AN: One of the many short stories that I will be posting on here. This is a piece of fiction involving my two main characters, and they are involved in a gay relationship. No flames, please, for the slash content.

"Waiting"

Savin stared out at the empty waiting room, his mind blank. Jazz had arrived in the hospital a few hours ago. Currently he was in surgery. Normally, as the head doctor, Savin would be in the OR, but today, he couldn't be. He told his coworkers out right that he couldn't be. Jazz--it was all he could take, seeing him bloody and torn up; there was no way Savin could perform surgery. His hands, a few hours ago, were shaking as he took Jazz's blood pressure, checked his pulse, asked Jazz questions while he was still conscious. The way his voice shook as he spoke to Jazz--the amount of pain Jazz was obviously in, tore at him.

Sighing, Savin leaned back in the chair, trying to get comfortable. A couple of hours ago he was crying, realizing that Jazz was slipping out of consciousness--that there was a heavy bleed in Jazz's abdomen, and an even more worrisome bleed in the brain. It was at that point he lost any ounce of professionalism. If Jazz were just his friend, and not his lover, Savin explained to the other surgeon on duty, he would be able to perform the needed surgery. The other surgeon had looked at him with wide eyes, his mouth open. But the other surgeon had understood--Savin was in no condition to perform such a physically daunting task with an even more daunting emotional strain.

Now Savin almost wished that he had decided to watch over the surgery, to be ready to step in and intervene if needed. Jazz's life was in danger--Savin could tell by the amount of bleeding that Jazz's life was in the balance. Sitting there, in the waiting room, at first made him feel helpless. He knew how long both surgeries would take if everything went smoothly--if there were no complications. The surgeries themselves were dangerous--especially the one involving the brain. One wrong slip in the brain and Jazz would be better off dead.

These thoughts put a heavy weight on Savin's heart, but he no longer acknowledged the pain that came with the crushing weight. Knowing what could happen--what could go wrong--what needed to be true for Jazz to recover fully, kept his mind busy enough in order to keep him from focusing on the pain in his heart. He also reminded himself that the surgeon in charge of Jazz's life was a competent one. Almost as good as Savin with his hands--and an equally sharp mind. Jazz's life was in good hands.

All these thoughts numbed Savin, allowing him to think rationally even though physically he was still shaking--still scared that he would never see Jazz again, alive. He sat there, emotions numb, mind reeling, body shaking, for hours, unmoving. He barely blinked. People came in and sat down, watching him, studying him, though he was very unaware of their presence. To those on the outside, he was a man full to the brim with worry, waiting anxiously for the news that was due to arrive any minute. They had no idea that he was the hospital's head surgeon--that he was numb to every emotion while feeling them all at once.

When his partner finally came out of the OR, his face was set, his mouth a thin line. Savin stood up, his body showing fatigue while his eyes were wide awake, studying the other man for the answer Savin knew was inevitable to come. He met the surgeon halfway, both of them refusing to look away. The surgeon was the first to avert his eyes, an almost inaudible sigh escaping his lips.

"He didn't make it," was all he had to say.

Savin closed his eyes, still numb, but at least he knew the answer. The tears came and rolled down his face as he crumbled into another chair, unable to stop crying. But he felt nothing. All he knew was that Jazz was gone--forever.