Gray Morning Fanfiction -- Forgiveness: Chapter 13
I am an evil, evil bitch. Enjoy!
Previous chapters:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12
I think it’s been months since I’ve last stood inside this graveyard. I can feel the Guard’s presence, but they hang back, understanding that this is just one of the many times I really need some privacy. The grass has come in thick, and plenty of graves are smothered with bouquets of flowers.
A small smile forms on my lips as I get closer to Jazz’s grave. Even from here, I can see that there aren’t any flowers on top of it. I think he’d have preferred it that way, though it makes me a little sad, too. The man was Emperor. Wasn’t he at least a little loved by his people? Then again, I don’t even want to fucking know what the Empire thinks of me, a surgeon-turned-politician out of necessity.
When I approach, the air grows heavy around me, and a wind picks up, carrying a slight chill. I fold my arms over my chest, pulling my suit jacket closer to my body. It’s almost summer -- though the weather hasn’t seemed to have gotten that particular memo. Right now, I don’t mind. When Jazz and I got married, it wasn’t exactly a perfect summer’s day, either -- it rained that morning. Rained during the reception, too.
But not during the wedding itself. We’d had it outside, in the Palace Gardens. I bite my lip to keep it from trembling as I sink to the ground in front of Jazz’s grave.
We’d have been married for five years, if he hadn’t -- if Mitchel hadn’t --
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, reaching out to trace the letters that make up Jazz’s name. “I’d totally understand if you were pissed at me and never wanted me to talk to you again.”
The grave is silent -- not that I expected anything otherwise. The wind howls again, causing my hair to fall into my eyes. I sigh and cross my legs, resting my hands in my lap. “I know it must be weird for you -- watching me and Mitchel,” I continue. I clear my throat and look down at my hands. “It’s weird for me, too. I don’t even know what I’m doing, half the time. Mitchel just...” My words fail me, and for a while, I sit in front of Jazz’s grave, totally silent.
“I guess I understand, now, what it was you saw in him,” I say eventually, frowning slightly to myself. “I’m sorry I didn’t give him a chance, before. I’m sorry I’m giving him the chance he’s getting now -- I know he doesn’t deserve it. But --” I sigh, shaking my head as tears begin to sting at my eyes. “But I know you would have wanted me to forgive him, too. That you wouldn’t have wanted me to hold a grudge against him. That you --” A sob escapes me, and I run my fingers through my hair, pulling it out of my eyes. “That you would have wanted me to be happy, even without you here, and I --
“I think I am,” I finish, licking my lips as I hold back the rest of my tears. Happy. That’s not something I expected to be, not when I found out I had lupus, not when I realized I had a responsibility to the Empire -- and especially not when I watched Jazz die. I grip my pants, bunching the fabric under my fingers at my knees.
So much shit has changed. I’m even actually enjoying being a politician. I just don’t get it. I’m not sure Jazz would, either. But I do know that he’d be happy for me. That he’d be proud of me, for taking care of myself, for taking care of the Empire, for giving Mitchel a chance.
I sit in front of that gravestone for what feels like hours, just filling Jazz in on everything that’s happened since my last visit. And when I feel as though I’ve run out of things to say, I close my eyes and wipe the tears away from my face.
“Emperor Bates.”
I jump, snapping my head up to look behind me. The Imperial Guard has me surrounded. Each member has their arms crossed over their chest, and my stomach totally plummets to the ground. “Yes?” I ask, thankful that my voice doesn’t shake as I push myself onto my feet.
“Please come with us,” the first man says, stepping forward. He has his hands locked behind his back, like Amelia often does when something is seriously wrong. His facial expression is neutral, but I can feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
“What’s going on?” I ask, squaring my jaw. I glance around me, noticing that the circle of guards seems to have grown tighter. “Where’s Agent Samson?”
“She is currently indisposed. Please, Emperor Bates, we need to get you to safety. The sooner, the better,” the man answers, and I can see the tension in his neck as he clenches his jaw. “We will explain in the car.”
“Explain what?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest. I don’t budge from my spot in front of Jazz’s grave. “Tell me what is going on over at the Palace -- what’s so important that it can’t be explained out here?”
“The Resistance, Emperor Bates. Now please, come with us willingly. We’d rather not make a scene.”
My eyes widen. The Resistance? At the Palace? My knees grow weak and my head swims. How did they get past Amelia? How did they --
“Where’s Mitchel?” I ask, forcing myself to remain upright as my stomach turns. I swallow thickly, trying to keep myself from heaving. “Is he --” I want to ask if he’s safe. I want to ask if he’s okay, if he’s managed to find a safe place in the Palace. But the way the man looks at me as I speak, the question changes. I clear my throat.
“Did he have anything to do with this?”
The man’s lips twitch.
It’s all the answer I need. As I make my way back to the armored car with the Guard, tears sting at my eyes. That bastard. That bastard. He played me. He fucking played me. My fists ball at my sides, my whole body vibrating as I stand before the car, one of the Guard opening the door for me as if in slow motion.
Next thing I know, everything goes black. When I come to, the back of my neck hurts. It’s dark -- no light in the room whatsoever. Best I can make out are fuzzy shapes, and without the weight of my glasses, that’s probably all I’ll ever see.
“Where the fuck am I?” I groan, reaching up to rub the back of my neck. Except I can’t.
“It’s about time you came to, Emperor,” a voice says from behind me, and I tense. “I was beginning to believe that my men were a little too rough on you -- though you and I both know that’s just how you like it.”
I groan again, squeezing my eyes tightly shut as my blood turns into ice in my veins. “No,” I murmur, shaking my head. “No, this isn’t happening; this isn’t -- this isn’t...” The words die on my lips as light floods the room, blinding me for only a moment before Mitchel’s face comes into blurry, then sharp, focus as he slides my glasses over my eyes.
“Oh, but it is, Emperor,” Mitchel says, his fingers sliding down my cheek and stopping just under my chin. “The Resistance has complete control of the Palace. Of you. And it’s all because of me.”
His dark brown eyes never once waver. Never once show any sign of fucking remorse as his fingers fall away from my chin. I let my chin fall to my chest, looking away from him as tears fill my eyes. “You tricked me.”
“Did you truly expect anything different?” Mitchel asks, turning away from me. He clasps his hands behind his back, stands up straight. His shoulders are thrown back, and even now all I can think about is how I had him under me this morning, moaning my name. “I warned you, straight from the beginning, didn’t I? That the Resistance’s plan had been compromised, and that I needed to correct it?”
My eyes widen, and I stare at him with my mouth hanging half-open. I twist my hands against the restraints -- they’re handcuffed behind my back, and I have to fight the urge to try and dislocate my wrists so I can get free. The bastard turns to face me, that insufferable smirk on his face. The one that I damn near fell in love with. “Consider this me correcting it, Emperor Bates,” he says, moving in close to me.
I move away from him as far as I possibly can, backing into the wall behind me. “What’re you going to do to me?” I ask despite myself, avoiding his eyes as much as possible.
Mitchel’s hands are on my shoulders, holding me in place as he brings his face close to mine. I can feel his breath against my neck -- against my ear as he whispers into it. “Nothing,” he says. “You’ve done all the work for me. You’ve set me free; you’ve allowed me within your Council, pardoned me for my crimes against the Empire. We’re even lovers!” He laughs, and as if to illustrate his point, he kisses my neck, his teeth digging in just a little too much. I squirm under him, trying to hold back a reflexive moan.
“What more do I need to do?” he asks as he pulls away from me. “All the Empire needs to know is that we were in this together. That you even asked me for help in handing over the Empire to them....”
My whole body goes cold. I did ask him that, didn’t I? When I was trying to find a way to set him free? I resist the urge to throw up, keeping my eyes on the floor. Mitchel’s still so uncomfortably close, and I’m looking anywhere but at him as my vision swims and my head pounds. The details of this room are familiar. The execution chamber? Is that where we’re at?
I try to focus on the details instead of Mitchel’s fingers hooking under my chin once again. He forces me to look at him, triumph written all over his face. “All I needed to be was patient,” he says with a smile. “You were surprisingly easy to win over -- but I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. Jasper was rather easy to manipulate, too...”
My stomach turns, and I grab hold of the thumb on my right hand. One twist. That’s all it would take to have my hands free, so I can throttle the bastard standing before me. Mitchel finally lets go of my chin and moves away from me. As he moves, I can see the glint of metal hidden under his suit jacket, and I let go of my hand.
“So this was all just -- one big joke, to you? One big game?” I growl, wishing that my voice wouldn’t crack the way it did. I already look pathetic as it is, my back pressed against a wall while I’m on my knees. Did I really need to sound it, too?
“Please, Bates, spare me the dramatics,” Mitchel says with a dismissive wave of his hand. He stands a few feet in front of me, his eyes now hard and unmoving. He points to the floor, and an unmistakable chill rolls through me. “I killed your husband, right here. I nearly killed you, but my aim wasn’t perfect. I failed my Empire, failed in protecting it from the likes of you -- a man who hardly knew his way around the political body, even if he is quite adept with the human one.”
He pulls his pistol out from its holster. Aims it directly at me. “No hard feelings, Bates. You’re just simply in my way, now.”
“Why kill me?” I ask, pressing my hand against the wall behind me. I need to stall him. Get more time so I can work my thumb out of joint. “Why not spare me, like I did you?”
Mitchel laughs again, shaking his head. “Please. And not take advantage of the Empire’s sympathy when they discover you and I were lovers? You seem to misunderstand what my intentions are -- which, again, doesn’t surprise me, as politics are not your expertise.”
“Explain it to me, then,” I say, frowning to myself and trying to hide my grimace as I press my hand against the wall. This is going to fucking suck, but I don’t have any bobby pins or anything else on me. And I have to make it quick, or else Mitchel’ll notice. The bastard does love to hear himself talk, though, so maybe if I can get him talking... “Explain why you have to kill me.”
“It’s quite simple, Bates,” he murmurs, moving closer to me once again. He holsters the gun. “I’m about to double-cross the Resistance. Turn in the men higher up than me, claim I’ve always been a spy for the Empire. A double agent, if you will.” He bends down and pulls me to my feet, interrupting me from successfully dislocating my thumb. I’m quick to press my back against the wall again, desperate to get one of my hands free.
“That’s why you spared me, of course,” he continues, brushing my cheek with his hand yet again. I want to push him away from me, but I need him to keep talking, too, so I don’t. “I was your spy, and you couldn’t afford to lose me. You were the only one aside from Jasper who knew. It was only recently that you and I became lovers -- and the Resistance discovered this fact. Began to question my loyalty to them.”
He reaches for his gun again, pulling it out once more. He holds it loosely in his hand, waving it as he gestures around him. “This coup? My idea, to prove myself to them. Of course, there’s just one more step I need to complete in order to accomplish that.”
“What’s that?” I ask, swallowing thickly. Just one more push -- I glance at the gun in his hand, the barrel of which is now pressed against my chest, right over my scar. Mitchel just smirks at me and glances down at his weapon, then back at me.
“You’re not that daft, Bates,” he says slowly, and I see his thumb move to undo the safety. With him so close, I don’t have any choice. I grit my teeth and push the fleshy part of my thumb against the wall one more time, the crack of a dislocated joint unmistakable. Mitchel jumps back, eyes wild with surprise.
The pain overwhelms me for a moment, but I still manage to slip the handcuff off my wrist. Mitchel recovers, narrows his eyes at me, and the gun --
It goes off.
Previous chapters:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12
I think it’s been months since I’ve last stood inside this graveyard. I can feel the Guard’s presence, but they hang back, understanding that this is just one of the many times I really need some privacy. The grass has come in thick, and plenty of graves are smothered with bouquets of flowers.
A small smile forms on my lips as I get closer to Jazz’s grave. Even from here, I can see that there aren’t any flowers on top of it. I think he’d have preferred it that way, though it makes me a little sad, too. The man was Emperor. Wasn’t he at least a little loved by his people? Then again, I don’t even want to fucking know what the Empire thinks of me, a surgeon-turned-politician out of necessity.
When I approach, the air grows heavy around me, and a wind picks up, carrying a slight chill. I fold my arms over my chest, pulling my suit jacket closer to my body. It’s almost summer -- though the weather hasn’t seemed to have gotten that particular memo. Right now, I don’t mind. When Jazz and I got married, it wasn’t exactly a perfect summer’s day, either -- it rained that morning. Rained during the reception, too.
But not during the wedding itself. We’d had it outside, in the Palace Gardens. I bite my lip to keep it from trembling as I sink to the ground in front of Jazz’s grave.
We’d have been married for five years, if he hadn’t -- if Mitchel hadn’t --
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, reaching out to trace the letters that make up Jazz’s name. “I’d totally understand if you were pissed at me and never wanted me to talk to you again.”
The grave is silent -- not that I expected anything otherwise. The wind howls again, causing my hair to fall into my eyes. I sigh and cross my legs, resting my hands in my lap. “I know it must be weird for you -- watching me and Mitchel,” I continue. I clear my throat and look down at my hands. “It’s weird for me, too. I don’t even know what I’m doing, half the time. Mitchel just...” My words fail me, and for a while, I sit in front of Jazz’s grave, totally silent.
“I guess I understand, now, what it was you saw in him,” I say eventually, frowning slightly to myself. “I’m sorry I didn’t give him a chance, before. I’m sorry I’m giving him the chance he’s getting now -- I know he doesn’t deserve it. But --” I sigh, shaking my head as tears begin to sting at my eyes. “But I know you would have wanted me to forgive him, too. That you wouldn’t have wanted me to hold a grudge against him. That you --” A sob escapes me, and I run my fingers through my hair, pulling it out of my eyes. “That you would have wanted me to be happy, even without you here, and I --
“I think I am,” I finish, licking my lips as I hold back the rest of my tears. Happy. That’s not something I expected to be, not when I found out I had lupus, not when I realized I had a responsibility to the Empire -- and especially not when I watched Jazz die. I grip my pants, bunching the fabric under my fingers at my knees.
So much shit has changed. I’m even actually enjoying being a politician. I just don’t get it. I’m not sure Jazz would, either. But I do know that he’d be happy for me. That he’d be proud of me, for taking care of myself, for taking care of the Empire, for giving Mitchel a chance.
I sit in front of that gravestone for what feels like hours, just filling Jazz in on everything that’s happened since my last visit. And when I feel as though I’ve run out of things to say, I close my eyes and wipe the tears away from my face.
“Emperor Bates.”
I jump, snapping my head up to look behind me. The Imperial Guard has me surrounded. Each member has their arms crossed over their chest, and my stomach totally plummets to the ground. “Yes?” I ask, thankful that my voice doesn’t shake as I push myself onto my feet.
“Please come with us,” the first man says, stepping forward. He has his hands locked behind his back, like Amelia often does when something is seriously wrong. His facial expression is neutral, but I can feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
“What’s going on?” I ask, squaring my jaw. I glance around me, noticing that the circle of guards seems to have grown tighter. “Where’s Agent Samson?”
“She is currently indisposed. Please, Emperor Bates, we need to get you to safety. The sooner, the better,” the man answers, and I can see the tension in his neck as he clenches his jaw. “We will explain in the car.”
“Explain what?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest. I don’t budge from my spot in front of Jazz’s grave. “Tell me what is going on over at the Palace -- what’s so important that it can’t be explained out here?”
“The Resistance, Emperor Bates. Now please, come with us willingly. We’d rather not make a scene.”
My eyes widen. The Resistance? At the Palace? My knees grow weak and my head swims. How did they get past Amelia? How did they --
“Where’s Mitchel?” I ask, forcing myself to remain upright as my stomach turns. I swallow thickly, trying to keep myself from heaving. “Is he --” I want to ask if he’s safe. I want to ask if he’s okay, if he’s managed to find a safe place in the Palace. But the way the man looks at me as I speak, the question changes. I clear my throat.
“Did he have anything to do with this?”
The man’s lips twitch.
It’s all the answer I need. As I make my way back to the armored car with the Guard, tears sting at my eyes. That bastard. That bastard. He played me. He fucking played me. My fists ball at my sides, my whole body vibrating as I stand before the car, one of the Guard opening the door for me as if in slow motion.
Next thing I know, everything goes black. When I come to, the back of my neck hurts. It’s dark -- no light in the room whatsoever. Best I can make out are fuzzy shapes, and without the weight of my glasses, that’s probably all I’ll ever see.
“Where the fuck am I?” I groan, reaching up to rub the back of my neck. Except I can’t.
“It’s about time you came to, Emperor,” a voice says from behind me, and I tense. “I was beginning to believe that my men were a little too rough on you -- though you and I both know that’s just how you like it.”
I groan again, squeezing my eyes tightly shut as my blood turns into ice in my veins. “No,” I murmur, shaking my head. “No, this isn’t happening; this isn’t -- this isn’t...” The words die on my lips as light floods the room, blinding me for only a moment before Mitchel’s face comes into blurry, then sharp, focus as he slides my glasses over my eyes.
“Oh, but it is, Emperor,” Mitchel says, his fingers sliding down my cheek and stopping just under my chin. “The Resistance has complete control of the Palace. Of you. And it’s all because of me.”
His dark brown eyes never once waver. Never once show any sign of fucking remorse as his fingers fall away from my chin. I let my chin fall to my chest, looking away from him as tears fill my eyes. “You tricked me.”
“Did you truly expect anything different?” Mitchel asks, turning away from me. He clasps his hands behind his back, stands up straight. His shoulders are thrown back, and even now all I can think about is how I had him under me this morning, moaning my name. “I warned you, straight from the beginning, didn’t I? That the Resistance’s plan had been compromised, and that I needed to correct it?”
My eyes widen, and I stare at him with my mouth hanging half-open. I twist my hands against the restraints -- they’re handcuffed behind my back, and I have to fight the urge to try and dislocate my wrists so I can get free. The bastard turns to face me, that insufferable smirk on his face. The one that I damn near fell in love with. “Consider this me correcting it, Emperor Bates,” he says, moving in close to me.
I move away from him as far as I possibly can, backing into the wall behind me. “What’re you going to do to me?” I ask despite myself, avoiding his eyes as much as possible.
Mitchel’s hands are on my shoulders, holding me in place as he brings his face close to mine. I can feel his breath against my neck -- against my ear as he whispers into it. “Nothing,” he says. “You’ve done all the work for me. You’ve set me free; you’ve allowed me within your Council, pardoned me for my crimes against the Empire. We’re even lovers!” He laughs, and as if to illustrate his point, he kisses my neck, his teeth digging in just a little too much. I squirm under him, trying to hold back a reflexive moan.
“What more do I need to do?” he asks as he pulls away from me. “All the Empire needs to know is that we were in this together. That you even asked me for help in handing over the Empire to them....”
My whole body goes cold. I did ask him that, didn’t I? When I was trying to find a way to set him free? I resist the urge to throw up, keeping my eyes on the floor. Mitchel’s still so uncomfortably close, and I’m looking anywhere but at him as my vision swims and my head pounds. The details of this room are familiar. The execution chamber? Is that where we’re at?
I try to focus on the details instead of Mitchel’s fingers hooking under my chin once again. He forces me to look at him, triumph written all over his face. “All I needed to be was patient,” he says with a smile. “You were surprisingly easy to win over -- but I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. Jasper was rather easy to manipulate, too...”
My stomach turns, and I grab hold of the thumb on my right hand. One twist. That’s all it would take to have my hands free, so I can throttle the bastard standing before me. Mitchel finally lets go of my chin and moves away from me. As he moves, I can see the glint of metal hidden under his suit jacket, and I let go of my hand.
“So this was all just -- one big joke, to you? One big game?” I growl, wishing that my voice wouldn’t crack the way it did. I already look pathetic as it is, my back pressed against a wall while I’m on my knees. Did I really need to sound it, too?
“Please, Bates, spare me the dramatics,” Mitchel says with a dismissive wave of his hand. He stands a few feet in front of me, his eyes now hard and unmoving. He points to the floor, and an unmistakable chill rolls through me. “I killed your husband, right here. I nearly killed you, but my aim wasn’t perfect. I failed my Empire, failed in protecting it from the likes of you -- a man who hardly knew his way around the political body, even if he is quite adept with the human one.”
He pulls his pistol out from its holster. Aims it directly at me. “No hard feelings, Bates. You’re just simply in my way, now.”
“Why kill me?” I ask, pressing my hand against the wall behind me. I need to stall him. Get more time so I can work my thumb out of joint. “Why not spare me, like I did you?”
Mitchel laughs again, shaking his head. “Please. And not take advantage of the Empire’s sympathy when they discover you and I were lovers? You seem to misunderstand what my intentions are -- which, again, doesn’t surprise me, as politics are not your expertise.”
“Explain it to me, then,” I say, frowning to myself and trying to hide my grimace as I press my hand against the wall. This is going to fucking suck, but I don’t have any bobby pins or anything else on me. And I have to make it quick, or else Mitchel’ll notice. The bastard does love to hear himself talk, though, so maybe if I can get him talking... “Explain why you have to kill me.”
“It’s quite simple, Bates,” he murmurs, moving closer to me once again. He holsters the gun. “I’m about to double-cross the Resistance. Turn in the men higher up than me, claim I’ve always been a spy for the Empire. A double agent, if you will.” He bends down and pulls me to my feet, interrupting me from successfully dislocating my thumb. I’m quick to press my back against the wall again, desperate to get one of my hands free.
“That’s why you spared me, of course,” he continues, brushing my cheek with his hand yet again. I want to push him away from me, but I need him to keep talking, too, so I don’t. “I was your spy, and you couldn’t afford to lose me. You were the only one aside from Jasper who knew. It was only recently that you and I became lovers -- and the Resistance discovered this fact. Began to question my loyalty to them.”
He reaches for his gun again, pulling it out once more. He holds it loosely in his hand, waving it as he gestures around him. “This coup? My idea, to prove myself to them. Of course, there’s just one more step I need to complete in order to accomplish that.”
“What’s that?” I ask, swallowing thickly. Just one more push -- I glance at the gun in his hand, the barrel of which is now pressed against my chest, right over my scar. Mitchel just smirks at me and glances down at his weapon, then back at me.
“You’re not that daft, Bates,” he says slowly, and I see his thumb move to undo the safety. With him so close, I don’t have any choice. I grit my teeth and push the fleshy part of my thumb against the wall one more time, the crack of a dislocated joint unmistakable. Mitchel jumps back, eyes wild with surprise.
The pain overwhelms me for a moment, but I still manage to slip the handcuff off my wrist. Mitchel recovers, narrows his eyes at me, and the gun --
It goes off.