The Tomorrow Trilogy Fanfiction - Forgiveness: Chapter 5
I promise, I haven't forgotten about my SavMitch stuff. Since it's October, now, I'm giving myself a break to edit pieces to pitch/sell on amazon and to work on non-srs things before diving into NaNoWriMo with an entirely brand new project. when we left off, Savin made a promise to grant Mitchel's freedom. If you're reading this particular Tomorrow Trilogy fanfic for the first time, the previous chapters can be found here:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4
I stand in front of my Council, clearing my throat. Before I can stop myself, my fingers are on my tie, fixing the knot so that it's sitting just right on my neck. My Council looks up at me, totally waiting on me to just fucking say something already. Instead, I clear my throat again.
“I want to keep former Councilor Mitchel Foraker alive,” I begin finally, letting my hands fall to my sides. Everyone’s eyes widen, each face otherwise impassive and stony. Of course. No one so much as opens their mouth to speak -- not like I had fucking expected them to, in the first place.
Then Councilor Doucette leans back in her seat. She frowns, raising an eyebrow at me. “He killed your husband, Emperor Bates,” she points out, her voice quiet. Hesitant -- like she’s unsure she even wants to talk.
“I’m well aware of the crimes Councilor Foraker’s committed,” I respond, standing up to my full height. My knees and back protest the action, but I ignore them. “Either way, the man could be quite useful to me -- provide us with the information we need to keep the Empire from engaging in a civil war.”
“What makes you think he can be trusted?” Doucette counters, her frown deepening. Of course. Of fucking course -- the one time I want them to just accept what I have to say, and one of them has to challenge me on it. “He committed treason against the Empire -- who’s to say he won’t return to the Resistance if we let him live?”
“I would have Councilor Foraker under constant surveillance -- he would not be allowed to leave the Palace without my explicit permission to do so, and he would have a tight security detail whenever he did.” I clear my throat again, trying to keep my hands steady at my sides. Jazz would have accepted this. He would have backed me up. Would have understood what it was I was trying to do.
“Would he even talk, if you kept him alive?” Seriously? It’s like the woman is channeling Mitchel himself. It takes everything within my power not to pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration, and instead force myself to breathe.
“He agreed to help with the Empire in any capacity that he could, so long as I could guarantee him his safety from the Resistance,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady and even.
Doucette seems taken aback by my answer, but straightens herself out in her seat. She glances around the room, studying the faces of her fellow Councilors. “And what, exactly, would keeping him alive do for the Empire, Emperor Bates?” she asks, her voice less confident than it had been only moments ago. Good. It means I’m breaking through to her.
“The man has a wealth of insider knowledge on the Resistance itself, and understands their demands better than no one else,” I answer, trying to look confident. I know I don’t feel it, not with the way Mitchel had even laughed at this idea just a couple of days ago himself. I try not to think about that, though -- especially not about how pathetic I must have looked and sounded to him. How he must have pitied me.
My answer must have been enough for them, because none of them say anything in response. I tug on the sleeves of my suit, straightening them out as I look around the room one more time. “Any other questions?” No response. I can’t even manage a smile when they all stare at me, giving me these totally blank looks. “All for suspending Councilor Foraker’s punishment?”
Five Councilors. Two initially raise their hands. The other three sit there for a moment, sharing a glance between themselves. Doucette’s hand remains firmly in her lap. The man to her left, Isayama, doesn’t move, either -- but then he looks at me, his dark eyes clouded for a moment. When he lifts his hand in the air, it’s all I can do to keep my heart from leaping out of my throat.
“All opposed?” I say. I swallow down my excitement, dread building in the pit of my stomach. That was too easy -- too fucking easy, if you ask me. Something’s not right. Even though I didn’t want them to fight me on this, they all know what it was Mitchel had done. The damage he had caused the Empire.
Am I really just going to let the man free, after all that he’s done? Except I tell myself I need him alive. That I need him to guide me, to challenge me -- my Council can’t even fucking do that. He’ll help my Empire get back on track. Help me protect my people, keep them safe from themselves.
Except he wanted this damn civil war in the first place. Except the man betrayed me, and his Empire, all for the sake of gaining power. Even as everyone’s hands lower back to the table and we resume discussion of further matters, I can’t stop myself from asking myself what the fuck I was thinking.
When the meeting ends, it ends as a blur, the rest of it passing me by without my input at all. Once everyone clears the room, I find myself leaving my paperwork on the table. I can head back to my room later. I should be excited. I should feel as though the weight had been fucking lifted from my shoulders.
I don’t, though, not even as I find my way down to the prison cells. Mitchel sits with his back to the bars as usual, his head leaned back against them, eyes turned towards the ceiling. They flicker towards me. “Meeting over already, Emperor?” he asks, stretching his legs out before him. They’re longer than I remember -- then I remind myself the man’s only an inch or so shorter than I am.
“Yes,” I answer. I smile, but it’s fleeting. “They ruled to let you live.”
Mitchel blinks, studying me through the bars and narrowing his eyes. “I’m surprised to hear that,” he murmurs, turning away from me. He pulls himself onto his feet. “Are you setting me free, then?”
“I will, once a room in the Palace has been prepared for you,” I say, my fingers reaching for my tie.
Mitchel looks at me again and snorts, shaking his head. “I suppose you told them I would be under the Palace Guard’s watchful eye in order to ensure I would not betray you all again,” he mutters. His hand reaches through the bars, batting my hands away from my tie. “It’s already straight, Bates. No need to fix it again.”
I blink, turning away from him as my face heats up. Seriously? I’m blushing? Something’s totally wrong with me. “Yeah. You’re not allowed to leave the Palace, ever, without my express permission, and not without a protective detail to ensure your safety. I didn’t phrase it that way to them, but that’s what I meant.”
“I need your permission to leave the Palace, hm?” Mitchel says, smirking at me. “Clearly, you’ve learned nothing while I was a member of your Council.” He shakes his head, his smirk never leaving his face. Normally I’d want to slap him, but the urge to do so fails to show up. In fact, seeing that self-satisfied expression on his face brings a small smile to my own.
“I’ve learned how to talk more like a politician because of you,” I tell him, feeling myself relax as he makes his way to his small cot. It creaks under his weight, and he shoots me an incredulous look. “Jazz just helped me learn how to not sound like I’m fucking lying when I do.”
He laughs. Sounds almost unnatural, coming from him. He shakes his head and looks down towards the floor. “Of course he did,” he murmurs, crossing one leg over the other. “I’m sure he would be proud of you for forgiving me so quickly.”
My breath catches in my throat, my shoulders immediately tensing at his words. Tears are in my eyes before I can steady myself. Would Jazz be proud of me? He was so pissed at Mitchel -- so scared when we ended up in the execution chamber and no one else was there.
Before I even realize it, my fists ball at my sides. My whole body’s shaking, anger threatening to break through the surface. Mitchel watches me, those eyes of his narrowing as he purses his lips together. “He wouldn’t be proud of me at all,” I manage through gritted teeth. I turn on my heel, shoving my hands in my pockets. Need to get it together, get my anger under fucking control.
“How do you figure?” Mitchel asks, his voice quiet. Calm. Like he understands that not only am I angry, but why, even if I don’t entirely know that, myself. “Callahan has always been rather forgiving. It was one of the more pleasant aspects of his personality -- even though it sometimes earned him a bit of trouble.”
That time, there’s that unmistakable tone to Mitchel’s voice. The one that drives me up a fucking wall. The one that makes me see red like nothing else. When I spin on my heel again, Mitchel’s at the bars of his cell, examining his nails with a bored expression on his face. His eyes meet mine as he lets his hand fall to his side, that insufferable smirk back in place.
“You may want to work on how quick you are to anger, Emperor,” he mutters, wrapping his fingers around the bars. He leans in close, his lips moving slowly as he talks, each word enunciated perfectly. “You said you wanted me to challenge you -- to make you think. As your personal advisor, I suggest you stop and heavily consider what it is you’ve done. Did you save a man worth saving, or did you just doom your Empire to further destruction?”
I breathe in deeply, willing my anger away. I move in close to Mitchel, squaring my shoulders. Don’t know what the hell I’m doing, really. Just acting on autopilot as I smirk at him, gripping his chin. “Personal advisor, huh?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Is that the title you want?”
“I’ll take whatever title you’ll give me, Emperor,” he spits, wrenching away from my fingers. He dusts off his shirt, straightening it out like he would a suit jacket. He glares at me, his careful composure completely and utterly broken once again.
My own smirk widens into a satisfied grin. “Good.” I turn to leave yet again, this time meaning to. Like hell am I gonna let Mitchel think he’s won, or that I’m not on to him. “By the way, Mitchel,” I begin, turning to partially face Mitchel’s jail cell, “I’m pretty sure I’ve done both -- further doomed the Empire, and saved a man worth saving.”
Mitchel snorts, shaking his head. “Of course you do, Emperor,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have done it, in the first place.”
Next Chapter
1 | 2 | 3 | 4
I stand in front of my Council, clearing my throat. Before I can stop myself, my fingers are on my tie, fixing the knot so that it's sitting just right on my neck. My Council looks up at me, totally waiting on me to just fucking say something already. Instead, I clear my throat again.
“I want to keep former Councilor Mitchel Foraker alive,” I begin finally, letting my hands fall to my sides. Everyone’s eyes widen, each face otherwise impassive and stony. Of course. No one so much as opens their mouth to speak -- not like I had fucking expected them to, in the first place.
Then Councilor Doucette leans back in her seat. She frowns, raising an eyebrow at me. “He killed your husband, Emperor Bates,” she points out, her voice quiet. Hesitant -- like she’s unsure she even wants to talk.
“I’m well aware of the crimes Councilor Foraker’s committed,” I respond, standing up to my full height. My knees and back protest the action, but I ignore them. “Either way, the man could be quite useful to me -- provide us with the information we need to keep the Empire from engaging in a civil war.”
“What makes you think he can be trusted?” Doucette counters, her frown deepening. Of course. Of fucking course -- the one time I want them to just accept what I have to say, and one of them has to challenge me on it. “He committed treason against the Empire -- who’s to say he won’t return to the Resistance if we let him live?”
“I would have Councilor Foraker under constant surveillance -- he would not be allowed to leave the Palace without my explicit permission to do so, and he would have a tight security detail whenever he did.” I clear my throat again, trying to keep my hands steady at my sides. Jazz would have accepted this. He would have backed me up. Would have understood what it was I was trying to do.
“Would he even talk, if you kept him alive?” Seriously? It’s like the woman is channeling Mitchel himself. It takes everything within my power not to pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration, and instead force myself to breathe.
“He agreed to help with the Empire in any capacity that he could, so long as I could guarantee him his safety from the Resistance,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady and even.
Doucette seems taken aback by my answer, but straightens herself out in her seat. She glances around the room, studying the faces of her fellow Councilors. “And what, exactly, would keeping him alive do for the Empire, Emperor Bates?” she asks, her voice less confident than it had been only moments ago. Good. It means I’m breaking through to her.
“The man has a wealth of insider knowledge on the Resistance itself, and understands their demands better than no one else,” I answer, trying to look confident. I know I don’t feel it, not with the way Mitchel had even laughed at this idea just a couple of days ago himself. I try not to think about that, though -- especially not about how pathetic I must have looked and sounded to him. How he must have pitied me.
My answer must have been enough for them, because none of them say anything in response. I tug on the sleeves of my suit, straightening them out as I look around the room one more time. “Any other questions?” No response. I can’t even manage a smile when they all stare at me, giving me these totally blank looks. “All for suspending Councilor Foraker’s punishment?”
Five Councilors. Two initially raise their hands. The other three sit there for a moment, sharing a glance between themselves. Doucette’s hand remains firmly in her lap. The man to her left, Isayama, doesn’t move, either -- but then he looks at me, his dark eyes clouded for a moment. When he lifts his hand in the air, it’s all I can do to keep my heart from leaping out of my throat.
“All opposed?” I say. I swallow down my excitement, dread building in the pit of my stomach. That was too easy -- too fucking easy, if you ask me. Something’s not right. Even though I didn’t want them to fight me on this, they all know what it was Mitchel had done. The damage he had caused the Empire.
Am I really just going to let the man free, after all that he’s done? Except I tell myself I need him alive. That I need him to guide me, to challenge me -- my Council can’t even fucking do that. He’ll help my Empire get back on track. Help me protect my people, keep them safe from themselves.
Except he wanted this damn civil war in the first place. Except the man betrayed me, and his Empire, all for the sake of gaining power. Even as everyone’s hands lower back to the table and we resume discussion of further matters, I can’t stop myself from asking myself what the fuck I was thinking.
When the meeting ends, it ends as a blur, the rest of it passing me by without my input at all. Once everyone clears the room, I find myself leaving my paperwork on the table. I can head back to my room later. I should be excited. I should feel as though the weight had been fucking lifted from my shoulders.
I don’t, though, not even as I find my way down to the prison cells. Mitchel sits with his back to the bars as usual, his head leaned back against them, eyes turned towards the ceiling. They flicker towards me. “Meeting over already, Emperor?” he asks, stretching his legs out before him. They’re longer than I remember -- then I remind myself the man’s only an inch or so shorter than I am.
“Yes,” I answer. I smile, but it’s fleeting. “They ruled to let you live.”
Mitchel blinks, studying me through the bars and narrowing his eyes. “I’m surprised to hear that,” he murmurs, turning away from me. He pulls himself onto his feet. “Are you setting me free, then?”
“I will, once a room in the Palace has been prepared for you,” I say, my fingers reaching for my tie.
Mitchel looks at me again and snorts, shaking his head. “I suppose you told them I would be under the Palace Guard’s watchful eye in order to ensure I would not betray you all again,” he mutters. His hand reaches through the bars, batting my hands away from my tie. “It’s already straight, Bates. No need to fix it again.”
I blink, turning away from him as my face heats up. Seriously? I’m blushing? Something’s totally wrong with me. “Yeah. You’re not allowed to leave the Palace, ever, without my express permission, and not without a protective detail to ensure your safety. I didn’t phrase it that way to them, but that’s what I meant.”
“I need your permission to leave the Palace, hm?” Mitchel says, smirking at me. “Clearly, you’ve learned nothing while I was a member of your Council.” He shakes his head, his smirk never leaving his face. Normally I’d want to slap him, but the urge to do so fails to show up. In fact, seeing that self-satisfied expression on his face brings a small smile to my own.
“I’ve learned how to talk more like a politician because of you,” I tell him, feeling myself relax as he makes his way to his small cot. It creaks under his weight, and he shoots me an incredulous look. “Jazz just helped me learn how to not sound like I’m fucking lying when I do.”
He laughs. Sounds almost unnatural, coming from him. He shakes his head and looks down towards the floor. “Of course he did,” he murmurs, crossing one leg over the other. “I’m sure he would be proud of you for forgiving me so quickly.”
My breath catches in my throat, my shoulders immediately tensing at his words. Tears are in my eyes before I can steady myself. Would Jazz be proud of me? He was so pissed at Mitchel -- so scared when we ended up in the execution chamber and no one else was there.
Before I even realize it, my fists ball at my sides. My whole body’s shaking, anger threatening to break through the surface. Mitchel watches me, those eyes of his narrowing as he purses his lips together. “He wouldn’t be proud of me at all,” I manage through gritted teeth. I turn on my heel, shoving my hands in my pockets. Need to get it together, get my anger under fucking control.
“How do you figure?” Mitchel asks, his voice quiet. Calm. Like he understands that not only am I angry, but why, even if I don’t entirely know that, myself. “Callahan has always been rather forgiving. It was one of the more pleasant aspects of his personality -- even though it sometimes earned him a bit of trouble.”
That time, there’s that unmistakable tone to Mitchel’s voice. The one that drives me up a fucking wall. The one that makes me see red like nothing else. When I spin on my heel again, Mitchel’s at the bars of his cell, examining his nails with a bored expression on his face. His eyes meet mine as he lets his hand fall to his side, that insufferable smirk back in place.
“You may want to work on how quick you are to anger, Emperor,” he mutters, wrapping his fingers around the bars. He leans in close, his lips moving slowly as he talks, each word enunciated perfectly. “You said you wanted me to challenge you -- to make you think. As your personal advisor, I suggest you stop and heavily consider what it is you’ve done. Did you save a man worth saving, or did you just doom your Empire to further destruction?”
I breathe in deeply, willing my anger away. I move in close to Mitchel, squaring my shoulders. Don’t know what the hell I’m doing, really. Just acting on autopilot as I smirk at him, gripping his chin. “Personal advisor, huh?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Is that the title you want?”
“I’ll take whatever title you’ll give me, Emperor,” he spits, wrenching away from my fingers. He dusts off his shirt, straightening it out like he would a suit jacket. He glares at me, his careful composure completely and utterly broken once again.
My own smirk widens into a satisfied grin. “Good.” I turn to leave yet again, this time meaning to. Like hell am I gonna let Mitchel think he’s won, or that I’m not on to him. “By the way, Mitchel,” I begin, turning to partially face Mitchel’s jail cell, “I’m pretty sure I’ve done both -- further doomed the Empire, and saved a man worth saving.”
Mitchel snorts, shaking his head. “Of course you do, Emperor,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have done it, in the first place.”
Next Chapter