Gray Morning Rewrite -- Chapter 7
It's been a little while, hasn't it? I had a couple more chapters written a few months back, but haven't posted them. I got stuck somewhere and ended up having to dislodge the stuckness by writing out of order -- and now I probably have somewhere around 15k words of material that I wrote out of order. xD But now my brain wants to pick back up where I left off, so... here's the next chapter. *Note: I have edited out any reference to Savin's illness in this -- it's no longer a plot point, but previous chapters on LJ will not reflect that :)
If you're reading Gray Morning for the first time, previous chapters can be found here:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
Savin sighed as he made his way over to the sink. He had watched them roll his patient away with trepidation, his lips pressed tightly together behind his mask. A week had passed since Jazz had gotten shot. A week, and everything had seemingly gone back to normal: Jazz’s recovery had been going well, Savin’s near-perfect surgical record had remained steady. Everything was normal. Except...
“It’s your hands, isn’t it?” his father asked as he strode up to the sink beside Savin’s. He kept his voice low, which Savin had to admit was unlike his father.
The two of them shared a glance before Savin looked away, first, gritting his teeth at his father’s supposed concern. “They’re fine,” he murmured, shaking the excess water free from his hands. He grabbed a paper towel and used it to turn off the water before drying his hands. Anything to keep them moving -- and anything to keep his father’s eyes off them.
Savin watched as Hajime frowned to himself as though deep in thought. He, too, removed his blood-stained gown and tossed it all aside in a biohazard can before washing his hands just as meticulously as Savin. Savin moved away from the sink and leaned his back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as nurses and other surgeons filed out of the room.
“Do you have a moment to spare, then, Dr. Bates?” Hajime asked, clearing his throat. “I would like to speak with you in my office.”
Savin nodded and uncrossed his arms. A moment later, the two of them were walking in silence towards Hajime’s office. The words Chief of Surgery stuck out like sore thumbs on the plaque beside the door. Savin’s stomach turned -- this office could be his, one day.
“How long have your hands been so unsteady?” Hajime asked once Savin had shut the office door behind him. He gestured to the chair in front of the desk, offering it for Savin to sit. “I have never seen them tremor like that, before.”
Savin winced, looking away from his father as he eased himself into the proffered seat. “I told you, they’re fine.” He then sighed, moving to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose before remembering he was wearing his contacts. “I have it under control.”
Hajime frowned, steepling his fingers together as he leaned back in his chair. “You better,” he warned, eying Savin over the edge of his own glasses. “I can’t afford to have one of my best surgeons lose his precision.”
“Yes, because my ability to do my job is the only thing that matters, Father,” Savin snapped, scowling. He crossed one leg over the other and folded his arms over his chest again. “It’s not like my mother just died and my husband was just seriously injured or anything, right?”
“You’re just as aware as I am how one small move can make the difference between life and death, Savin,” Hajime muttered darkly, seemingly unphased by Savin’s brief outburst. “If it’s anxiety related, I suggest seeing a shrink for help.”
“I don’t need help and I have it under control,” Savin said, his scowl deepening. He brushed his bangs out of his eyes and pursed his lips together. “You don’t need to fake concern for me -- you’ve already made it perfectly clear that all you’re concerned about is my numbers.”
Savin then pushed himself out of the seat, grateful that his hands were steady as he made his way towards Hajime’s office door.
“Has Jasper said anything to you about your hands, yet?” Hajime asked, stopping Savin in his tracks. Savin turned to face his father, a bemused expression on his face.
“Jasper is an intelligent man,” Hajime continued without so much as missing a beat. “While he is often distracted with his work, the man does adore you -- I would be surprised if he hasn’t already expressed concern.”
Savin opened his mouth to respond, but quickly shut it as he lifted his gaze from the floor. Hajime had that expression on his face, the one Hajime typically reserved for Savin’s mother. Savin’s breath caught in his throat as tears stung at his eyes. Despite having to handle his recovery from his gunshot wound, Jazz had also been frequently asking Savin if he were okay. Especially in the mornings, when Savin’s hands often shook the worst.
“You’re probably right,” Savin admitted, clearing his throat. “It’s just -- with him having to worry about the Empire...”
“Speaking of that,” Hajime said, clearing his own throat. “Were you aware that Jasper intends to give another speech, tonight?”
“I -- no,” Savin said, his brow wrinkling together in confusion. “He hasn’t mentioned a single word about that to me.”
Hajime didn’t so much as blink, instead folding his hands on top of his desk yet again, his expression frustratingly neutral. “I’m sure he simply wishes to address his would-be assassin, considering he has yet to do so,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Yeah...” Savin said, a note of uncertainty to his voice as he looked off to the side. “Yeah, you’re probably right...”
***
Jazz looped the fabric of his tie around his fingers, expertly tugging the knot into place. His speech tumbled around inside his skull, key points repeating themselves as he memorized the note cards he had taped to the mirror. Savin should be home soon, he realized -- but his husband had a tendency to run late, and for once, Jazz was hoping to use this to his advantage.
Once satisfied with his appearance, Jazz stood up straight, throwing his shoulders back. He decided to forgo the sling, just for a few hours. His shoulder ached, but the pain didn’t register on his face as he carefully smiled, revealing even teeth. As he picked the note cards off the mirror, he felt himself relax, just a little bit. So what if he had been shot during his last speech? That didn’t mean that there’d be another lapse in security -- especially not with him doing the speech on the Palace steps.
When he turned on his heel and picked up the jacket to his suit, the smile fell from his face. “Savin,” he said, fingers tightening around the small stack of cards in his hand. “How was work?” he asked, forcing yet another smile onto his face.
“You didn’t tell me you were giving a speech today,” Savin said, a slight frown forming on his lips. He leaned against the door jamb, arms crossed over his chest.
“I didn’t want you to worry,” Jazz said with a painful shrug of his shoulders. He frowned himself, slipping his arms inside his jacket and tugging it on. “With it being so soon after I was shot --”
“I don’t think that’s the only reason.” Savin finally turned to look at Jazz, his frown deepening. “I worry regardless, considering you’re the --” He stopped, cutting himself off with a sigh. He then ran his fingers through his hair, inadvertently brushing it out of his eyes. Eyes that focused entirely on Jazz, never once wavering from him. “You agreed when you became Emperor that you’d always tell me whenever you planned to give a speech.”
“I know,” Jazz murmured, dropping his own gaze to the floor. He stashed his notes inside his breast pocket. “I just -- I’m sorry, Savin,” he continued, wishing his voice wouldn’t break like that. “I know I should have told you, but --”
“Why are you giving this speech?” Savin asked, not giving Jazz a chance to continue his sentence. His expression softened as he approached Jazz slowly, uncrossing his arms and shoving his hands inside his pockets. The two stood no more than a foot apart, Savin’s green eyes studying Jazz intensely. “I tried to find the official media announcements for it and came up with nothing, so -- what is it that you’re trying to address?”
Jazz gestured to his shoulder. “We think the Resistance was behind the shooting,” he said, continuing to hold Savin’s gaze. He swallowed thickly before catching his bottom lip with his teeth, trying to decide what to say next.
“‘We?’” Savin asked, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “Who’s we? And I thought you said you weren’t sure that there was even such a thing as the ‘Resistance,’ to begin with?”
“I said we didn’t know how organized they were -- but if they’re organized enough to get past the Imperial Guard...” Jazz trailed off and cleared his throat. He glanced at the alarm clock sitting on the corner of the nightstand and frowned. “Look, I have to go meet up with Mitchel before the speech -- can we finish this discussion later?”
Savin’s expression darkened. “It was his idea for you to do this speech, wasn’t it?” Jazz blinked at Savin’s tone, his own brow furrowing for a moment before Savin sighed and shook his head. He then pulled his hands free from his pockets and tugged Jazz closer to him, hugging him tightly. “No more getting shot, okay?” he breathed in Jazz’s ear.
Jazz smiled into Savin’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Savin and returning his embrace. “I’ll try not to,” he whispered. He tilted his head back, finding Savin’s lips with his own. The kiss was brief, almost rushed as Jazz pulled away, first. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Savin murmured as Jazz began making his way out of their private quarters. There was a tremble to his voice, one Jazz pretended he didn’t hear.
He needed to appear confident, after all. And if he couldn’t be confident in front of Savin, how would he manage it in front of the entire Empire?
If you're reading Gray Morning for the first time, previous chapters can be found here:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
Savin sighed as he made his way over to the sink. He had watched them roll his patient away with trepidation, his lips pressed tightly together behind his mask. A week had passed since Jazz had gotten shot. A week, and everything had seemingly gone back to normal: Jazz’s recovery had been going well, Savin’s near-perfect surgical record had remained steady. Everything was normal. Except...
“It’s your hands, isn’t it?” his father asked as he strode up to the sink beside Savin’s. He kept his voice low, which Savin had to admit was unlike his father.
The two of them shared a glance before Savin looked away, first, gritting his teeth at his father’s supposed concern. “They’re fine,” he murmured, shaking the excess water free from his hands. He grabbed a paper towel and used it to turn off the water before drying his hands. Anything to keep them moving -- and anything to keep his father’s eyes off them.
Savin watched as Hajime frowned to himself as though deep in thought. He, too, removed his blood-stained gown and tossed it all aside in a biohazard can before washing his hands just as meticulously as Savin. Savin moved away from the sink and leaned his back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as nurses and other surgeons filed out of the room.
“Do you have a moment to spare, then, Dr. Bates?” Hajime asked, clearing his throat. “I would like to speak with you in my office.”
Savin nodded and uncrossed his arms. A moment later, the two of them were walking in silence towards Hajime’s office. The words Chief of Surgery stuck out like sore thumbs on the plaque beside the door. Savin’s stomach turned -- this office could be his, one day.
“How long have your hands been so unsteady?” Hajime asked once Savin had shut the office door behind him. He gestured to the chair in front of the desk, offering it for Savin to sit. “I have never seen them tremor like that, before.”
Savin winced, looking away from his father as he eased himself into the proffered seat. “I told you, they’re fine.” He then sighed, moving to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose before remembering he was wearing his contacts. “I have it under control.”
Hajime frowned, steepling his fingers together as he leaned back in his chair. “You better,” he warned, eying Savin over the edge of his own glasses. “I can’t afford to have one of my best surgeons lose his precision.”
“Yes, because my ability to do my job is the only thing that matters, Father,” Savin snapped, scowling. He crossed one leg over the other and folded his arms over his chest again. “It’s not like my mother just died and my husband was just seriously injured or anything, right?”
“You’re just as aware as I am how one small move can make the difference between life and death, Savin,” Hajime muttered darkly, seemingly unphased by Savin’s brief outburst. “If it’s anxiety related, I suggest seeing a shrink for help.”
“I don’t need help and I have it under control,” Savin said, his scowl deepening. He brushed his bangs out of his eyes and pursed his lips together. “You don’t need to fake concern for me -- you’ve already made it perfectly clear that all you’re concerned about is my numbers.”
Savin then pushed himself out of the seat, grateful that his hands were steady as he made his way towards Hajime’s office door.
“Has Jasper said anything to you about your hands, yet?” Hajime asked, stopping Savin in his tracks. Savin turned to face his father, a bemused expression on his face.
“Jasper is an intelligent man,” Hajime continued without so much as missing a beat. “While he is often distracted with his work, the man does adore you -- I would be surprised if he hasn’t already expressed concern.”
Savin opened his mouth to respond, but quickly shut it as he lifted his gaze from the floor. Hajime had that expression on his face, the one Hajime typically reserved for Savin’s mother. Savin’s breath caught in his throat as tears stung at his eyes. Despite having to handle his recovery from his gunshot wound, Jazz had also been frequently asking Savin if he were okay. Especially in the mornings, when Savin’s hands often shook the worst.
“You’re probably right,” Savin admitted, clearing his throat. “It’s just -- with him having to worry about the Empire...”
“Speaking of that,” Hajime said, clearing his own throat. “Were you aware that Jasper intends to give another speech, tonight?”
“I -- no,” Savin said, his brow wrinkling together in confusion. “He hasn’t mentioned a single word about that to me.”
Hajime didn’t so much as blink, instead folding his hands on top of his desk yet again, his expression frustratingly neutral. “I’m sure he simply wishes to address his would-be assassin, considering he has yet to do so,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Yeah...” Savin said, a note of uncertainty to his voice as he looked off to the side. “Yeah, you’re probably right...”
***
Jazz looped the fabric of his tie around his fingers, expertly tugging the knot into place. His speech tumbled around inside his skull, key points repeating themselves as he memorized the note cards he had taped to the mirror. Savin should be home soon, he realized -- but his husband had a tendency to run late, and for once, Jazz was hoping to use this to his advantage.
Once satisfied with his appearance, Jazz stood up straight, throwing his shoulders back. He decided to forgo the sling, just for a few hours. His shoulder ached, but the pain didn’t register on his face as he carefully smiled, revealing even teeth. As he picked the note cards off the mirror, he felt himself relax, just a little bit. So what if he had been shot during his last speech? That didn’t mean that there’d be another lapse in security -- especially not with him doing the speech on the Palace steps.
When he turned on his heel and picked up the jacket to his suit, the smile fell from his face. “Savin,” he said, fingers tightening around the small stack of cards in his hand. “How was work?” he asked, forcing yet another smile onto his face.
“You didn’t tell me you were giving a speech today,” Savin said, a slight frown forming on his lips. He leaned against the door jamb, arms crossed over his chest.
“I didn’t want you to worry,” Jazz said with a painful shrug of his shoulders. He frowned himself, slipping his arms inside his jacket and tugging it on. “With it being so soon after I was shot --”
“I don’t think that’s the only reason.” Savin finally turned to look at Jazz, his frown deepening. “I worry regardless, considering you’re the --” He stopped, cutting himself off with a sigh. He then ran his fingers through his hair, inadvertently brushing it out of his eyes. Eyes that focused entirely on Jazz, never once wavering from him. “You agreed when you became Emperor that you’d always tell me whenever you planned to give a speech.”
“I know,” Jazz murmured, dropping his own gaze to the floor. He stashed his notes inside his breast pocket. “I just -- I’m sorry, Savin,” he continued, wishing his voice wouldn’t break like that. “I know I should have told you, but --”
“Why are you giving this speech?” Savin asked, not giving Jazz a chance to continue his sentence. His expression softened as he approached Jazz slowly, uncrossing his arms and shoving his hands inside his pockets. The two stood no more than a foot apart, Savin’s green eyes studying Jazz intensely. “I tried to find the official media announcements for it and came up with nothing, so -- what is it that you’re trying to address?”
Jazz gestured to his shoulder. “We think the Resistance was behind the shooting,” he said, continuing to hold Savin’s gaze. He swallowed thickly before catching his bottom lip with his teeth, trying to decide what to say next.
“‘We?’” Savin asked, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “Who’s we? And I thought you said you weren’t sure that there was even such a thing as the ‘Resistance,’ to begin with?”
“I said we didn’t know how organized they were -- but if they’re organized enough to get past the Imperial Guard...” Jazz trailed off and cleared his throat. He glanced at the alarm clock sitting on the corner of the nightstand and frowned. “Look, I have to go meet up with Mitchel before the speech -- can we finish this discussion later?”
Savin’s expression darkened. “It was his idea for you to do this speech, wasn’t it?” Jazz blinked at Savin’s tone, his own brow furrowing for a moment before Savin sighed and shook his head. He then pulled his hands free from his pockets and tugged Jazz closer to him, hugging him tightly. “No more getting shot, okay?” he breathed in Jazz’s ear.
Jazz smiled into Savin’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Savin and returning his embrace. “I’ll try not to,” he whispered. He tilted his head back, finding Savin’s lips with his own. The kiss was brief, almost rushed as Jazz pulled away, first. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Savin murmured as Jazz began making his way out of their private quarters. There was a tremble to his voice, one Jazz pretended he didn’t hear.
He needed to appear confident, after all. And if he couldn’t be confident in front of Savin, how would he manage it in front of the entire Empire?