him. “There’s no smoking allowed in the vehicle, Dr. Bates,” she said, pursing her lips together slightly. Still, she slipped her hand underneath the fold of her suit jacket, procuring a pack of cigarettes. Her deft fingers pulled free a single cigarette and passed it to him without so much as looking at him. She then produced a lighter with her other hand, slipping it next to him. “But considering the circumstances, I will allow it, just this once.”
Savin rolled the cigarette between his fingers and took the lighter with his other hand. “Thank you,” he said, giving her a stout nod. As he lit the cigarette and breathed in that first round of smoke, he closed his eyes and relaxed against his seat, somewhat.
It had been years since he last picked up a cigarette. His lungs were unused to the abuse, and he could feel his throat tighten as he took another drag. He didn’t cough, however, and simply savored the burning sensation down the back of his throat and in his lungs.
“Does Emperor Callahan know you smoke, Dr. Bates?” Amelia asked, continuing to keep her eyes forward.
Savin paused, choking on his most recent drag. “I quit -- before he and I met,” he managed in between coughs. He settled his hand against his leg, giving himself a moment to catch his breath as he handed Amelia back her lighter. She offered him an empty bottle for him to put his ashes in.
“I assume the answer is no, then,” Amelia said, her lips quirking upward just slightly. She folded her hands in her lap, turning her dark eyes towards Savin. “Considering it was Jasper who put the no smoking rule in place, you might wish to either change your clothes or wash your hands prior to seeing him.”
Savin glanced down at the burning cigarette in his hand, a slight frown on his face. “I think it’ll be alright,” he said quietly, turning his head away from her. He tapped his ashes into the bottle and brought the cigarette to his lips, grateful that even after all these years of abstaining, nicotine still had the desired effect.
It wasn’t better than the calming effect of holding a scalpel in his hands, he noted, but at least his hands stopped shaking and his heart beat managed to slow to a reasonable rate. He continued to smoke in silence, finishing it quickly and snubbing the cigarette out in the bottle before handing it back over to Amelia. “Thank you,” he said with a slight smile.
“You’re welcome, Dr. Bates,” Amelia murmured, returning his slight smile. She glanced around them, her smile dropping from her face and a serious expression taking back over. She seemed to be listening to something before she spoke again. “We have already cleared you with the hospital staff. When we arrive, please follow me and I will escort you to Jasper’s room.”
Savin nodded. the uneasy feeling in his stomach returning as the car continued to speed down the roadways. He wanted to ask if they could slow down around curves. just a little bit, but decided against it. The sooner he saw Jazz, the better. He could inspect the surgical site himself, could make sure that their procedures were up to date. Talk to the head surgeon on Jazz’s case personally.
When they finally arrived at the hospital, Amelia did not waste any time directing him to Jazz’s room. Hospital staff stared at them as they made their way through the halls, no doubt turning to whisper behind their hands once Savin and Amelia had passed them. It had been years since he married Jazz, and Savin still hadn’t gotten used to the stares.
Still, he never once thought he’d be standing in any hospital where Jazz was a patient. Gunshot wounds were often pretty straight forward, though. But lodged in his shoulder? That meant working around bone and nerves -- and the medical reports didn’t say just how close to Jazz’s spinal column the bullet went.
All those thoughts fell to the wayside as Amelia strode inside a hospital room. The board beside it was left blank -- probably intentional, Savin realized, as he followed her without a word. His heart stopped in his chest as he saw Jazz, shoulder bandaged and arm in a splint. Jazz’s eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling steadily as though he were asleep.
“Ah, I see the Consort has finally arrived,” a smooth voice said, snapping Savin’s attention away from Jazz. An older man stood up from the seat beside Jazz’s hospital bed. He wore a button down shirt and vest, dark blue tie resting neatly under the man’s clean-shaven chin. His suit jacket was draped over his arm, and Savin felt his stomach twist in his throat.
“Mitchel Foraker,” Savin said, giving the man a slight nod of his head. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he asked, offering Mitchel his hand despite himself. He had to refrain from commenting on Mitchel’s greying hair as he caught the man’s dark brown eyes.
Mitchel took his hand without hesitation, his grip sure and strong. “That’s Councilor Foraker to you, Consort,” he murmured, glancing around the hospital room. He had a calculating look about him, one that eventually settled on Amelia. “Ms. Samson -- I’m surprised they let you leave the Palace unattended,” he said, offering her a full smile.
Amelia pulled her lips a little tighter. “Escorting the Imperial Consort is one of my many duties as Head Imperial Guard, Councilor,” she said, lifting her chin. “It is also my duty to ensure that Emperor Callahan and Dr. Bates have a few moments alone -- as per the orders Jasper gave me when he requested I bring Dr. Bates to him. So please -- follow me.”
“It would be my pleasure, Ms. Samson,” Mitchel said with a slight bow. He made his way around the hospital bed and strode past Savin. Just as he stepped past the threshold of the door, he said, “He should awaken in another moment or two -- he seems to wake every couple of hours or so, whenever his medication wears off.”
Savin nodded, not turning to watch as Mitchel and Amelia stepped outside of the hospital room. As soon as they left, he released the breath he had been holding, feeling his shoulders slump and his eyes fill with tears. “Damnit, Jazz,” he managed, rushing to his husband’s bedside. “I told you to have a safe trip.”
“Sorry,” Jazz mumbled, his eyes opening slowly. He groaned, sitting more upright on the bed. “Didn’t expect to get fucking shot.”
“You’re awake,” Savin said, blinking as he pulled the seat Mitchel had been sitting in closer to Jazz’s hospital bed.
“Was the whole time,” Jazz answered, giving Savin a sheepish smile. “Sorry, was trying to avoid Mitchel.”
“Can’t say that I blame you,” Savin quipped, giving Jazz a slight smile back. He leaned over the bed and pressed a light kiss to Jazz’s forehead. “How’s your pain?”
“Could be worse,” Jazz said, looking away from Savin as he sat down in the chair beside the bed. “Didn’t even realize I had been shot, at first -- but then I tried to move my fucking shoulder,” he continued, waving his hand towards his bandaged shoulder. “The doctors said the bullet shattered a couple of bones?”
“Not surprised to hear that,” Savin said, frowning slightly to himself. “Is your chart in here? I can look at it, if you want --”
Jazz shook his head. “You can give the surgeon twenty-questions later,” he said with a slight smile. “I already told him you’ll likely be taking over my care, once I’m cleared to go back to the Capital.”
Savin nodded, resting his hands on the edge of Jazz’s hospital bed. “Did the Guard get the guy who did it?” he asked, wishing his voice wouldn’t crack like that. He cleared his throat. “I mean, nothing’s gotten past the Guard like that since --”
“Since Emperor Casio,” Jazz finished for him, frowning. “And no, last I heard the guy managed to get away.” Jazz then looked away from Savin, settling back against his pillows and closing his eyes. “I’m glad you came to see me.”
“Of course I did,” Savin said, interlocking his fingers with Jazz’s. He gave them a brief squeeze. “I even left Mari behind at the bar,” he added, giving Jazz a soft smile.
Jazz snorted, then held back a quiet groan in pain as he shook his head. “I hope you didn’t find out because of the Guard -- I think I might have told them to bring you here. I don’t exactly remember -- it’s all so fuzzy after I realized what happened.”
“I saw it on the TV screens at the bar,” Savin said wryly, remembering the scrolling breaking news message. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to erase the image of the screen. “The Guard came and got me just as I was leaving the bar.” He opened his eyes again, studying Jazz’s tired face. “Have you gotten any sleep since you left, yesterday?” he asked, frowning.
“Kinda hard to sleep when your shoulder hurts like a bitch,” Jazz said, giving Savin a wry smile in return. “You don’t look like you’ve slept much, either. Visiting hours are about to end -- if you want to go and get some sleep at a hotel nearby, I can get Amelia to arrange it for you.”
“I’d rather stay with you,” Savin said, leaning forward in his seat and brushing Jazz’s hair out of his eyes.
“Hospital beds aren’t exactly easy to share, Savin -- not to mention my shoulder...” Jazz trailed off with a sigh. His eyes seemed cloudier than usual. “You were really worried about me, weren’t you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah.... It’s not every day that your husband gets shot, y’know?” Savin quipped. He then stood up from his seat and kissed Jazz on the forehead again. “Here -- you should go ahead and get some rest. I’ll be back in a few hours to talk with your surgeon, and I’m sure the Guard’ll be making arrangements to get you sent back home and in my care ASAP.”
“Alright,” Jazz said, nodding. He yawned, covering the involuntary action with his good hand. “Love you,” he whispered, looking up at Savin.
Savin smiled, bending down to press his lips against Jazz’s. He let his lips linger there, grateful that Jazz’s were warm and soft, just as they always were. As much as he wanted to deepen it, he let Jazz pull away when the other man felt ready to. “Love you, too,” Savin said. “Actually get some sleep, alright? And try not to do anything with that arm; it’ll heal faster, that way.”
“Yes, dear,” Jazz said with a laugh, settling against his pillows. Savin just shot Jazz a knowing look before making his way out of the hospital room. Various Guardsmen stood by the hospital room door, which Savin closed gently behind him.
“I’m going to head to the bathroom real quick,” he told one of them. “Please don’t follow me in?”
The man Savin had spoken to nodded, following quietly behind Savin as he made his way to the nearest restroom. While Savin understood that the Guard really had no choice in the matter -- especially not when Jazz’s shooter was still at large -- he still wished that they wouldn’t follow his every move. He missed the days where he had honest to god privacy.
It took him a few minutes to locate a bathroom. As he slipped past the door, the Guard did as he was told and remained behind, just beyond the door. Sighing, Savin leaned against the door for a moment, putting his head in his hands.
Jazz was okay. Judging from the bandaging and the splint alone, recovery time would be three weeks, four weeks at the most. Followed by a few months of physical therapy to restore range of motion to Jazz’s shoulder.
Tears stung at his eyes, making it difficult for Savin to see. Slowly, Savin pushed himself away from the door and headed towards one of the urinals. As he relieved himself, he tried to will the tears away -- as well as tried to keep his hands steady yet again. They ached, too; the ache settling much deeper in his bones than it had in a while. At the back of his mind, he made a note to possibly see a doctor about those aches as he approached one of the sinks and began to wash his hands meticulously.
Once he finished, he didn’t move from in front of it. Instead, he rested his hands on the edge of the counter, closing his eyes as more tears threatened to spill over. Jazz was fine, he reminded himself. He would be okay. So why was he crying now? Why did he want to just curl up into a ball and sob, like he had wanted to the morning he found out he lost his mother?
“Everything alright, Dr. Bates?”
Savin let out a bitter laugh and pushed himself away from the sink. He didn’t dare look in the mirror in front of him, or turn to face the source of the voice. “What do you want, Mitchel?” he sniffed, clearing his throat as he reached for the paper towel dispenser.
“Jasper asked for me to check on you,” Mitchel said. Savin could see him buffer his nails on his shirt in the reflection of the mirror.
Savin snorted. “How dumb do you think I am?” he muttered, blowing his nose as discreetly as he possibly could. He tossed the used paper towel in the trash, finally facing Mitchel. “Jazz wouldn’t send you to check on me, trust me.” Not to mention he had just left Jazz’s hospital room, as well. There would be no need for the younger man to want to check on Savin so soon.
Mitchel gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder before slipping his hands inside his pockets. “It must be a bit harrowing, seeing your husband so severely injured,” he said. “Especially so soon after your mother has passed away.”
Savin tensed at the mention of his mother. “He’s the Emperor -- I always knew there was a chance someone might try to assassinate him,” he countered, crossing his arms over his chest. Mitchel remained impassive. Savin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I don’t need this right now, alright? Just -- leave me alone.”
Savin let his hand fall away from his face and looked away from Mitchel. He made his way towards the door, scrubbing his face with the palm of his hand.
“Perhaps it might be better for you to have some company,” Mitchel’s irritatingly smooth voice began again, causing Savin to stop in his tracks. “You have barely had the time to grieve the untimely death of your mother, and now this? If I were you, I would prefer not to be alone.”
“And?” Savin asked, keeping his voice low. He turned to face Mitchel slowly and raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that I spend some time with you? Because if you are, Mitchel, I’ll have you know that you’re not exactly on my list of people I want to see right after my husband’s been shot. I didn’t even want you at my mother’s funeral.”
Mitchel seemed taken aback by this, his eyes widening slightly as his eyebrows lifted towards his hair. “Oh?” His brown eyes looked away from Savin, and Mitchel slipped his hands inside his pockets. “And here I thought we were getting along better than usual, Consort,” he sniffed, sounding almost hurt. Except Savin had to be imagining that -- Mitchel very rarely, if ever, showed any true emotion. “Jasper seemed to appreciate my company while I was there.”
Savin bit back his initial response and sighed, pulling his glasses off his face and wiping them on the hem of his shirt. “Jazz only kept you company because I asked him to keep you busy,” he admitted, slipping his glasses back over his eyes.
Mitchel scoffed and shook his head. “Of course,” he said, a partial smile forming on his lips. “Though, I must admit -- I hadn’t realized your mother was so young, Dr. Bates.”
“She was fifty-two.” Savin said, wishing his voice wouldn’t crack the way it did. He reached for the handle on the bathroom door, his fingers wrapping around the cool metal loosely. “Any age would have been too young, in my opinion.”
“I suppose.... You’re in your thirties, are you not?”
“I’m thirty-four.” Savin said, his voice growing tight as his body tensed at Mitchel’s question. He didn’t dare turn around to study Mitchel’s expression. He only knew that it couldn’t be good.
There was a pause, and for a moment, Savin thought it might be safe for him to put an end to this conversation and turned towards the door yet again. The last thing he wanted to do, aside from talking to Mitchel about Jazz getting shot, was to talk to Mitchel about his deceased mother. “That would mean your mother was only eighteen when she had you, would it not?”
Savin turned on his heel and narrowed his eyes at Mitchel. “Nineteen -- her birthday’s before mine.”
“And how old is your father?”
Savin opened his mouth to answer, then clamped it tightly shut. “That’s none of your goddamn business,” he muttered as his nails suddenly bit into the flesh of his palms.
Mitchel seemed taken aback by Savin’s quiet outburst. “I suppose it’s not,” he said after a moment, shrugging his shoulders. He tweaked the knot of his tie, avoiding Savin’s eyes in the process. “After all, it’s more than apparent you’re Hajime’s son. The two of you couldn’t possibly look more alike.”
Savin was on top of Mitchel, Mitchel’s back slamming into the restroom wall. “Just what the fuck are you implying, Mitchel?” he growled, gripping the front of Mitchel’s suit tightly. “Did you just --”
“I am not implying anything, Consort. Just simply making an observation,” Mitchel spat back, his usually calm demeanor broken. “Now unhand me before I call for the Imperial Guard to remove you.”
Savin grit his teeth together and did as he was told, but not without throwing Mitchel away from him roughly, first. He held back a biting response, instead turning on his heel and marching out of the bathroom. His heart pounded in his chest, his vision slowly returning to normal as he continued to walk away.
It took Savin a moment to realize he hadn’t the faintest clue where it was he was supposed to go. Growling in frustration, he turned back around and faced the guard that had followed him to the bathroom. “Any word on whether I have a room I can go to, yet?” he asked, trying to force his breathing to even out.
The Guardsman blinked, his lips pursing together slightly. “Guard Samson will be meeting with you shortly, Dr. Bates,” he said. “Would you prefer to wait for her in the waiting room or Emperor Callahan’s hospital room?”
“The waiting room,” Savin said after a moment. He swallowed thickly, feeling the tension finally leave his shoulders as his anger began to fade away. “Jazz needs to be getting all the rest he can. I’m not sure my being present in the room will help with that.”
The Guardsman nodded. “Then please, Dr. Bates, follow me.”
Savin nodded, letting the Guardsman walk ahead of him. As he turned to follow the younger man, he saw Mitchel slip out of the bathroom, looking completely unruffled with a slight smirk on his face.
Savin’s stomach turned. He almost called out to apologize -- to give the excuse that he had been kind of on edge, lately, and that he hadn’t meant anything by it. Except as Mitchel walked back towards Jazz’s hospital room, Savin swallowed the words back down.
It wasn’t like it would change Mitchel’s opinion of him to say those things, so why should he bother?
Next Chapter
1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Savin frowned, tapping his fingers on his knees as he watched the surrounding cityscape pass them by. He had never been on this side of the planet, before, not even when he used to travel with Jazz all the time. It was unfamiliar, both modern and ancient all at once. The sun was only just now beginning to set, even though hours ago he had somehow managed to nap, uneasily, on the plane ride here.
Now, though, sleep completely eluded him. According to the head Guard, Amelia Samson, they would be at the hospital in roughly thirty minutes, maybe less. Jazz had apparently been out of surgery for the past hour; the bullet had lodged itself in his shoulder. Savin still had the reports sitting next to him, and he’d flip through them when his fingers itched to hold something.
But right now -- he wanted to roll something between them. A pen. A cigarette. Something. He slipped his glasses off his face, wiping the lenses off with the hem of his shirt. He turned to Amelia, the dark-skinned woman from before, and glanced at her hands. Nicotine stains on her fingers caught his attention, and he regarded the severe looking woman with a slight smile. “Hey -- can I bum one off you?”
Amelia raised a well-shaped eyebrow at him. “There’s no smoking allowed in the vehicle, Dr. Bates,” she said, pursing her lips together slightly. Still, she slipped her hand underneath the fold of her suit jacket, procuring a pack of cigarettes. Her deft fingers pulled free a single cigarette and passed it to him without so much as looking at him. She then produced a lighter with her other hand, slipping it next to him. “But considering the circumstances, I will allow it, just this once.”
Savin rolled the cigarette between his fingers and took the lighter with his other hand. “Thank you,” he said, giving her a stout nod. As he lit the cigarette and breathed in that first round of smoke, he closed his eyes and relaxed against his seat, somewhat.
It had been years since he last picked up a cigarette. His lungs were unused to the abuse, and he could feel his throat tighten as he took another drag. He didn’t cough, however, and simply savored the burning sensation down the back of his throat and in his lungs.
“Does Emperor Callahan know you smoke, Dr. Bates?” Amelia asked, continuing to keep her eyes forward.
Savin paused, choking on his most recent drag. “I quit -- before he and I met,” he managed in between coughs. He settled his hand against his leg, giving himself a moment to catch his breath as he handed Amelia back her lighter. She offered him an empty bottle for him to put his ashes in.
“I assume the answer is no, then,” Amelia said, her lips quirking upward just slightly. She folded her hands in her lap, turning her dark eyes towards Savin. “Considering it was Jasper who put the no smoking rule in place, you might wish to either change your clothes or wash your hands prior to seeing him.”
Savin glanced down at the burning cigarette in his hand, a slight frown on his face. “I think it’ll be alright,” he said quietly, turning his head away from her. He tapped his ashes into the bottle and brought the cigarette to his lips, grateful that even after all these years of abstaining, nicotine still had the desired effect.
It wasn’t better than the calming effect of holding a scalpel in his hands, he noted, but at least his hands stopped shaking and his heart beat managed to slow to a reasonable rate. He continued to smoke in silence, finishing it quickly and snubbing the cigarette out in the bottle before handing it back over to Amelia. “Thank you,” he said with a slight smile.
“You’re welcome, Dr. Bates,” Amelia murmured, returning his slight smile. She glanced around them, her smile dropping from her face and a serious expression taking back over. She seemed to be listening to something before she spoke again. “We have already cleared you with the hospital staff. When we arrive, please follow me and I will escort you to Jasper’s room.”
Savin nodded. the uneasy feeling in his stomach returning as the car continued to speed down the roadways. He wanted to ask if they could slow down around curves. just a little bit, but decided against it. The sooner he saw Jazz, the better. He could inspect the surgical site himself, could make sure that their procedures were up to date. Talk to the head surgeon on Jazz’s case personally.
When they finally arrived at the hospital, Amelia did not waste any time directing him to Jazz’s room. Hospital staff stared at them as they made their way through the halls, no doubt turning to whisper behind their hands once Savin and Amelia had passed them. It had been years since he married Jazz, and Savin still hadn’t gotten used to the stares.
Still, he never once thought he’d be standing in any hospital where Jazz was a patient. Gunshot wounds were often pretty straight forward, though. But lodged in his shoulder? That meant working around bone and nerves -- and the medical reports didn’t say just how close to Jazz’s spinal column the bullet went.
All those thoughts fell to the wayside as Amelia strode inside a hospital room. The board beside it was left blank -- probably intentional, Savin realized, as he followed her without a word. His heart stopped in his chest as he saw Jazz, shoulder bandaged and arm in a splint. Jazz’s eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling steadily as though he were asleep.
“Ah, I see the Consort has finally arrived,” a smooth voice said, snapping Savin’s attention away from Jazz. An older man stood up from the seat beside Jazz’s hospital bed. He wore a button down shirt and vest, dark blue tie resting neatly under the man’s clean-shaven chin. His suit jacket was draped over his arm, and Savin felt his stomach twist in his throat.
“Mitchel Foraker,” Savin said, giving the man a slight nod of his head. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he asked, offering Mitchel his hand despite himself. He had to refrain from commenting on Mitchel’s greying hair as he caught the man’s dark brown eyes.
Mitchel took his hand without hesitation, his grip sure and strong. “That’s Councilor Foraker to you, Consort,” he murmured, glancing around the hospital room. He had a calculating look about him, one that eventually settled on Amelia. “Ms. Samson -- I’m surprised they let you leave the Palace unattended,” he said, offering her a full smile.
Amelia pulled her lips a little tighter. “Escorting the Imperial Consort is one of my many duties as Head Imperial Guard, Councilor,” she said, lifting her chin. “It is also my duty to ensure that Emperor Callahan and Dr. Bates have a few moments alone -- as per the orders Jasper gave me when he requested I bring Dr. Bates to him. So please -- follow me.”
“It would be my pleasure, Ms. Samson,” Mitchel said with a slight bow. He made his way around the hospital bed and strode past Savin. Just as he stepped past the threshold of the door, he said, “He should awaken in another moment or two -- he seems to wake every couple of hours or so, whenever his medication wears off.”
Savin nodded, not turning to watch as Mitchel and Amelia stepped outside of the hospital room. As soon as they left, he released the breath he had been holding, feeling his shoulders slump and his eyes fill with tears. “Damnit, Jazz,” he managed, rushing to his husband’s bedside. “I told you to have a safe trip.”
“Sorry,” Jazz mumbled, his eyes opening slowly. He groaned, sitting more upright on the bed. “Didn’t expect to get fucking shot.”
“You’re awake,” Savin said, blinking as he pulled the seat Mitchel had been sitting in closer to Jazz’s hospital bed.
“Was the whole time,” Jazz answered, giving Savin a sheepish smile. “Sorry, was trying to avoid Mitchel.”
“Can’t say that I blame you,” Savin quipped, giving Jazz a slight smile back. He leaned over the bed and pressed a light kiss to Jazz’s forehead. “How’s your pain?”
“Could be worse,” Jazz said, looking away from Savin as he sat down in the chair beside the bed. “Didn’t even realize I had been shot, at first -- but then I tried to move my fucking shoulder,” he continued, waving his hand towards his bandaged shoulder. “The doctors said the bullet shattered a couple of bones?”
“Not surprised to hear that,” Savin said, frowning slightly to himself. “Is your chart in here? I can look at it, if you want --”
Jazz shook his head. “You can give the surgeon twenty-questions later,” he said with a slight smile. “I already told him you’ll likely be taking over my care, once I’m cleared to go back to the Capital.”
Savin nodded, resting his hands on the edge of Jazz’s hospital bed. “Did the Guard get the guy who did it?” he asked, wishing his voice wouldn’t crack like that. He cleared his throat. “I mean, nothing’s gotten past the Guard like that since --”
“Since Emperor Casio,” Jazz finished for him, frowning. “And no, last I heard the guy managed to get away.” Jazz then looked away from Savin, settling back against his pillows and closing his eyes. “I’m glad you came to see me.”
“Of course I did,” Savin said, interlocking his fingers with Jazz’s. He gave them a brief squeeze. “I even left Mari behind at the bar,” he added, giving Jazz a soft smile.
Jazz snorted, then held back a quiet groan in pain as he shook his head. “I hope you didn’t find out because of the Guard -- I think I might have told them to bring you here. I don’t exactly remember -- it’s all so fuzzy after I realized what happened.”
“I saw it on the TV screens at the bar,” Savin said wryly, remembering the scrolling breaking news message. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to erase the image of the screen. “The Guard came and got me just as I was leaving the bar.” He opened his eyes again, studying Jazz’s tired face. “Have you gotten any sleep since you left, yesterday?” he asked, frowning.
“Kinda hard to sleep when your shoulder hurts like a bitch,” Jazz said, giving Savin a wry smile in return. “You don’t look like you’ve slept much, either. Visiting hours are about to end -- if you want to go and get some sleep at a hotel nearby, I can get Amelia to arrange it for you.”
“I’d rather stay with you,” Savin said, leaning forward in his seat and brushing Jazz’s hair out of his eyes.
“Hospital beds aren’t exactly easy to share, Savin -- not to mention my shoulder...” Jazz trailed off with a sigh. His eyes seemed cloudier than usual. “You were really worried about me, weren’t you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah.... It’s not every day that your husband gets shot, y’know?” Savin quipped. He then stood up from his seat and kissed Jazz on the forehead again. “Here -- you should go ahead and get some rest. I’ll be back in a few hours to talk with your surgeon, and I’m sure the Guard’ll be making arrangements to get you sent back home and in my care ASAP.”
“Alright,” Jazz said, nodding. He yawned, covering the involuntary action with his good hand. “Love you,” he whispered, looking up at Savin.
Savin smiled, bending down to press his lips against Jazz’s. He let his lips linger there, grateful that Jazz’s were warm and soft, just as they always were. As much as he wanted to deepen it, he let Jazz pull away when the other man felt ready to. “Love you, too,” Savin said. “Actually get some sleep, alright? And try not to do anything with that arm; it’ll heal faster, that way.”
“Yes, dear,” Jazz said with a laugh, settling against his pillows. Savin just shot Jazz a knowing look before making his way out of the hospital room. Various Guardsmen stood by the hospital room door, which Savin closed gently behind him.
“I’m going to head to the bathroom real quick,” he told one of them. “Please don’t follow me in?”
The man Savin had spoken to nodded, following quietly behind Savin as he made his way to the nearest restroom. While Savin understood that the Guard really had no choice in the matter -- especially not when Jazz’s shooter was still at large -- he still wished that they wouldn’t follow his every move. He missed the days where he had honest to god privacy.
It took him a few minutes to locate a bathroom. As he slipped past the door, the Guard did as he was told and remained behind, just beyond the door. Sighing, Savin leaned against the door for a moment, putting his head in his hands.
Jazz was okay. Judging from the bandaging and the splint alone, recovery time would be three weeks, four weeks at the most. Followed by a few months of physical therapy to restore range of motion to Jazz’s shoulder.
Tears stung at his eyes, making it difficult for Savin to see. Slowly, Savin pushed himself away from the door and headed towards one of the urinals. As he relieved himself, he tried to will the tears away -- as well as tried to keep his hands steady yet again. They ached, too; the ache settling much deeper in his bones than it had in a while. At the back of his mind, he made a note to possibly see a doctor about those aches as he approached one of the sinks and began to wash his hands meticulously.
Once he finished, he didn’t move from in front of it. Instead, he rested his hands on the edge of the counter, closing his eyes as more tears threatened to spill over. Jazz was fine, he reminded himself. He would be okay. So why was he crying now? Why did he want to just curl up into a ball and sob, like he had wanted to the morning he found out he lost his mother?
“Everything alright, Dr. Bates?”
Savin let out a bitter laugh and pushed himself away from the sink. He didn’t dare look in the mirror in front of him, or turn to face the source of the voice. “What do you want, Mitchel?” he sniffed, clearing his throat as he reached for the paper towel dispenser.
“Jasper asked for me to check on you,” Mitchel said. Savin could see him buffer his nails on his shirt in the reflection of the mirror.
Savin snorted. “How dumb do you think I am?” he muttered, blowing his nose as discreetly as he possibly could. He tossed the used paper towel in the trash, finally facing Mitchel. “Jazz wouldn’t send you to check on me, trust me.” Not to mention he had just left Jazz’s hospital room, as well. There would be no need for the younger man to want to check on Savin so soon.
Mitchel gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder before slipping his hands inside his pockets. “It must be a bit harrowing, seeing your husband so severely injured,” he said. “Especially so soon after your mother has passed away.”
Savin tensed at the mention of his mother. “He’s the Emperor -- I always knew there was a chance someone might try to assassinate him,” he countered, crossing his arms over his chest. Mitchel remained impassive. Savin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I don’t need this right now, alright? Just -- leave me alone.”
Savin let his hand fall away from his face and looked away from Mitchel. He made his way towards the door, scrubbing his face with the palm of his hand.
“Perhaps it might be better for you to have some company,” Mitchel’s irritatingly smooth voice began again, causing Savin to stop in his tracks. “You have barely had the time to grieve the untimely death of your mother, and now this? If I were you, I would prefer not to be alone.”
“And?” Savin asked, keeping his voice low. He turned to face Mitchel slowly and raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that I spend some time with you? Because if you are, Mitchel, I’ll have you know that you’re not exactly on my list of people I want to see right after my husband’s been shot. I didn’t even want you at my mother’s funeral.”
Mitchel seemed taken aback by this, his eyes widening slightly as his eyebrows lifted towards his hair. “Oh?” His brown eyes looked away from Savin, and Mitchel slipped his hands inside his pockets. “And here I thought we were getting along better than usual, Consort,” he sniffed, sounding almost hurt. Except Savin had to be imagining that -- Mitchel very rarely, if ever, showed any true emotion. “Jasper seemed to appreciate my company while I was there.”
Savin bit back his initial response and sighed, pulling his glasses off his face and wiping them on the hem of his shirt. “Jazz only kept you company because I asked him to keep you busy,” he admitted, slipping his glasses back over his eyes.
Mitchel scoffed and shook his head. “Of course,” he said, a partial smile forming on his lips. “Though, I must admit -- I hadn’t realized your mother was so young, Dr. Bates.”
“She was fifty-two.” Savin said, wishing his voice wouldn’t crack the way it did. He reached for the handle on the bathroom door, his fingers wrapping around the cool metal loosely. “Any age would have been too young, in my opinion.”
“I suppose.... You’re in your thirties, are you not?”
“I’m thirty-four.” Savin said, his voice growing tight as his body tensed at Mitchel’s question. He didn’t dare turn around to study Mitchel’s expression. He only knew that it couldn’t be good.
There was a pause, and for a moment, Savin thought it might be safe for him to put an end to this conversation and turned towards the door yet again. The last thing he wanted to do, aside from talking to Mitchel about Jazz getting shot, was to talk to Mitchel about his deceased mother. “That would mean your mother was only eighteen when she had you, would it not?”
Savin turned on his heel and narrowed his eyes at Mitchel. “Nineteen -- her birthday’s before mine.”
“And how old is your father?”
Savin opened his mouth to answer, then clamped it tightly shut. “That’s none of your goddamn business,” he muttered as his nails suddenly bit into the flesh of his palms.
Mitchel seemed taken aback by Savin’s quiet outburst. “I suppose it’s not,” he said after a moment, shrugging his shoulders. He tweaked the knot of his tie, avoiding Savin’s eyes in the process. “After all, it’s more than apparent you’re Hajime’s son. The two of you couldn’t possibly look more alike.”
Savin was on top of Mitchel, Mitchel’s back slamming into the restroom wall. “Just what the fuck are you implying, Mitchel?” he growled, gripping the front of Mitchel’s suit tightly. “Did you just --”
“I am not implying anything, Consort. Just simply making an observation,” Mitchel spat back, his usually calm demeanor broken. “Now unhand me before I call for the Imperial Guard to remove you.”
Savin grit his teeth together and did as he was told, but not without throwing Mitchel away from him roughly, first. He held back a biting response, instead turning on his heel and marching out of the bathroom. His heart pounded in his chest, his vision slowly returning to normal as he continued to walk away.
It took Savin a moment to realize he hadn’t the faintest clue where it was he was supposed to go. Growling in frustration, he turned back around and faced the guard that had followed him to the bathroom. “Any word on whether I have a room I can go to, yet?” he asked, trying to force his breathing to even out.
The Guardsman blinked, his lips pursing together slightly. “Guard Samson will be meeting with you shortly, Dr. Bates,” he said. “Would you prefer to wait for her in the waiting room or Emperor Callahan’s hospital room?”
“The waiting room,” Savin said after a moment. He swallowed thickly, feeling the tension finally leave his shoulders as his anger began to fade away. “Jazz needs to be getting all the rest he can. I’m not sure my being present in the room will help with that.”
The Guardsman nodded. “Then please, Dr. Bates, follow me.”
Savin nodded, letting the Guardsman walk ahead of him. As he turned to follow the younger man, he saw Mitchel slip out of the bathroom, looking completely unruffled with a slight smirk on his face.
Savin’s stomach turned. He almost called out to apologize -- to give the excuse that he had been kind of on edge, lately, and that he hadn’t meant anything by it. Except as Mitchel walked back towards Jazz’s hospital room, Savin swallowed the words back down.
It wasn’t like it would change Mitchel’s opinion of him to say those things, so why should he bother?
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