The Tomorrow Trilogy Fanfiction - Forgiveness: Chapter 8
NaNo's over, and I find myself wanting to dive back into this 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 | 7
Somehow, weeks pass without my notice. With Mitchel’s “return” to the Council Room, the Empire seems to have gotten back on its feet. At least, it’s not careening dangerously towards an all out war.
Still, something’s still fucking bothering me. I can’t quite place it. Once or twice a week, I find myself in one of the hospital’s operating rooms, a scalpel in my hand and nothing else but piecing a human back together in my mind. Sometimes I imagine the person on the table is me -- or that the person on the table is Jazz -- that somehow he could survive Mitchel’s bullet.
I don’t want to think about that, though. And usually, when those images creep into the back of my mind, my fingers curl tighter around my knife, and my focus shifts. Why the hell did I let that bastard live? Why do I feel like I need him?
And why the fuck can’t I stop thinking about him?
I shake my head, clearing that last thought away. The Council Meetings have almost been...enjoyable, having someone challenge me at just about every turn. There used to be a time where I hated it, but now I almost welcome it with open fucking arms.
Soon enough, I’m done with this particular surgery and I put my surgical thread down in the bin. I have a Council Meeting in a few hours, and I’ve been up all night again. I know that once I’m done washing my hands and changing out of my scrubs, I’ll have just about two hours to close my eyes and rest.
Rest doesn’t seem likely, though, as I make my way back to the Palace from the hospital. The Emperor’s Guard is following me entirely too closely. It’s bad when I notice the surveillance -- and it’s not until I see someone approaching me from the Palace Gates that I understand why.
“The fuck are you doing out here?” I hiss, crossing my arms over my chest.
Mitchel blinks back at me, his brows furrowing together. His own arms are crossed over his chest, but that might be because it’s actually pretty cold out, right now. I can see my breath, and his comes out in short, gaspy puffs. “There’s been -- an incident, Emperor Bates,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low. “I would suggest calling an emergency meeting.”
I raise an eyebrow at him, the two of us walking side by side as we make our way through the Palace gates. “You couldn’t just text me?” I grumble, raking my fingers through my hair. “It’s not like my number’s changed since you were last on my Council, Mitchel.”
“It’s inadvisable to contact you through anything that can be traced or bugged, Bates,” he mutters, glancing around the two of us. “You may be the Emperor but that does not mean your lines aren’t being tapped, either.”
I frown, glancing at him around the edge of my glasses before pushing them back up the bridge of my nose. My fingers feel stiff and my whole body aches, and I know that right now, Mitchel’s being cryptic on purpose. “What’s going on?” I ask, keeping my voice level. “Who contacted you?”
Mitchel’s expression barely falters, but I see the way his eyes darken. He turns away from me and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Are you going to call an Emergency Council meeting or not?”
“How time-sensitive is this information?” I press once we’re inside the Palace. We keep moving at a brisk pace, and the halls seem strangely empty, even for this time of the day. Something’s not right. It just can’t be, the way Mitchel’s acting.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Mitchel murmurs. He frowns, and I just know he’s not going to be saying anything more than that.
I reach up, pinch the bridge of my nose and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ll call one,” I grumble, not even bothering to look at him as I begin searching for my keys. “Go inform the other members of my Council that there’s a meeting that’ll start in the next half-hour, depending on how quickly everyone can get here. I want enough time to get a fucking shower and think.”
Mitchel nods, and while I expect his expression to lighten up, it doesn’t. Instead, he pulls out his phone and begins thumbing through his contacts. And for whatever reason, my eyes focus on his fingers -- how they hold his phone to his ear. He leaves brief messages, his voice almost rough and uncontrolled, for him.
I almost expect him to break away from me and head straight to the Council room without me, but instead he remains by my side, even as I take a turn down the hall to head towards my personal apartment. “You don’t have to follow me, you know,” I tell him once he’s finished another call. “I’ll be there.”
“You’ve been up all night again,” Mitchel says, thumbing through his contacts again. “Also, I need to speak with you in private, before the meeting.”
“Of course you do,” I mutter, shaking my head. I pull out my keys and walk even faster towards the door. “There aren’t any bugs in my room, are there? Or the halls?”
“No,” Mitchel answers, as if he knows with absolute certainty. “The Resistance once had access to the Council room, but --”
“They had access to the Council room?” I repeat, hissing the words under my breath as I turn to glare at him. “How the fuck did you manage that one?”
Mitchel seems almost taken aback by my outburst, his eyebrow raised as he lowers the phone once again from his ear, another message left. “I thought you and Callahan both knew?” he says, a slight frown on his face.
“Is it still bugged?” I ask, shoving my key in the lock and hoping just this once that the damn thing won’t stick. My stomach rolls as I think about all of the information the Resistance had access to, over the past year. I don’t look at him for a bit, but Mitchel’s silence is damning. “Mitchel,” I hiss, glaring at him as I push my door open and gesture for him to come inside. “Is -- it -- still -- bugged?”
“The Resistance hasn’t been able to anticipate the Empire’s moves, have they?” Mitchel answers, a scowl forming on his lips as he shuts my apartment door behind him.
“That’s not a fucking no,” I growl, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at him. “Straight answers, Mitchel. Not this fucking politicians’ speak you’re so goddamn good at. Is the Council room still bugged?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Mitchel says this time, clenching his jaw and lifting his chin. He meets my eyes, and his seem almost unsure for a moment. “I haven’t received any word from the Resistance since my capture. However -- if they still had access to restricted information, such as the Council room meetings, I can assure you, Savin, that they would have won by now. I was not the mastermind behind the Resistance.” He pauses, his jaw unclenching just a little. “At least, I wasn’t the only one.”
“Just because they haven’t won yet doesn’t mean that they don’t still have the Council room bugged,” I point out to him, pinching the bridge of my nose again and growling low in my throat. “What other places in the Palace did they have bugged? They didn’t have my room or Jazz’s room bugged, right?”
“No,” Mitchel says, and his expression immediately darkens again at my words. “I made sure that Jasper always had some privacy. They wanted to bug your individual apartments, but I refused to have it done. I assumed the two of you avoided any discussion of work when alone, as well.”
I snort and readjust my glasses. I almost roll my eyes to myself, but think better of it as I place my hands in my pockets. “So what the hell is going on that you need to call an emergency meeting for, anyway?”
“I received a message,” Mitchel says, and for a moment, I think I see a flash of fear across his face. The man’s never afraid of anything, not even when the Guard finally found us in the execution room. He pulls out his phone again and taps the screen a few times. Instead of reading the message out loud, though, he simply hands the phone to me.
My brow furrows as I glance at his phone. “‘Give us Bates,’” I read out loud, clenching my jaw. “That’s it?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Of course they want me. Get rid of me, and the whole Empire falls apart.”
Mitchel shakes his head, plucking his phone back from my hands. “They have my contact information again. This phone? Is not the same one I had before, Savin. The number’s different, new provider, under the protections from your Empire. They shouldn’t have been able to contact me, at all,” he says, slipping his phone back in his pocket.
My frown deepens a little as I begin making my way out of my living room. I can hear Mitchel’s footsteps as he follows behind me. “So they discovered your new contact information. Get a new phone,” I tell him, pulling my shirt up over my head. “Don’t respond to them.”
“Savin, I don’t think you understand,” Mitchel insists, a hard edge to his voice. He still follows me, even as I step inside my bedroom and toss my shirt in the direction of my laundry hamper. I don’t need to turn to him to know the way he must be wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Don’t you have maids...?”
“I prefer to do my own chores,” I respond, finally turning to face him. His eyes widen, dropping towards my chest.
It takes me a moment to realize why. The night Jazz died, I was Mitchel’s intended target, and I have the scar to prove it. It’s small, almost unnoticeable, but -- well, it’s there. And Mitchel, being the stickler for detail that he is -- of course he noticed it.
“Do you mind?” I ask, glowering at him as I move to take off my belt.
“I apologize,” Mitchel murmurs, and his cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink. He then turns on his heel, effectively avoiding my eyes. “You did speak of wanting to partake in a shower before the emergency meeting. I’ll wait for you out in your living room. We still need to discuss some things before the meeting.”
I nod, fully aware that he can’t see me do so. “I’ll be quick,” I tell him, slipping my scrubs off my hips and tossing them aside as well. I slip a towel around my waist as Mitchel’s back retreats towards my living room, and for a moment, I wonder if I should even allow him to be in my apartment unsupervised.
I don’t have the time to consider the implications of letting him stay here, so instead I move to shower quickly, just like I told him I would. As my shoulders relax under the spray of hot water, I lean against the shower walls and close my eyes. The spray of water is soothing, and the aches and pains from being up all night seem almost inconsequential.
If only I could have the time to enjoy a shower, for once.
Next Chapter
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7
Somehow, weeks pass without my notice. With Mitchel’s “return” to the Council Room, the Empire seems to have gotten back on its feet. At least, it’s not careening dangerously towards an all out war.
Still, something’s still fucking bothering me. I can’t quite place it. Once or twice a week, I find myself in one of the hospital’s operating rooms, a scalpel in my hand and nothing else but piecing a human back together in my mind. Sometimes I imagine the person on the table is me -- or that the person on the table is Jazz -- that somehow he could survive Mitchel’s bullet.
I don’t want to think about that, though. And usually, when those images creep into the back of my mind, my fingers curl tighter around my knife, and my focus shifts. Why the hell did I let that bastard live? Why do I feel like I need him?
And why the fuck can’t I stop thinking about him?
I shake my head, clearing that last thought away. The Council Meetings have almost been...enjoyable, having someone challenge me at just about every turn. There used to be a time where I hated it, but now I almost welcome it with open fucking arms.
Soon enough, I’m done with this particular surgery and I put my surgical thread down in the bin. I have a Council Meeting in a few hours, and I’ve been up all night again. I know that once I’m done washing my hands and changing out of my scrubs, I’ll have just about two hours to close my eyes and rest.
Rest doesn’t seem likely, though, as I make my way back to the Palace from the hospital. The Emperor’s Guard is following me entirely too closely. It’s bad when I notice the surveillance -- and it’s not until I see someone approaching me from the Palace Gates that I understand why.
“The fuck are you doing out here?” I hiss, crossing my arms over my chest.
Mitchel blinks back at me, his brows furrowing together. His own arms are crossed over his chest, but that might be because it’s actually pretty cold out, right now. I can see my breath, and his comes out in short, gaspy puffs. “There’s been -- an incident, Emperor Bates,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low. “I would suggest calling an emergency meeting.”
I raise an eyebrow at him, the two of us walking side by side as we make our way through the Palace gates. “You couldn’t just text me?” I grumble, raking my fingers through my hair. “It’s not like my number’s changed since you were last on my Council, Mitchel.”
“It’s inadvisable to contact you through anything that can be traced or bugged, Bates,” he mutters, glancing around the two of us. “You may be the Emperor but that does not mean your lines aren’t being tapped, either.”
I frown, glancing at him around the edge of my glasses before pushing them back up the bridge of my nose. My fingers feel stiff and my whole body aches, and I know that right now, Mitchel’s being cryptic on purpose. “What’s going on?” I ask, keeping my voice level. “Who contacted you?”
Mitchel’s expression barely falters, but I see the way his eyes darken. He turns away from me and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Are you going to call an Emergency Council meeting or not?”
“How time-sensitive is this information?” I press once we’re inside the Palace. We keep moving at a brisk pace, and the halls seem strangely empty, even for this time of the day. Something’s not right. It just can’t be, the way Mitchel’s acting.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Mitchel murmurs. He frowns, and I just know he’s not going to be saying anything more than that.
I reach up, pinch the bridge of my nose and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ll call one,” I grumble, not even bothering to look at him as I begin searching for my keys. “Go inform the other members of my Council that there’s a meeting that’ll start in the next half-hour, depending on how quickly everyone can get here. I want enough time to get a fucking shower and think.”
Mitchel nods, and while I expect his expression to lighten up, it doesn’t. Instead, he pulls out his phone and begins thumbing through his contacts. And for whatever reason, my eyes focus on his fingers -- how they hold his phone to his ear. He leaves brief messages, his voice almost rough and uncontrolled, for him.
I almost expect him to break away from me and head straight to the Council room without me, but instead he remains by my side, even as I take a turn down the hall to head towards my personal apartment. “You don’t have to follow me, you know,” I tell him once he’s finished another call. “I’ll be there.”
“You’ve been up all night again,” Mitchel says, thumbing through his contacts again. “Also, I need to speak with you in private, before the meeting.”
“Of course you do,” I mutter, shaking my head. I pull out my keys and walk even faster towards the door. “There aren’t any bugs in my room, are there? Or the halls?”
“No,” Mitchel answers, as if he knows with absolute certainty. “The Resistance once had access to the Council room, but --”
“They had access to the Council room?” I repeat, hissing the words under my breath as I turn to glare at him. “How the fuck did you manage that one?”
Mitchel seems almost taken aback by my outburst, his eyebrow raised as he lowers the phone once again from his ear, another message left. “I thought you and Callahan both knew?” he says, a slight frown on his face.
“Is it still bugged?” I ask, shoving my key in the lock and hoping just this once that the damn thing won’t stick. My stomach rolls as I think about all of the information the Resistance had access to, over the past year. I don’t look at him for a bit, but Mitchel’s silence is damning. “Mitchel,” I hiss, glaring at him as I push my door open and gesture for him to come inside. “Is -- it -- still -- bugged?”
“The Resistance hasn’t been able to anticipate the Empire’s moves, have they?” Mitchel answers, a scowl forming on his lips as he shuts my apartment door behind him.
“That’s not a fucking no,” I growl, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at him. “Straight answers, Mitchel. Not this fucking politicians’ speak you’re so goddamn good at. Is the Council room still bugged?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Mitchel says this time, clenching his jaw and lifting his chin. He meets my eyes, and his seem almost unsure for a moment. “I haven’t received any word from the Resistance since my capture. However -- if they still had access to restricted information, such as the Council room meetings, I can assure you, Savin, that they would have won by now. I was not the mastermind behind the Resistance.” He pauses, his jaw unclenching just a little. “At least, I wasn’t the only one.”
“Just because they haven’t won yet doesn’t mean that they don’t still have the Council room bugged,” I point out to him, pinching the bridge of my nose again and growling low in my throat. “What other places in the Palace did they have bugged? They didn’t have my room or Jazz’s room bugged, right?”
“No,” Mitchel says, and his expression immediately darkens again at my words. “I made sure that Jasper always had some privacy. They wanted to bug your individual apartments, but I refused to have it done. I assumed the two of you avoided any discussion of work when alone, as well.”
I snort and readjust my glasses. I almost roll my eyes to myself, but think better of it as I place my hands in my pockets. “So what the hell is going on that you need to call an emergency meeting for, anyway?”
“I received a message,” Mitchel says, and for a moment, I think I see a flash of fear across his face. The man’s never afraid of anything, not even when the Guard finally found us in the execution room. He pulls out his phone again and taps the screen a few times. Instead of reading the message out loud, though, he simply hands the phone to me.
My brow furrows as I glance at his phone. “‘Give us Bates,’” I read out loud, clenching my jaw. “That’s it?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Of course they want me. Get rid of me, and the whole Empire falls apart.”
Mitchel shakes his head, plucking his phone back from my hands. “They have my contact information again. This phone? Is not the same one I had before, Savin. The number’s different, new provider, under the protections from your Empire. They shouldn’t have been able to contact me, at all,” he says, slipping his phone back in his pocket.
My frown deepens a little as I begin making my way out of my living room. I can hear Mitchel’s footsteps as he follows behind me. “So they discovered your new contact information. Get a new phone,” I tell him, pulling my shirt up over my head. “Don’t respond to them.”
“Savin, I don’t think you understand,” Mitchel insists, a hard edge to his voice. He still follows me, even as I step inside my bedroom and toss my shirt in the direction of my laundry hamper. I don’t need to turn to him to know the way he must be wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Don’t you have maids...?”
“I prefer to do my own chores,” I respond, finally turning to face him. His eyes widen, dropping towards my chest.
It takes me a moment to realize why. The night Jazz died, I was Mitchel’s intended target, and I have the scar to prove it. It’s small, almost unnoticeable, but -- well, it’s there. And Mitchel, being the stickler for detail that he is -- of course he noticed it.
“Do you mind?” I ask, glowering at him as I move to take off my belt.
“I apologize,” Mitchel murmurs, and his cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink. He then turns on his heel, effectively avoiding my eyes. “You did speak of wanting to partake in a shower before the emergency meeting. I’ll wait for you out in your living room. We still need to discuss some things before the meeting.”
I nod, fully aware that he can’t see me do so. “I’ll be quick,” I tell him, slipping my scrubs off my hips and tossing them aside as well. I slip a towel around my waist as Mitchel’s back retreats towards my living room, and for a moment, I wonder if I should even allow him to be in my apartment unsupervised.
I don’t have the time to consider the implications of letting him stay here, so instead I move to shower quickly, just like I told him I would. As my shoulders relax under the spray of hot water, I lean against the shower walls and close my eyes. The spray of water is soothing, and the aches and pains from being up all night seem almost inconsequential.
If only I could have the time to enjoy a shower, for once.
Next Chapter