The Tomorrow Trilogy Fanfiction - Forgiveness: Chapter 7
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. If you're reading this particular Tomorrow Trilogy fanfic for the first time, the previous chapters can be found here:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
The next morning, I’m dragging my feet as I walk out of the hospital. My scrubs are covered in gore -- one of the cases I ended up taking went in an unexpected direction. The patient survived, though. That’s about the best outcome I could get, despite getting sprayed with blood.
No one in the Palace comments on my appearance as I walk past them. I glance at my phone -- totally wasn’t paying attention while I was working, and now I’ve only got fifteen minutes to get changed and head over to the council room. The meetings can’t start without me, though, so if I’m a little late, my Council will just have to deal.
It doesn’t take me long to change, though I notice that there’s still a bit of blood smudged into my hair. I pull it back, hoping that the clumped strands of hair aren’t as noticeable as I think they are. Despite being exhausted, I feel better than I have in weeks. Maybe months. As I slip into my suit, I even find myself smiling into the mirror.
My smile immediately disappears when I hear a knock on my door. My eyebrows bunch together as I step out of my bedroom and down the hall towards the door to my living quarters. I glance at my phone again -- a minute late, and it only takes five to get from here to the Council Room -- they wouldn’t have come to get me already, would they have?
Except it’s not any of my new council members standing in front of the door. Mitchel stands before me, hands loosely placed in his pockets, tie and suit immaculate as always. “Emperor,” he says with a stout nod of his head. “Your Council refused to let me into the meeting room without you.”
I snort, throwing my suit jacket over my shoulders. As I straighten its sleeves, I step outside of my apartment. “You came all the way here just to tell me that?” I mutter, my hands moving to my half-finished tie. I raise an eyebrow at him. “And of course they didn’t fucking let you into the Council room -- you were a spy for the Resistance, remember?”
“Quite well, actually,” Mitchel quipped, tilting his head to the side. He watches me, his eyes drifting to my fingers as they struggle to get the knot just right. “Need help, Emperor?” he asks, sounding smug.
“I got it, thank you,” I grumble, finally completing the knot. As my hands move away from my tie, Mitchel opens his mouth to speak. “If it’s crooked,” I begin, effectively cutting the bastard off, “that’s fine.”
Mitchel closes his mouth and gives a slight shrug of his shoulder. “Ready to go, then? Aren’t you running late for your own meeting?”
“It happens, Mitchel,” I say, straightening my jacket yet again. I shut my apartment door behind me, taking care to lock it, just in case Mitchel had any weird ideas. I run my fingers over my hair, trying to smooth as much of it down as I could. The coffee I had earlier starts to kick in, making me feel just a little jittery.
“Have you been up all night?” Mitchel asks as we walk down the hallway together. He keeps his hands in his pockets the whole time, his eyes facing forward and not at all focusing on me. I can hear his silent judgment though as I give myself a little shake.
“Volunteered at the hospital,” I answer, keeping my voice low. “Couldn’t sleep anyway, so I did a couple of surgeries, instead.”
“I see.” Mitchel purses his lips together and glances at me again. I can almost hear what he’s thinking. “Bates, please, let me fix that tie for you.”
“No,” I growl. I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. After going half the night without them, they feel clunky and awkward on my face. It might be time to get new ones.
“Why not?”
I open my mouth to answer, but then stop myself. Totally don’t want to tell Mitchel that Jazz used to fix my tie for me. I just glare at him instead and hope he gets the idea. It’s not his place to fix my tie. No one gets to do that for me, anymore. “Nervous, Mitchel?” I ask instead, shoving my hands in my pockets. The two of us walk at a brisk pace. In another minute or two, we’ll be at the Council room.
Mitchel snorts, his hand drifting to the knot of his tie. “Of course not, Emperor,” he says with a self-satisfied expression. “Unlike you, I was born to do politics.”
I let the jab at my political abilities slide as I step in front of him, blocking him from entering the Council Room doors. I put my hand out, stopping him where he stands. “Keep in mind that my Council does not trust you --”
“With good reason,” Mitchel says, interrupting me. He smirks. “I killed your precious husband, Bates. And I could have killed you -- and the Empire was nearly within my grasp. They have perfectly good reasons not to trust me,” he continues, pushing past me. His hand is on the door as he turns to me yet again. “My only question is, why do you?”
I shrug my shoulders and gesture for him to go ahead and open the door. I don’t have an answer for that. I don’t think I’ll ever have an answer for that. “I need you,” I mutter after a moment. It’s as close to an answer as I’ll get.
Mitchel’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly before he turns and opens the door. The two of us walk in, side by side, and for a moment, things almost feel as though they were back to normal.
Except it’s Mitchel standing beside me, looking impeccable, and not Jazz. My Council stares back at me expectantly, and I clear my throat.
“Mitchel Foraker is allowed to join us for this meeting. There is no need to try and make him feel welcome -- he’s done this all before,” I tell them, my voice thankfully not betraying my exhaustion. I settle into my seat at the head of the table and gesture for Mitchel to sit down. He does so, selecting the seat in direct opposition of mine.
I try to hide my smile when he does. Some things? Just never change.
The rest of the Council eyes Mitchel warily. He simply sits down, loosely folding his hands one on top of the other as he waits for me to begin. I clear my throat, forcing all of their attention on me. This meeting is going to be a long one, but I feel strangely energized as I get it started. In fact, it passes in a blur -- Mitchel doesn’t seem to miss a beat, either, asking questions and proposing solutions that my Council members hadn’t even thought of.
By the end of the meeting, they’re all glaring at him openly. I can totally understand their increased animosity for him. He’s a right bastard, and he’s got no qualms fucking telling you to your face that you’re wrong or misunderstanding something. I relax into my seat as the meeting draws to a close, each one of my Council filing out, one by one. Mitchel remains in his seat, leaning back in it as well, hands now folded in his lap.
“You weren’t kidding, Emperor,” Mitchel says with a scoff as the last member closes the door behind them. “They are all too new at this. They practically accept your word as gospel.” He stands, smoothing down his jacket as he does so.
I manage a slight smile at that. “Trust me, I’m aware,” I mutter, picking up my paperwork. As I put it away, I notice the way Mitchel watches my every move. “What?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.
Mitchel blinks, turning his head away from me, his hands slipping into his pockets once again. “Nothing, Bates,” he says, his voice quiet. “I’m surprised no one noticed the blood matted in your hair -- or the fact that you’ve clearly been up all night. How do they expect you to run the Empire if you obviously aren’t taking care of yourself?”
I roll my eyes with a derisive snort. “I actually feel better than I have in weeks,” I tell him, keeping my voice low, as well. “And of course you noticed the blood.”
“It was rather difficult to ignore. Don’t you shower between your shifts at the hospital and the Council Meetings?” Mitchel asks, his nose wrinkling in disgust.
“Normally,” I say, picking up my folder. I start heading towards the door. “Lost track of time this morning -- and couldn’t just leave a surgery halfway finished, either.”
“I suppose not,” Mitchel says, following me out the door. He matches my stride easily, walking close enough to me that our arms could touch. “Also, did you purposely put my living quarters so close to yours?”
“You’re my responsibility,” I say with a shrug. “I didn’t realize they had already moved you into your apartment. Consider yourself lucky that you don’t have to return to the prison every damn night.”
Mitchel doesn’t say anything in response to that. The two of us walk in silence, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s a comfortable one. Just as we round the corner, he sighs. “I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Emperor,” he murmurs, pulling out his keys from his pocket. “Keeping me alive might not have been in your best interest -- you may want to keep that in mind.”
“I’m aware,” I say, reaching into my own pocket for my key. “The Guard has been instructed to follow you, should you leave your apartment outside of Council Meetings -- they’re to protect you, and I told them to be discreet about it.”
“I see. Thank you for the warning,” Mitchel says. He steps in front of a door -- one I immediately recognize.
Jazz stayed in that room, when he was still alive.
My breath catches in my throat, and I look away from Mitchel immediately. His brow furrows together and he studies me for a moment. The whole time, he has his key ready to unlock the door. “Something wrong, Bates?” he asks, sounding unsure of himself.
I shake my head. There’s no use in telling him who his apartment used to belong to. “It’s nothing,” I mutter, giving him a dismissive wave of my hand. “The lack of sleep is catching up to me.”
“Well, then, I hope you have nothing else on your agenda for the day. The Emperor needs his rest, after all,” Mitchel says, still studying me as he pushes his door open. He then turns to face me again, his mouth opening as if he were going to say something. Except the bastard seems to change his mind mid-turn and disappears inside his apartment without saying another word.
I stand there for a moment, a humorless laugh escaping my lips. Of course they gave him the same apartment as Jazz’s -- it’s probably the only one available in the Palace that’s close to my own. But putting Jazz’s killer in Jazz’s old living space?
I don’t even want to think about it.
Next Chapter
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
The next morning, I’m dragging my feet as I walk out of the hospital. My scrubs are covered in gore -- one of the cases I ended up taking went in an unexpected direction. The patient survived, though. That’s about the best outcome I could get, despite getting sprayed with blood.
No one in the Palace comments on my appearance as I walk past them. I glance at my phone -- totally wasn’t paying attention while I was working, and now I’ve only got fifteen minutes to get changed and head over to the council room. The meetings can’t start without me, though, so if I’m a little late, my Council will just have to deal.
It doesn’t take me long to change, though I notice that there’s still a bit of blood smudged into my hair. I pull it back, hoping that the clumped strands of hair aren’t as noticeable as I think they are. Despite being exhausted, I feel better than I have in weeks. Maybe months. As I slip into my suit, I even find myself smiling into the mirror.
My smile immediately disappears when I hear a knock on my door. My eyebrows bunch together as I step out of my bedroom and down the hall towards the door to my living quarters. I glance at my phone again -- a minute late, and it only takes five to get from here to the Council Room -- they wouldn’t have come to get me already, would they have?
Except it’s not any of my new council members standing in front of the door. Mitchel stands before me, hands loosely placed in his pockets, tie and suit immaculate as always. “Emperor,” he says with a stout nod of his head. “Your Council refused to let me into the meeting room without you.”
I snort, throwing my suit jacket over my shoulders. As I straighten its sleeves, I step outside of my apartment. “You came all the way here just to tell me that?” I mutter, my hands moving to my half-finished tie. I raise an eyebrow at him. “And of course they didn’t fucking let you into the Council room -- you were a spy for the Resistance, remember?”
“Quite well, actually,” Mitchel quipped, tilting his head to the side. He watches me, his eyes drifting to my fingers as they struggle to get the knot just right. “Need help, Emperor?” he asks, sounding smug.
“I got it, thank you,” I grumble, finally completing the knot. As my hands move away from my tie, Mitchel opens his mouth to speak. “If it’s crooked,” I begin, effectively cutting the bastard off, “that’s fine.”
Mitchel closes his mouth and gives a slight shrug of his shoulder. “Ready to go, then? Aren’t you running late for your own meeting?”
“It happens, Mitchel,” I say, straightening my jacket yet again. I shut my apartment door behind me, taking care to lock it, just in case Mitchel had any weird ideas. I run my fingers over my hair, trying to smooth as much of it down as I could. The coffee I had earlier starts to kick in, making me feel just a little jittery.
“Have you been up all night?” Mitchel asks as we walk down the hallway together. He keeps his hands in his pockets the whole time, his eyes facing forward and not at all focusing on me. I can hear his silent judgment though as I give myself a little shake.
“Volunteered at the hospital,” I answer, keeping my voice low. “Couldn’t sleep anyway, so I did a couple of surgeries, instead.”
“I see.” Mitchel purses his lips together and glances at me again. I can almost hear what he’s thinking. “Bates, please, let me fix that tie for you.”
“No,” I growl. I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. After going half the night without them, they feel clunky and awkward on my face. It might be time to get new ones.
“Why not?”
I open my mouth to answer, but then stop myself. Totally don’t want to tell Mitchel that Jazz used to fix my tie for me. I just glare at him instead and hope he gets the idea. It’s not his place to fix my tie. No one gets to do that for me, anymore. “Nervous, Mitchel?” I ask instead, shoving my hands in my pockets. The two of us walk at a brisk pace. In another minute or two, we’ll be at the Council room.
Mitchel snorts, his hand drifting to the knot of his tie. “Of course not, Emperor,” he says with a self-satisfied expression. “Unlike you, I was born to do politics.”
I let the jab at my political abilities slide as I step in front of him, blocking him from entering the Council Room doors. I put my hand out, stopping him where he stands. “Keep in mind that my Council does not trust you --”
“With good reason,” Mitchel says, interrupting me. He smirks. “I killed your precious husband, Bates. And I could have killed you -- and the Empire was nearly within my grasp. They have perfectly good reasons not to trust me,” he continues, pushing past me. His hand is on the door as he turns to me yet again. “My only question is, why do you?”
I shrug my shoulders and gesture for him to go ahead and open the door. I don’t have an answer for that. I don’t think I’ll ever have an answer for that. “I need you,” I mutter after a moment. It’s as close to an answer as I’ll get.
Mitchel’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly before he turns and opens the door. The two of us walk in, side by side, and for a moment, things almost feel as though they were back to normal.
Except it’s Mitchel standing beside me, looking impeccable, and not Jazz. My Council stares back at me expectantly, and I clear my throat.
“Mitchel Foraker is allowed to join us for this meeting. There is no need to try and make him feel welcome -- he’s done this all before,” I tell them, my voice thankfully not betraying my exhaustion. I settle into my seat at the head of the table and gesture for Mitchel to sit down. He does so, selecting the seat in direct opposition of mine.
I try to hide my smile when he does. Some things? Just never change.
The rest of the Council eyes Mitchel warily. He simply sits down, loosely folding his hands one on top of the other as he waits for me to begin. I clear my throat, forcing all of their attention on me. This meeting is going to be a long one, but I feel strangely energized as I get it started. In fact, it passes in a blur -- Mitchel doesn’t seem to miss a beat, either, asking questions and proposing solutions that my Council members hadn’t even thought of.
By the end of the meeting, they’re all glaring at him openly. I can totally understand their increased animosity for him. He’s a right bastard, and he’s got no qualms fucking telling you to your face that you’re wrong or misunderstanding something. I relax into my seat as the meeting draws to a close, each one of my Council filing out, one by one. Mitchel remains in his seat, leaning back in it as well, hands now folded in his lap.
“You weren’t kidding, Emperor,” Mitchel says with a scoff as the last member closes the door behind them. “They are all too new at this. They practically accept your word as gospel.” He stands, smoothing down his jacket as he does so.
I manage a slight smile at that. “Trust me, I’m aware,” I mutter, picking up my paperwork. As I put it away, I notice the way Mitchel watches my every move. “What?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.
Mitchel blinks, turning his head away from me, his hands slipping into his pockets once again. “Nothing, Bates,” he says, his voice quiet. “I’m surprised no one noticed the blood matted in your hair -- or the fact that you’ve clearly been up all night. How do they expect you to run the Empire if you obviously aren’t taking care of yourself?”
I roll my eyes with a derisive snort. “I actually feel better than I have in weeks,” I tell him, keeping my voice low, as well. “And of course you noticed the blood.”
“It was rather difficult to ignore. Don’t you shower between your shifts at the hospital and the Council Meetings?” Mitchel asks, his nose wrinkling in disgust.
“Normally,” I say, picking up my folder. I start heading towards the door. “Lost track of time this morning -- and couldn’t just leave a surgery halfway finished, either.”
“I suppose not,” Mitchel says, following me out the door. He matches my stride easily, walking close enough to me that our arms could touch. “Also, did you purposely put my living quarters so close to yours?”
“You’re my responsibility,” I say with a shrug. “I didn’t realize they had already moved you into your apartment. Consider yourself lucky that you don’t have to return to the prison every damn night.”
Mitchel doesn’t say anything in response to that. The two of us walk in silence, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s a comfortable one. Just as we round the corner, he sighs. “I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Emperor,” he murmurs, pulling out his keys from his pocket. “Keeping me alive might not have been in your best interest -- you may want to keep that in mind.”
“I’m aware,” I say, reaching into my own pocket for my key. “The Guard has been instructed to follow you, should you leave your apartment outside of Council Meetings -- they’re to protect you, and I told them to be discreet about it.”
“I see. Thank you for the warning,” Mitchel says. He steps in front of a door -- one I immediately recognize.
Jazz stayed in that room, when he was still alive.
My breath catches in my throat, and I look away from Mitchel immediately. His brow furrows together and he studies me for a moment. The whole time, he has his key ready to unlock the door. “Something wrong, Bates?” he asks, sounding unsure of himself.
I shake my head. There’s no use in telling him who his apartment used to belong to. “It’s nothing,” I mutter, giving him a dismissive wave of my hand. “The lack of sleep is catching up to me.”
“Well, then, I hope you have nothing else on your agenda for the day. The Emperor needs his rest, after all,” Mitchel says, still studying me as he pushes his door open. He then turns to face me again, his mouth opening as if he were going to say something. Except the bastard seems to change his mind mid-turn and disappears inside his apartment without saying another word.
I stand there for a moment, a humorless laugh escaping my lips. Of course they gave him the same apartment as Jazz’s -- it’s probably the only one available in the Palace that’s close to my own. But putting Jazz’s killer in Jazz’s old living space?
I don’t even want to think about it.
Next Chapter