The Tomorrow Trilogy Fanfiction - Forgiveness: Chapter 4
So as a reward for writing 20k words of Surrender the Night, I told myself I could play with my fanfics. :) If you're reading this particular Tomorrow Trilogy fanfic for the first time, the previous chapters can be found here:
1 | 2 | 3
“I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me, Emperor,” Mitchel draws from his cell. He’s already sitting down on the floor, his back to the bars and one arm draped over his knee. It’s almost a relief, to see him sitting there like that. To hear his voice.
Wait -- since when the hell did I find anything about this man comforting? I give myself a small shake, sitting down in front of the cell with my back to him. “I’ve been busy.” I feel like a broken record. How many times can I fucking say that today before people start thinking I’m full of shit?
“Understandable,” Mitchel responds, his voice light. He clears his throat and leans his head back against the bars -- I can feel his hair brush against me as he does so. “Either way, it’s given me a lot of time to think,” he says slowly, a heaviness lacing his voice.
“And?” I prompt him. My breath catches in my throat. He’s totally going to say no, isn’t he? He’s just gonna fucking give up and let the Council decide his fate for him, right?
“Just how much do you need my help?” he asks, and I let out the breath I had been holding slowly. Even run my fingers through my hair.
“Mitchel, you are the only person I know who will challenge me politically,” I admit, leaning my own head back against the bars. I close my eyes, clasping my hands together as I rest my arms on my knees. “My Council sucks -- they won’t question any of my decisions. They absolutely fucking refuse to. I need you.”
“Don’t sound so desperate, Emperor,” Mitchel mutters, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You and I both know I’m not the one you truly need, right now.”
“I know.” The words stick in my throat, but I force them out, anyway. “But he isn’t here anymore. You are.”
As much as it hurts to admit that, I should be pissed. Should be ready to fucking just let Mitchel die a slow, painful death for what he did -- for what he took from me. But I can’t. “Please, Mitchel,” I beg, turning around so that I’m looking at his back. “As much as I want to fucking hate you for what you’ve done, I can’t, and you’re the only person I know who forces me to really consider all of the options. Please.”
Mitchel tenses. Totally just sits there, unmoving. Then he tilts his head, slightly, before drawing in another breath. “You truly are that desperate to keep me alive, aren’t you?” he asks, glancing at me over his shoulder. He turns, just enough so that he meets my eyes. His are filled with an emotion I can’t quite read -- but I’m almost positive it’s pity. Of course he’d fucking pity me.
And who wouldn’t? I’m fucking begging my own worst enemy to live, just so I can have the chance at being a functional leader. Just so that my people might have a chance at a happier future.
“Keeping me alive won’t solve your problems, Emperor,” he says after a moment, frowning slightly. I guess he didn’t want to wait for me to answer. Or maybe the asshole just fucking read my mind -- who knows? “You can’t officially return me to your Council -- not without pardoning my crimes entirely. The media would be all over that story in a heartbeat.”
“I can still pardon the worst of your crimes and offer you a light sentence for the minor ones,” I offer. “The Council would trust me, anyway, if I said I wanted to use your extensive knowledge on the Resistance.”
“Have you even spoken to them about striking a deal with the Resistance, yet?” Mitchel presses, raising an eyebrow. “Ushering in democracy is no easy task. I would approach them with that, first, before even considering trying to save a useless traitor’s life.”
“You are not useless,” I hiss, startling myself with my own vehemence. Where the hell did that come from? And by the look Mitchel’s giving me now, he’s totally thinking the exact same thing. “A fucking traitor, yes, but you’re not useless. Not to me.”
“As -- flattered as I am to hear that, coming from you, your Council will be disinclined to feel the same way as you, Emperor,” Mitchel says after a moment, still looking slightly bewildered. But in the dim lighting of the prison cell, I can tell his face darkened, just a little. Guess he really was flattered by my outburst. “You seem to keep forgetting that I killed your precious husband.”
“You also seem to keep forgetting that I’m absolutely fucking lost without Jazz, and the only person who’s even remotely given me political guidance is you,” I press, moving closer to the bars. “I will fucking rewrite laws if I have to, okay? You’re not allowed to fucking die, yet.”
Mitchel seems taken aback, squaring his jaw and shaking his head. “Savin...” He’s even at a fucking loss for words. Don’t think I’ve ever made this bastard speechless before. “That’s not for you to decide.”
“The hell it isn’t!” I grab him by the front of his shirt and pull him as close as I can with the bars between us. “I could have fucking killed you after you shot Jazz and I didn’t. I could have had you executed ten times over by now. Ten.”
“The only reason I am not dead right now is because you are a lousy shot,” Mitchel says, his voice even and perfectly controlled. I feel his hands wrap around my own, prying the fabric of his shirt out from under my fingers. “You intended to see me dead, then. What changed? Do you really want me to live or do you think you can just use me and then dispose of me whenever you see fit?”
His nails dig into the backs of my hands, his fingers gripping mine tightly. It takes me a moment to pull my hands away from his, instead gripping the bars of his cell. “Which would you be more comfortable with?” I ask, managing a wry smile. “I can certainly sell it to the Council that I am only keeping you alive long enough to get some use out of you.”
Mitchel smiles wryly back, pushing himself away from the bars. “I’d like to see you try, Bates,” he says. I stand up from the ground, ignoring how my knees protest the action. “If you think that you can convince them to let me live for as long as you see fit, please, go for it.”
“Will you help me if I can?” I press, leaning against the bars of his cell. I try not to sound too hopeful, but I know that I totally do.
“Yes,” Mitchel answers simply without any hesitation. “As long as the media gets no wind of your decision to keep me alive, of course. The Resistance can’t come looking for me as long as they think I’m a dead man.”
For the first time since Jazz’s death, a genuine grin breaks out across my face. “Well then, Mitchel, you might as well come up with a few useful ideas for me by Monday.”
Mitchel just raises an eyebrow, a skeptical look crossing his face briefly. He might not have faith in me -- hell, the Empire might not have faith in me, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get my Council to agree to let Mitchel live -- and for them to keep quiet about it to the media.
It’s a good thing I have a couple of days to figure out exactly how I’ll do all that.
Next Chapter
1 | 2 | 3
“I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me, Emperor,” Mitchel draws from his cell. He’s already sitting down on the floor, his back to the bars and one arm draped over his knee. It’s almost a relief, to see him sitting there like that. To hear his voice.
Wait -- since when the hell did I find anything about this man comforting? I give myself a small shake, sitting down in front of the cell with my back to him. “I’ve been busy.” I feel like a broken record. How many times can I fucking say that today before people start thinking I’m full of shit?
“Understandable,” Mitchel responds, his voice light. He clears his throat and leans his head back against the bars -- I can feel his hair brush against me as he does so. “Either way, it’s given me a lot of time to think,” he says slowly, a heaviness lacing his voice.
“And?” I prompt him. My breath catches in my throat. He’s totally going to say no, isn’t he? He’s just gonna fucking give up and let the Council decide his fate for him, right?
“Just how much do you need my help?” he asks, and I let out the breath I had been holding slowly. Even run my fingers through my hair.
“Mitchel, you are the only person I know who will challenge me politically,” I admit, leaning my own head back against the bars. I close my eyes, clasping my hands together as I rest my arms on my knees. “My Council sucks -- they won’t question any of my decisions. They absolutely fucking refuse to. I need you.”
“Don’t sound so desperate, Emperor,” Mitchel mutters, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You and I both know I’m not the one you truly need, right now.”
“I know.” The words stick in my throat, but I force them out, anyway. “But he isn’t here anymore. You are.”
As much as it hurts to admit that, I should be pissed. Should be ready to fucking just let Mitchel die a slow, painful death for what he did -- for what he took from me. But I can’t. “Please, Mitchel,” I beg, turning around so that I’m looking at his back. “As much as I want to fucking hate you for what you’ve done, I can’t, and you’re the only person I know who forces me to really consider all of the options. Please.”
Mitchel tenses. Totally just sits there, unmoving. Then he tilts his head, slightly, before drawing in another breath. “You truly are that desperate to keep me alive, aren’t you?” he asks, glancing at me over his shoulder. He turns, just enough so that he meets my eyes. His are filled with an emotion I can’t quite read -- but I’m almost positive it’s pity. Of course he’d fucking pity me.
And who wouldn’t? I’m fucking begging my own worst enemy to live, just so I can have the chance at being a functional leader. Just so that my people might have a chance at a happier future.
“Keeping me alive won’t solve your problems, Emperor,” he says after a moment, frowning slightly. I guess he didn’t want to wait for me to answer. Or maybe the asshole just fucking read my mind -- who knows? “You can’t officially return me to your Council -- not without pardoning my crimes entirely. The media would be all over that story in a heartbeat.”
“I can still pardon the worst of your crimes and offer you a light sentence for the minor ones,” I offer. “The Council would trust me, anyway, if I said I wanted to use your extensive knowledge on the Resistance.”
“Have you even spoken to them about striking a deal with the Resistance, yet?” Mitchel presses, raising an eyebrow. “Ushering in democracy is no easy task. I would approach them with that, first, before even considering trying to save a useless traitor’s life.”
“You are not useless,” I hiss, startling myself with my own vehemence. Where the hell did that come from? And by the look Mitchel’s giving me now, he’s totally thinking the exact same thing. “A fucking traitor, yes, but you’re not useless. Not to me.”
“As -- flattered as I am to hear that, coming from you, your Council will be disinclined to feel the same way as you, Emperor,” Mitchel says after a moment, still looking slightly bewildered. But in the dim lighting of the prison cell, I can tell his face darkened, just a little. Guess he really was flattered by my outburst. “You seem to keep forgetting that I killed your precious husband.”
“You also seem to keep forgetting that I’m absolutely fucking lost without Jazz, and the only person who’s even remotely given me political guidance is you,” I press, moving closer to the bars. “I will fucking rewrite laws if I have to, okay? You’re not allowed to fucking die, yet.”
Mitchel seems taken aback, squaring his jaw and shaking his head. “Savin...” He’s even at a fucking loss for words. Don’t think I’ve ever made this bastard speechless before. “That’s not for you to decide.”
“The hell it isn’t!” I grab him by the front of his shirt and pull him as close as I can with the bars between us. “I could have fucking killed you after you shot Jazz and I didn’t. I could have had you executed ten times over by now. Ten.”
“The only reason I am not dead right now is because you are a lousy shot,” Mitchel says, his voice even and perfectly controlled. I feel his hands wrap around my own, prying the fabric of his shirt out from under my fingers. “You intended to see me dead, then. What changed? Do you really want me to live or do you think you can just use me and then dispose of me whenever you see fit?”
His nails dig into the backs of my hands, his fingers gripping mine tightly. It takes me a moment to pull my hands away from his, instead gripping the bars of his cell. “Which would you be more comfortable with?” I ask, managing a wry smile. “I can certainly sell it to the Council that I am only keeping you alive long enough to get some use out of you.”
Mitchel smiles wryly back, pushing himself away from the bars. “I’d like to see you try, Bates,” he says. I stand up from the ground, ignoring how my knees protest the action. “If you think that you can convince them to let me live for as long as you see fit, please, go for it.”
“Will you help me if I can?” I press, leaning against the bars of his cell. I try not to sound too hopeful, but I know that I totally do.
“Yes,” Mitchel answers simply without any hesitation. “As long as the media gets no wind of your decision to keep me alive, of course. The Resistance can’t come looking for me as long as they think I’m a dead man.”
For the first time since Jazz’s death, a genuine grin breaks out across my face. “Well then, Mitchel, you might as well come up with a few useful ideas for me by Monday.”
Mitchel just raises an eyebrow, a skeptical look crossing his face briefly. He might not have faith in me -- hell, the Empire might not have faith in me, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get my Council to agree to let Mitchel live -- and for them to keep quiet about it to the media.
It’s a good thing I have a couple of days to figure out exactly how I’ll do all that.
Next Chapter