The Tomorrow Trilogy Fanfiction - Forgiveness: Chapter 2
If you're reading this particular Tomorrow Trilogy fanfic for the first time, the previous chapters can be found here:
1
For the first time in weeks, I have the time to visit Jazz’s grave. I made sure that I had it, after last night. I totally don’t want to think about last night, though -- now now. Don’t want to think about losing my shit in front of Mitchel like that. Don’t want to think about how the bastard fucking pities me, now.
The wind picks up just as I’m nearing his grave. Briefly think that I should have brought flowers with me -- but I know how much Jazz hated them when he was -- when he was alive. Instead, I pull my jacket tighter around me. Brace myself against the wind and sit down in front of the tombstone. My chest feels tight, but I choose to ignore it.
“You should be glad I didn’t bring you flowers,” I murmur, folding my hands in my lap. I can imagine the way he’d shake his head and roll his eyes at that. The image makes me smile, but my smile doesn’t last long.
I shake my head, wishing the wind would stop blowing my hair into my face. I should cut it. Should totally go back to a more manageable hairstyle, but...
Damnit, I’m not gonna think about that. “The Resistance hasn’t backed down,” I whisper. I cross my arms over my chest. “Apparently, Mitchel wasn’t the fucking leader, after all. Just someone really high up on the food chain.”
I sigh, ignoring the stinging in my eyes as I pull my hair back. “Mitchel’s not talking -- though that’s not fucking surprising at all. My new Council and I are trying to determine what to do with him -- if I can just get him to talk...”
This is a lot fucking harder than I thought. My throat doesn’t want to stop closing up. And every word out of my fucking mouth is about work. Jazz would have stopped me by now. Would have told me to talk about something else. Except I don’t want to. Talking about work is safe. Easy. Totally doable.
“I kinda want him to talk,” I blurt out. “The sooner the bastard talks, the better for everyone. The faster I can try to -- to --” I can’t finish that sentence. Don’t want to.
I shot him. I shot him and intended to kill him, all because he took Jazz from me. And last night -- last night he told me he wanted me to. My stomach turns and I look down at my hands. Hands that have saved countless numbers of lives. Couldn’t save Jazz’s life. Almost took Mitchel’s.
I feel the tears come and I let them, turning my eyes towards the sky and away from Jazz’s tombstone. Curse the fact that they insisted on using his full name on it: Jasper Callahan just doesn’t sound right. Not to me.
Fucking Christ, I can’t think right now. I put my head in my hands -- take a moment to breathe. “I almost killed him,” I gasp, the tears coming even faster. “I fucking hate him and I still -- still feel like the worst human being on the planet for fucking shooting him.”
Worst part is, the bastard hasn’t so much as said anything to me about that -- other than the fact that he wanted me to. That he thinks his life isn’t fucking worth living. And maybe it isn’t. He killed Jazz, nearly took down the entire Empire -- and at the rate things are going, I just might have to fucking cave on their demands. Dismantle the Empire, turn it into something else entirely.
“I’m giving up medicine,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I can’t keep treating patients. Totally don’t have the time for it -- not with the Empire continuing to fucking fall apart.” Don’t feel like I even deserve to be the medical field, either. And if Jazz were actually here, he’d know that. He’d be trying to tell me how medicine’s my fucking life, how important it is to me and how it’s okay that I shot Mitchel.
I did what I thought I had to do, after all. Could have shot myself and I didn’t. Could have ended it all right then and there and let Mitchel win, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t let him do that. Not after what he did to Jazz.
So why do I so desperately want him to talk? If he talks, he might be able to weasel his way out of an execution. If he doesn’t...
Well, it’d be like I plunged the needle into his arm myself.
***
Hours later, I find myself alone in my empty apartment. I have Jazz’s book open in my lap and I can’t concentrate on a goddamned word. Just knowing that Jazz once held this book is bringing me to tears.
I can’t take the silence. Can’t take the absence of his arms draped over my shoulders from behind. Used to hate that he’d lean over the back of my chair to do it -- now I’d give anything to feel his arms around me. The quiet sorry he’d give when I remind him for the nth time not to do that, and the little smile that goes with it that let’s me know he’s really not sorry.
Sighing, I put down the book and push my hair out of my eyes. I should go to sleep and get a few hours of rest. But I can’t exactly sleep, either. Not in our bed. It’s too empty. You’d think I’d be used to being alone, what with those two months he was gone. But at least then I always knew there was a chance he’d come back.
Before I even realize it, I’m halfway out my apartment door, shutting it behind me quietly. I should call Mari. Ask her to come over -- or visit her, or something, but my feet are already heading towards the prison cells. I shouldn’t be surprised that Mitchel’s already sitting with his back to the bars.
“I didn’t think you’d come tonight,” he murmurs, looking over at me.
“You didn’t think I would -- but you look like you were expecting me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
Mitchel just looks away from me. “I hear the Council will be deliberating on my fate, soon,” he states as I sit down on the hard floor.
“In another week,” I answer, keeping my voice low. I shouldn’t even be telling him that -- but what difference is it gonna make? He’s not gonna talk. Not gonna give up the Resistance’s secrets -- not to anyone. Not even me.
“Shame, that,” he sighs. I can feel him lean even more against the bars, his back pressing against mine. “I’m sure you can’t wait to give me the injection yourself, Emperor.”
I clench my jaw. “You don’t have to just accept execution, you know,” I say quietly. “You can just tell us everything.”
“Everything I know stretches back to long before you and Callahan were even working in the Palace, Bates,” Mitchel says. “Not speaking ensures that the Resistance doesn’t come after me, themselves.”
“I can offer you protection.” The words are out of my mouth before I can even consider what it is, exactly, that I’m offering him. Mitchel laughs -- a hollow, empty sound. “I am the Emperor,” I continue. “I can do pretty much whatever the fuck I want.”
“You can’t protect me from the Resistance, Emperor,” Mitchel mutters. “You couldn’t even protect your precious husband from them -- how do you expect to keep their hands off of me?”
My heart stops in my chest. Mitchel certainly has a point, but I’m totally not about to admit that. Not now. So instead, I remain silent, leaning my head back against the bars. “I went to his grave today,” I start instead, my voice shaking. “Still doesn’t fucking feel real.”
“Give it time,” Mitchel says. I can feel him move -- jump when he puts a hand on my shoulder, causing me to look over at him. His eyes lack their usual focus. His hand is gone as soon as our eyes meet and he purses his lips together. “I’m sure you don’t want to know everything that I know.”
“We know you had the original council room bugged.” Hah, we. It was Jazz who had figured that one out. I shiver as I remember how pissed he had been. “We assumed you had the rest of the Palace bugged, too.”
“Not quite,” Mitchel admits. He shifts so that his side is facing me, his arms draped over his knees. “Just the places I knew you and Callahan were likely to discuss the Empire.”
“There are fewer places where we discussed work than you think,” I tell him, shrugging my shoulder. I put my hand to my face, rubbing my eyes under my glasses. They burn, probably from all of the crying and from all the sleep I’ve missed. “Jazz and I wanted to keep work separate from our private life as much as possible.”
“Too bad the both of you couldn’t keep your private life separate from your work,” Mitchel snorts, shaking his head. “Callahan always wore his heart on his sleeve.”
I manage a half-smile. “He totally did,” I whisper, tears welling up in my eyes. I lean the side of my head against the bars, as if I were trying to sit side-by-side with Mitchel. “He got better at controlling his emotions, believe it or not. Not a lot better, but better.”
I close my eyes and try not to think back on how many times we had fought, just in the last few months. Feel my stomach flip when I remember that I had threatened him -- and actually hurt him. I can’t apologize enough for that. Can’t go back in time and slap the shit out of myself, no matter how much I wish I could.
“You’re not much better at it, either,” Mitchel says, his voice cutting through my thoughts. When I open my eyes, he’s looking right at me, a slight frown on his face. “In fact, you were easier to read.” He looks away, his frown deepening. He pauses and draws in a breath, as if weighing his words. “If I talk -- and I won’t guarantee that I will -- what sort of protection can you really offer me?”
As much as I want to deny that I’m easier to read than Jazz, I don’t. Instead, I look away from him and purse my lips together in thought. “Well, for one, we can keep you here in the Palace prison,” I begin, speaking slowly as everything comes together in my head. “Depending on how much information you offer me, I might even be able to offer you freedom.”
“Your Council would deny that request within seconds, Emperor,” Mitchel mutters. “I’m surprised you even considered it, when you factor in our history.”
“I’m -- willing to set our personal feelings for one another aside in order to get the information I want,” I tell him, though I have a feeling he can see right through that lie. “My Empire is falling apart -- and one of the Resistance’s most powerful leaders is in my custody. I’m an idiot if I don’t try to take advantage of that.”
“True,” Mitchel says, shrugging a shoulder. He smirks at me. “Tell me, Emperor Bates. What is it that you want to know? If you can prove to me that you’ll be able to protect me from the Resistance’s less...humane methods of dealing with traitors, I might be willing to let you in on a few secrets. But I’ll only tell them to you, and I get to determine when I tell them.”
I smirk back at him tiredly. “Seriously, Mitchel? You’re my prisoner. I don’t have to give in to your demands, but...” I put my hand out, offer it to him through the bars of his cell. “I’ll humor you, just this once.”
Mitchel just takes my hand in his, shaking it firmly. “We have ourselves a deal, then,” he murmurs, pulling his hand away as he stands up from the ground. “Might want to work on your offers for protection. I’m sure you’ll have some to discuss with me tomorrow?”
“Can’t, tomorrow,” I answer, getting up from the ground myself. “I have to travel to one of the colonies. When I come back, we can discuss things then.”
Hopefully, by then I’ll have come up with a foolproof plan that Mitchel’ll have no reason not to accept.
Next Chapter
1
For the first time in weeks, I have the time to visit Jazz’s grave. I made sure that I had it, after last night. I totally don’t want to think about last night, though -- now now. Don’t want to think about losing my shit in front of Mitchel like that. Don’t want to think about how the bastard fucking pities me, now.
The wind picks up just as I’m nearing his grave. Briefly think that I should have brought flowers with me -- but I know how much Jazz hated them when he was -- when he was alive. Instead, I pull my jacket tighter around me. Brace myself against the wind and sit down in front of the tombstone. My chest feels tight, but I choose to ignore it.
“You should be glad I didn’t bring you flowers,” I murmur, folding my hands in my lap. I can imagine the way he’d shake his head and roll his eyes at that. The image makes me smile, but my smile doesn’t last long.
I shake my head, wishing the wind would stop blowing my hair into my face. I should cut it. Should totally go back to a more manageable hairstyle, but...
Damnit, I’m not gonna think about that. “The Resistance hasn’t backed down,” I whisper. I cross my arms over my chest. “Apparently, Mitchel wasn’t the fucking leader, after all. Just someone really high up on the food chain.”
I sigh, ignoring the stinging in my eyes as I pull my hair back. “Mitchel’s not talking -- though that’s not fucking surprising at all. My new Council and I are trying to determine what to do with him -- if I can just get him to talk...”
This is a lot fucking harder than I thought. My throat doesn’t want to stop closing up. And every word out of my fucking mouth is about work. Jazz would have stopped me by now. Would have told me to talk about something else. Except I don’t want to. Talking about work is safe. Easy. Totally doable.
“I kinda want him to talk,” I blurt out. “The sooner the bastard talks, the better for everyone. The faster I can try to -- to --” I can’t finish that sentence. Don’t want to.
I shot him. I shot him and intended to kill him, all because he took Jazz from me. And last night -- last night he told me he wanted me to. My stomach turns and I look down at my hands. Hands that have saved countless numbers of lives. Couldn’t save Jazz’s life. Almost took Mitchel’s.
I feel the tears come and I let them, turning my eyes towards the sky and away from Jazz’s tombstone. Curse the fact that they insisted on using his full name on it: Jasper Callahan just doesn’t sound right. Not to me.
Fucking Christ, I can’t think right now. I put my head in my hands -- take a moment to breathe. “I almost killed him,” I gasp, the tears coming even faster. “I fucking hate him and I still -- still feel like the worst human being on the planet for fucking shooting him.”
Worst part is, the bastard hasn’t so much as said anything to me about that -- other than the fact that he wanted me to. That he thinks his life isn’t fucking worth living. And maybe it isn’t. He killed Jazz, nearly took down the entire Empire -- and at the rate things are going, I just might have to fucking cave on their demands. Dismantle the Empire, turn it into something else entirely.
“I’m giving up medicine,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I can’t keep treating patients. Totally don’t have the time for it -- not with the Empire continuing to fucking fall apart.” Don’t feel like I even deserve to be the medical field, either. And if Jazz were actually here, he’d know that. He’d be trying to tell me how medicine’s my fucking life, how important it is to me and how it’s okay that I shot Mitchel.
I did what I thought I had to do, after all. Could have shot myself and I didn’t. Could have ended it all right then and there and let Mitchel win, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t let him do that. Not after what he did to Jazz.
So why do I so desperately want him to talk? If he talks, he might be able to weasel his way out of an execution. If he doesn’t...
Well, it’d be like I plunged the needle into his arm myself.
***
Hours later, I find myself alone in my empty apartment. I have Jazz’s book open in my lap and I can’t concentrate on a goddamned word. Just knowing that Jazz once held this book is bringing me to tears.
I can’t take the silence. Can’t take the absence of his arms draped over my shoulders from behind. Used to hate that he’d lean over the back of my chair to do it -- now I’d give anything to feel his arms around me. The quiet sorry he’d give when I remind him for the nth time not to do that, and the little smile that goes with it that let’s me know he’s really not sorry.
Sighing, I put down the book and push my hair out of my eyes. I should go to sleep and get a few hours of rest. But I can’t exactly sleep, either. Not in our bed. It’s too empty. You’d think I’d be used to being alone, what with those two months he was gone. But at least then I always knew there was a chance he’d come back.
Before I even realize it, I’m halfway out my apartment door, shutting it behind me quietly. I should call Mari. Ask her to come over -- or visit her, or something, but my feet are already heading towards the prison cells. I shouldn’t be surprised that Mitchel’s already sitting with his back to the bars.
“I didn’t think you’d come tonight,” he murmurs, looking over at me.
“You didn’t think I would -- but you look like you were expecting me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
Mitchel just looks away from me. “I hear the Council will be deliberating on my fate, soon,” he states as I sit down on the hard floor.
“In another week,” I answer, keeping my voice low. I shouldn’t even be telling him that -- but what difference is it gonna make? He’s not gonna talk. Not gonna give up the Resistance’s secrets -- not to anyone. Not even me.
“Shame, that,” he sighs. I can feel him lean even more against the bars, his back pressing against mine. “I’m sure you can’t wait to give me the injection yourself, Emperor.”
I clench my jaw. “You don’t have to just accept execution, you know,” I say quietly. “You can just tell us everything.”
“Everything I know stretches back to long before you and Callahan were even working in the Palace, Bates,” Mitchel says. “Not speaking ensures that the Resistance doesn’t come after me, themselves.”
“I can offer you protection.” The words are out of my mouth before I can even consider what it is, exactly, that I’m offering him. Mitchel laughs -- a hollow, empty sound. “I am the Emperor,” I continue. “I can do pretty much whatever the fuck I want.”
“You can’t protect me from the Resistance, Emperor,” Mitchel mutters. “You couldn’t even protect your precious husband from them -- how do you expect to keep their hands off of me?”
My heart stops in my chest. Mitchel certainly has a point, but I’m totally not about to admit that. Not now. So instead, I remain silent, leaning my head back against the bars. “I went to his grave today,” I start instead, my voice shaking. “Still doesn’t fucking feel real.”
“Give it time,” Mitchel says. I can feel him move -- jump when he puts a hand on my shoulder, causing me to look over at him. His eyes lack their usual focus. His hand is gone as soon as our eyes meet and he purses his lips together. “I’m sure you don’t want to know everything that I know.”
“We know you had the original council room bugged.” Hah, we. It was Jazz who had figured that one out. I shiver as I remember how pissed he had been. “We assumed you had the rest of the Palace bugged, too.”
“Not quite,” Mitchel admits. He shifts so that his side is facing me, his arms draped over his knees. “Just the places I knew you and Callahan were likely to discuss the Empire.”
“There are fewer places where we discussed work than you think,” I tell him, shrugging my shoulder. I put my hand to my face, rubbing my eyes under my glasses. They burn, probably from all of the crying and from all the sleep I’ve missed. “Jazz and I wanted to keep work separate from our private life as much as possible.”
“Too bad the both of you couldn’t keep your private life separate from your work,” Mitchel snorts, shaking his head. “Callahan always wore his heart on his sleeve.”
I manage a half-smile. “He totally did,” I whisper, tears welling up in my eyes. I lean the side of my head against the bars, as if I were trying to sit side-by-side with Mitchel. “He got better at controlling his emotions, believe it or not. Not a lot better, but better.”
I close my eyes and try not to think back on how many times we had fought, just in the last few months. Feel my stomach flip when I remember that I had threatened him -- and actually hurt him. I can’t apologize enough for that. Can’t go back in time and slap the shit out of myself, no matter how much I wish I could.
“You’re not much better at it, either,” Mitchel says, his voice cutting through my thoughts. When I open my eyes, he’s looking right at me, a slight frown on his face. “In fact, you were easier to read.” He looks away, his frown deepening. He pauses and draws in a breath, as if weighing his words. “If I talk -- and I won’t guarantee that I will -- what sort of protection can you really offer me?”
As much as I want to deny that I’m easier to read than Jazz, I don’t. Instead, I look away from him and purse my lips together in thought. “Well, for one, we can keep you here in the Palace prison,” I begin, speaking slowly as everything comes together in my head. “Depending on how much information you offer me, I might even be able to offer you freedom.”
“Your Council would deny that request within seconds, Emperor,” Mitchel mutters. “I’m surprised you even considered it, when you factor in our history.”
“I’m -- willing to set our personal feelings for one another aside in order to get the information I want,” I tell him, though I have a feeling he can see right through that lie. “My Empire is falling apart -- and one of the Resistance’s most powerful leaders is in my custody. I’m an idiot if I don’t try to take advantage of that.”
“True,” Mitchel says, shrugging a shoulder. He smirks at me. “Tell me, Emperor Bates. What is it that you want to know? If you can prove to me that you’ll be able to protect me from the Resistance’s less...humane methods of dealing with traitors, I might be willing to let you in on a few secrets. But I’ll only tell them to you, and I get to determine when I tell them.”
I smirk back at him tiredly. “Seriously, Mitchel? You’re my prisoner. I don’t have to give in to your demands, but...” I put my hand out, offer it to him through the bars of his cell. “I’ll humor you, just this once.”
Mitchel just takes my hand in his, shaking it firmly. “We have ourselves a deal, then,” he murmurs, pulling his hand away as he stands up from the ground. “Might want to work on your offers for protection. I’m sure you’ll have some to discuss with me tomorrow?”
“Can’t, tomorrow,” I answer, getting up from the ground myself. “I have to travel to one of the colonies. When I come back, we can discuss things then.”
Hopefully, by then I’ll have come up with a foolproof plan that Mitchel’ll have no reason not to accept.
Next Chapter